Rely on Relationships

As I edge closer to the big 5-0, I'm starting to wonder whether nostalgia is simply part of the package. Or perhaps it's something else. Perhaps it's recognising that after decades of investing in people, I've reached a stage of life where I don't just value relationships... I rely on them.

Only last month I found myself writing about my university friends and the importance of those lifelong connections. This month, I've been organising another reunion, this time with the people I worked with in my very first job back in 1998. That's not us in the picture above, but hopefully we will still be friends in retiement too!

Nearly thirty years later, we're scattered across Australia and around the world. Careers have evolved, children have grown up, passports have filled with stamps and life has taken each of us in very different directions. Yet whenever someone finds themselves back in Sydney, or another city where one of us happens to be, the messages start flying.

"Who's around while I'm in town?"

Before long, calendars are being reshuffled, dinners are organised and families are brought together. It is rarely convenient, but somehow we always make it work.

It made me stop and think. Why do some relationships survive decades while others quietly disappear after we leave a job, a neighbourhood or a chapter of life?

For me, the answer is surprisingly simple. We keep choosing them.

Looking back, I feel incredibly fortunate to have spent much of my twenties living and working overseas. London came first, followed by Stockholm and Singapore, before I eventually chose to return home to Sydney to be closer to family. Each move meant starting again. New colleagues, new friends, new cultures and new communities. It also reinforced something I've carried with me ever since. Relationships don't just happen because you work together or live in the same city. They grow because someone chooses to invest in them.

When I moved to London in 1999, I quickly found myself surrounded by new colleagues from all over the world. Because we worked for a global organisation headquartered there, there was a constant stream of people visiting from offices across Europe, Asia and Australia. Whenever someone was in town, I'd rearrange my schedule to catch up. Whether it was dinner after work, a drink in the city or showing them a little of London, I wanted to make the most of the time we had together.

I also became a regular at Friday night drinks in the local square. After a busy week, many people were ready to head home, but I saw those informal gatherings differently. They weren't simply a social event to end the week. They were where conversations deepened, personalities emerged and colleagues became genuine friends.

Some of those friendships have now lasted more than twenty-five years. My boyfriend at the time never really understood it. He couldn't see why I would prioritise spending so much of my free time with work colleagues. From his perspective, they were simply the people I happened to work alongside. From mine, they were people worth getting to know beyond the office. We often disagreed about how I chose to spend my time and, looking back, I realise we weren't really arguing about my diary at all. We were arguing about the value we each placed on relationships.

That conversation has stayed with me because it reflects something I still see today. Many people want strong relationships, yet hesitate to invest in them.

We're tired after a long week. The family already has plans. The kids would rather stay home. It can feel awkward asking your partner or children to spend an afternoon with people they barely know, simply because they have been part of your life for almost thirty years.

The reluctance is understandable.

Behavioural scientists have long recognised a tendency known as effort avoidance. Our brains naturally gravitate towards what is easiest in the moment, even when making a little more effort would deliver far greater rewards in the long term. Relationships are no different. Sometimes staying home feels easier than driving across Sydney for lunch or dinner.

Yet every time I make the effort, the same thing happens. Within minutes, we're laughing about stories from fun times shared, remembering people that were part of them that have drifted away. Someone reminds me of a moment I'd completely forgotten. The conversation flows effortlessly despite months, or even years, between catch-ups. I leave wondering why I we question making the effort in the first place.

Researchers have consistently found that the quality of our relationships has a profound impact on our wellbeing. The Harvard Study of Adult Development, one of the longest-running studies of its kind, concluded that close relationships are among the strongest predictors of happiness, health and longevity, even more so than wealth or career success.

Over the years, I've encouraged thousands of people to think beyond building networks and instead build relationship ecosystems. Looking around that table recently, I realised I was looking at one of my own. An ecosystem built over decades, strengthened by shared experiences and sustained by a simple decision to keep showing up for one another.

That finding, and that lunch, both resonated with me.

The people sitting around that table knew me long before Relatus existed. Before keynote stages. Before awards. Before becoming a mum. They knew the younger version of me who was still finding her way. There is something incredibly grounding about spending time with people who don't need an introduction to who you are. They have seen your successes, your mistakes, your growth and your different seasons of life. They don't know your LinkedIn profile. They know your story.

Perhaps that's why those friendships have endured. We didn't become friends because we happened to live in the same place. In fact, most of us haven't for decades. We became friends because, despite the distance, we kept choosing one another.

Proximity introduces us. Intentionality keeps us together. Time turns those relationships into the ones we rely on.

For more than twenty years, I have taught people that relationships create opportunities. They introduce us to new ideas, careers, clients, mentors and possibilities we could never create alone. I still believe that wholeheartedly.

But perhaps as I approach fifty, I'm recognising another return on investment.

Relationships don't just create opportunity. They create continuity. They remind us where we've come from. They reconnect us with parts of ourselves that can easily get lost amongst deadlines, responsibilities and the relentless pace of life. They become anchors that remind us who we are.

Like any investment, relationships compound over time. Every conversation, every shared experience, every reunion and every decision to stay in touch adds another layer. By the time you've known someone for twenty-five or thirty years, you're no longer maintaining a friendship. You're protecting something that simply couldn't be recreated today.

So this month, rather than leaving you with a quote, I'd leave you with a small challenge. Think about someone who has been part of your story for many years and ask yourself:

• Who have I been meaning to reconnect with?

• Whose visit have I been saying I'll "catch next time"?

• Which relationship deserves a little more effort?

• Who has helped shape the person I am today?

• What small action could I take this week to strengthen that connection?

One message, one phone call, one coffee or one dinner. Sometimes that's all it takes to keep another chapter of a lifelong relationship alive.

Because one day, perhaps decades from now, you'll find yourself sitting around a table with people who have walked beside you through every chapter of your life. You'll realise those Friday night drinks, the dinners squeezed into busy schedules and the catch-ups when someone was "just passing through" were never small moments at all.

They were the quiet investments that became the relationships you could always rely on.