Coffee, Company, and the Need for a Quiet Corner

Some weekends leave me feeling as if I have been everywhere at once, even though I never went very far.

Last weekend was one of those. It was busy, but in a good way. A friend came to visit, a French woman I met during my treatment years ago. We became friends through something neither of us would have chosen, and somehow that friendship stayed. She is a year older than me, her husband is an English teacher, and whenever we meet, it feels easy. She spent the afternoon at our house by the pool. The weather was pleasant, and there is something comforting about sitting outside with someone who already knows parts of your story without needing explanations.

The day before that, my daughter had invited two friends over to swim, so the house was already full of voices and wet towels. Then, in the evening, we celebrated Mother’s Day a little early because she had to work on Sunday. My husband, my two daughters and I went to a restaurant together. These days, whenever both girls agree to come somewhere with us, I consider it a small victory. Going to a restaurant is usually accepted immediately. Suggest a cycling trip or a walk, and suddenly everyone has other plans.

On Sunday, my mother-in-law joined us for lunch. Afterwards, my husband and I took our bicycles and rode through the countryside. I always enjoy those moments. The rhythm of the pedals, the fresh air, the feeling that nobody is rushing anywhere. As our daughters have grown older, they spend more time living their own lives, so sometimes it is just the two of us. I have learned to appreciate that.

That weekend made me think about something Fruitloop and I often talk about: social balance. For me, social balance is not about counting how many people I see. It is more about feeling comfortable in my own place among people. Everyone should be able to be themselves without feeling pressured to become someone else just to fit in.

When I unexpectedly find myself with a free afternoon, I usually keep it for myself. Those moments are rare. I might sit quietly, read a little, watch something on Netflix, or simply enjoy not having obligations. If I want to see friends, I normally arrange it well in advance. Everyone is busy. Between work, family and daily life, finding a date that suits everyone often feels like planning a military operation.

There is one exception: my sister-in-law. She appears regularly for coffee, sometimes so often that my husband jokes about it. But I genuinely enjoy her company. Some people bring energy instead of taking it away.

I notice this especially at the tennis club. Several times a year we organize events to raise money. We cook, serve food and spend the day working together. Technically it is work, but it never feels heavy. There is laughter, conversation and a sense that everyone is pulling in the same direction. By the end of the day I am tired physically, but not emotionally. Quite the opposite. I feel energized.

What drains me is usually not the number of people but the length of time.

My husband enjoys parties until the very end. If we are invited somewhere, I already know there is a strong chance we will be among the last people standing. Sometimes I feel tired before the party even begins because I am thinking about how little sleep I will get afterwards. There have been afternoons when I quietly took a nap beforehand just to prepare myself.

That is probably why my ideal weekend is a mixture of both worlds. I do not want to spend the entire weekend alone, but I also do not want every hour filled with activities. The older I get, the more I notice how much I value a little space between social events. My husband likes to remind me that this is a sign of age. He may not be entirely wrong.

I know I have had too much people-time when visitors fill every day of a weekend. Friday, Saturday and Sunday with guests at the house would be too much for me. I would smile and be polite, but inside I would be counting the hours until I could sit quietly again.

At the moment, our house is preparing for another busy few days. My youngest daughter has finished classes and is studying for exams. She and a friend decided they would study together at our house. The friend will stay overnight, which sounds perfectly reasonable until you discover, the evening before, that she cannot eat gluten.

I had already planned everything. There is a pizza van that comes regularly near our house. My entire strategy for feeding teenagers was solved with one WhatsApp message. Then my daughter casually announced, “By the way, she’s allergic to gluten.”

So there I was, immediately redesigning the menu.

Motherhood never really stops surprising you.

Sometimes people ask whether I ever feel lonely in a crowd. The answer is yes, occasionally. It usually happens when I am surrounded by conversations that do not interest me. If I go out with my husband’s colleagues and they spend the entire evening talking about work, I find myself drifting away mentally. I am there, but not really there.

With family, it is different. There is always something happening. Someone needs help, someone is telling a story, children are running around. There is no time to feel lonely.

I have also learned that some people recharge me while others leave me exhausted. My husband is one of those people who can lift the mood of a room. He makes people laugh. He makes situations feel lighter.

On the other hand, there are people who spend an entire evening complaining. They talk about problems, gossip about others, criticize everything and everyone. By the end of the conversation, I feel as though someone quietly drained the battery inside me. It is exhausting.

Maybe that is why I have become more selective with friendships over the years.

Friendships change. Life changes. People move away, divorce, discover new interests, join new clubs, start new jobs. Some friendships remain. Others fade naturally. Looking back at the friends my husband and I had when we first met, many are no longer part of our lives. Some couples separated. Some simply grew in different directions. At the same time, new people arrived.

Trust has become more important than quantity. I would much rather have one meaningful conversation with someone I trust than spend an evening making small talk with dozens of people.

Trust takes time. It grows naturally. You cannot force it. You meet someone, spend time together, share little pieces of life, and one day you realise you feel comfortable telling them something personal.

That happened with my friend from treatment. We share memories and experiences that belong to a specific chapter of life. We can talk about hospitals, doctors and fears without needing long explanations. Yet we do not spend every conversation talking about illness. We also talk about our children, daily frustrations and ordinary things. Life moves on, but some connections remain.

Technology has changed the way we stay connected too.

WhatsApp is incredibly practical. Organising a dinner, a walk or a gathering is much easier than it used to be. I am not someone who enjoys making phone calls. A message gives people time to think before answering.

Sometimes the convenience becomes slightly ridiculous. My daughters send me messages from another room. I answer them. We are in the same house. We could simply walk to each other.

Yet I do it too.

Messages are useful, but they can never fully replace sitting across from someone, seeing their expression, hearing their laughter and understanding what they really mean.

Social media creates another strange illusion. It can make you feel as though you have hundreds of friends. On your birthday, messages arrive from people you have not spoken to in years. It looks impressive, but it is not the same thing as friendship.

Real friendship still happens slowly.

It happens over coffee. During walks. Through shared experiences. Through trust.

And perhaps that is what social balance means to me now.

Not filling every moment with people.

Not shutting myself away either.

Just finding the right mix of conversation, connection, laughter, quiet afternoons, family dinners, cycling tours, coffee with my sister-in-law and the occasional WhatsApp message asking for pizza that suddenly turns into a gluten-free challenge.

For me, that feels about right.