The unexpected joy of forging meaningful friendships in middle age defies the common belief that the best opportunities for connection are behind us

Your hat is fantastic. It makes you look more Bavarian than any of us,  the concierge quipped as I entered the venue for the coffee-and-cake event at a resort in southern Germany. Although he was stretching the truth — I have neither blonde hair nor blue eyes — I accepted the compliment with a coy smile. “Danke schön,” I said, tipping my woolen hat. Just then, another guest remarked, “That’s a pretty pin on your hat,” pointing to the delicate hand-crafted Edelweiss flower. A cherished gift from my friends, Wolfgang and Amelie, the pin symbolised a friendship that began just a year ago, in this very Bavarian town of Schliersee.

The Wolfgangs — a handsome, warm-hearted couple — are a testament to the unexpected joy of friendships made in middle age. Our bond didn’t begin with shared childhoods or decades of history but with a simple “hello” and an open heart. The modest origins of our connection and the way it blossomed over the past year defy the notion that meaningful friendships are reserved for youth. Our paths crossed serendipitously during an evening walk.

A casual exchange of pleasantries evolved into deeper conversations about life, culture, and shared interests. What began as polite conversation in an Alpine countryside ended with an exchange of coordinates and it continued with texting in the months after. It is widely held that the friends we make in our formative years are the ones who stay, while those forged later in life are fleeting, superficial, or driven by necessity. This belief may hold some truth; adulthood brings with it obligations, scepticism, and wariness.

We become cautious in extending ourselves. The innocence of youthful camaraderie gives way to guarded interactions, and we convince ourselves that the window for profound friendship has closed. Yet, the Wolfgangs remind me that this window is not sealed shut — it merely takes a little more effort to open.

Friendships formed in middle age are special not despite our life experiences, but because of them. We bring to these connections a deeper sense of self-awareness, empathy, and appreciation.

There’s no rush to impress or to conform. The pressures of youthful identity-building are gone. In their place, we find sincerity, authenticity, and the willingness to value people for who they truly are.  They remind us of the universality of human warmth and curiosity. Meeting someone from another country — someone whose life, traditions, and language are different — can feel like discovering an entirely new world.

And when such encounters lead to genuine friendship, they break down the invisible walls that geography and culture often build around us. There is also a profound joy in the intentionality of these connections. In our younger years, friendships are often born of proximity — classmates, neighbours, or college roommates. As adults, friendships require deliberate effort. This intentionality infuses middle-aged friendships with a depth and resilience that can be even more rewarding than the bonds of our youth. I think back to the pin on my hat — that delicate Edelweiss — and I see it as a metaphor for these kinds of friendships. The Edelweiss, a rare Alpine flower, thrives in challenging conditions.

It symbolises courage, devotion, and the willingness to climb new heights. Like the flower, friendships made in middle age might take more effort to cultivate, but they are hardy, resilient, and precious. A year after that first meeting, I found myself once again in Schliersee last month, sharing coffee and cake with the Wolfgangs, laughing over our language blunders and cultural quirks. It is never too late to make friends.

(The author is a columnist and writing coach based in Dubai. Views are personal)