Loneliness epidemic? How I made new friends after moving cities

There's a random and unexamined piece of wisdom that's been repeated to me constantly since I moved to Melbourne: that it takes two years to "settle" into a new city.

There's no proof of this arbitrary length of time, but clearly it captures a common experience — feeling lonely and isolated after moving to a strange new place. 

I've thought about the two-year rule a lot as I've wandered the laneways and coffee shops of this city, looking for pals and chums — and maybe even buddies.

I moved to Naarm/Melbourne during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, managing to cross between lockdowns, motivated by romance, star-crossed (or at least hard border-crossed) lovers.

Moving to Melbourne to live with my partner was an easy decision, but involved leaving my family and my friends back in Eora Nation/Sydney.

After we (finally) left lockdown, like traumatised badgers emerging from their burrows, I discovered I was intensely lonely and isolated, missing my good friends, my family, my social life.

The loneliness of moving to a new city

It's not that I didn't know people in Melbourne or didn't have people I was friendly with. It's not that I wasn't welcomed warmly into my partner's family and friendship groups.

It's more that the people who played a part in my daily life — my community — were inaccessible. The people you can rely on for a quick drink after work, for a walk around the neighbourhood, for a lazy movie night and gossip.

It takes effort, I found, to flip acquaintances or work colleagues or new people into an actual friend. It's a task to infiltrate people's already busy lives, worming in like an emotionally needy parasite.

We're also in what's being called a loneliness epidemic right now. Surveys have found more than 50 per cent of people report greater feelings of loneliness since the start of the coronavirus pandemic.

Quickly, I decided that the two-year rule wasn't about waiting patiently for my life to click with my new city — it was a challenge, something I had to work towards. A deadline.

I would work to make sure I felt comfortable in two years, to make friends, to learn to love the weird brown river and wear entirely black outfits made out of sacks.

You must do stuff

One of the most confronting things I had to face was that I would have to leave my house and experience the world, in order to meet people and find friends.

You can't expect people to come to you – turns out anyone who breaks into your home is usually looking for something other than companionship, which is frankly toxic.

As someone who loves my own space and solitude, making the effort to go out and socialise felt unnatural, especially after lockdown trauma.

The trick, I believe, is making it easy on yourself by going into something with a structure.

Hobbies or classes are great for this, as they provide both a routine and an activity.

For me, that meant signing up for improv comedy classes, a hobby I'd practised for many years, but had fallen out of during the pandemic.

Going through classes again was interesting, and as useful as the training was, it was more about immersing myself into the community and meeting people.

This led to the opportunity to audition for a "house team" called VHS, who I now see and perform and socialise with twice a week.

They're all excellent people, and it's as much luck that I got paired up with them as it is a result of my plotting and scheming.

Improv of course isn't for everyone – or maybe it shouldn't even be for anyone, really – but it's a good example of how classes, hobbies and trying new things can help you create a social life.

Say yes to things and be vulnerable

My only other tip is to leave yourself open to opportunities and to not be afraid to say yes to things.

The best example I have of this is mentioning that I'd love to try playing the popular nerd game Dungeons and Dragons on a queer radio show that I was being interviewed on.

When the host of the show, Ruby, then asked me if I'd like to join a game with their friends, I passed it off as merely being polite. But I was lucky enough that Ruby actually took the time to follow up months later – and this time I said yes, despite feeling like it was a risk.

I cannot stress how much I didn't know this person, and how wary I was. Now they're someone I treasure.

What started off as meeting a bunch of strangers for an introductory game of nerdery turned into a friendship group for me.

We've expanded from a monthly game into movie nights, going to the theatre, supporting each other's projects. We've gone away to the beach for the weekend. It might not sound like much, but it's important to me.

They're also all queer and gender diverse like myself, so they've also become a key part of my community.

I feel extremely blessed to have found my people in a new city, and proud that I put in the work. It's been two years — almost to the day — and Melbourne feels like home.