How I used the internet to make friends after moving cities
During the sticky, humid days of August in Montréal, I spent a lot of time air drying my hair on the balcony of my 2nd-floor bedroom.
The room overlooked a picturesque street, lined with European-style duplexes, large trees and tall green lamp posts. Porch staircases doubled as outdoor living rooms for families… often cluttered with vines, plants and children's toys.
I had moved to Montréal, and into that short-term sublet, with zero plans. I had no friends in the city, no traditional job waiting for me and very little idea of what the new chapter would bring my way. It was a risk that I had to convince myself would pay off in the long run — even though I wasn’t sure if it would.
That summer, I formed a habit of stepping out onto the balcony immediately after waking up. I had never lived in a bedroom with a balcony before. Mostly because affording any type of enjoyable luxury back in Toronto was impossible. But here, in that $570/month sublet, it was much more attainable to have “nice things.”
At least once a day (sometimes for hours at a time), I watched as couples, families and friends walked down Champagneur Av. I overheard bursts of joy, screaming toddlers, loud bus drivers and everything in between. Occasionally, strangers would look up, smile, and wave at me as I sat on the wonky patio chair that came with the room. I always had my feet up, resting on the small wood table; mason jar of water or coffee in hand.
I was that girl.
As comforting and enjoyable as it was to people-watch my mornings or evenings away, there were times when it created a nauseating pit in my stomach.
I wondered:
How do I transition from watching other people live their lives to living my own? Did I move here expecting to build a whole new life from scratch… on a time crunch? How am I going to make any friends in just a few weeks? Will it always feel this lonely? Should I approach strangers that look nice? Is that weird? Does anyone even want new friends during COVID?
Those were just some of the anxiety-inducing thoughts that raced through my mind regularly.
One Saturday afternoon, I stepped out on the balcony and watched as a group of friends talked in French. They were carrying tote bags, coolers and wicker baskets. I had no idea where they were going or what their plans were, but in my mind, they were on their way to the park.
“I want that so bad,” is what I thought to myself, as I shoved half of a cold bagel in my mouth.
And “that,” to me was much more than a park picnic. It was a sweet summer with people that I genuinely connected with. People that wouldn’t fade away with the humidity as the leaves turned from green to burnt orange and red.
I wanted people and experiences that would make my time in Montréal memorable. I wanted stories I could tell for years and I wanted photo proof of it all to remember it happened. Most of all, I wanted a reason to stick around. That’s what your twenties are meant for, right?
Occasionally, I would walk over to the nearby park on St. Viateur Av. and take a book with me.
Rarely did I even turn one page while there.
Mainly, it was just another way for me to observe the people in my neighbourhood. Depending on the time of day, I would witness outdoor exercise classes for seniors, couples enjoying bottles of wine post-work, friends sharing snacks and dogs catching frisbees mid-air.
It was so visibly obvious that despite the chaos of the last few years, everyone around me was happy to be alive and living. After the brutal hit of the pandemic, summer in Montreal felt like a vacation, and I saw joy in all forms everywhere I went.
And yet, I was all alone. And lacking the somewhat admirable social skills I had before we went into lockdown after lockdown.
At a time when people were leaping into the arms of their loved ones to have long-awaited reunions, I had packed up all my things and moved to a new city by myself.
Over the years, I’ve grown to appreciate my alone time. But as the sun hit my skin, day after day, I wanted nothing more than to share company with someone new before the seasons changed. I had moved as a challenge to myself, to see how capable I was of starting over and building a new life.
I used my time at the park, and on my balcony, to fantasize about what it would be like to have a group of friends to enjoy those fleeting moments with.
On a random Wednesday, I woke up and decided that new people weren’t going to magically appear around me.
I tried small talking with baristas, using Bumble BFF and complimenting strangers on the street. But nothing stuck. I got stood up, a lot more than once, and I started to take it personally.
It was time to try something different.
I filmed myself asking for friends in Montréal. I pitched myself as a 24-year-old writer with a love for cafés, museums, restaurants, etc.
And then, bam. I posted it on the internet.
It doesn’t get any more Gen-Z than that.
Don’t hold it against me though – I’m definitely still a millennial.
That night, I got 3 comments on the video that I shared on TikTok. I thought to myself, “Finally. 3 potential new friends.” The odds seemed way better than anything else I had previously tried.
And by the time I woke up, there were more than 300 comments. I had dozens of messages and requests for hangouts. I even noticed strangers making friends with other strangers in the comment section of the video.
Not guna lie, it was overwhelming.
Just the day prior, I knew nobody my age in the city. Overnight, I had people inviting me to their BBQs, birthdays, city adventures and more.
I knew I had to take the connection further. I couldn’t let the momentum slip away. Somehow, I had direct access to hundreds of people that were struggling to make genuine friendships. It was so much bigger than me.
I wanted to build something that wouldn’t disappear a day or two after being posted. I wanted to build and foster community.
Thus, Montréal Friends was born – a Facebook group (yeup, I still use Facebook), where everyone that saw the video could join. The idea wasn’t exactly original, but I had a gut feeling that it had the power to change people’s lives.
I encouraged folks to share brief intros or any plans that they maybe want someone to join them for. Only a few days after the group was created, I started getting messages and photos from people who were meeting up – and not only meeting up but having a good time.
I, on the other hand, had no clue where to even start. I scrolled through the comments and messages over and over, having very little idea of how to pick who to meet up with first.
After hours and hours of processing, I decided to organize a park hangout.
I posted about it in the Facebook group (which had about 200 group members at the time). I didn’t know if anyone would show up though, especially since I posted about it a few hours before the meet-up.
I brought a few bags of chips and sat on a patch of grass with low expectations.
But one by one, incredible humans arrived carrying snacks, drinks, smiles and open hearts — all from different walks of life and different parts of the world… even as far as Morocco.
It ended up being the most wholesome and amazing evening. We talked horoscopes, love, work, family, life experiences, dreams, you name it.
It’s wild to think that a random decision of posting a video online led to that.
From then on, I found myself hosting weekly hangouts in parks all around the city. I became the girl carrying a tote bag full of snacks, laughing on sidewalks with new friends and meeting strangers for coffees, dinners, ice-cream.
The excitement and friendships I so desperately craved entered my life in one large swoop and didn’t slow down for even a second.
Sure, I didn’t vibe with every single person I met, but it didn’t matter. Meeting new people, especially after having a chunk of my twenties gone to the pandemic, felt exhilarating.
“I am so far out of my comfort zone. I’m really proud of myself,” is what I wrote in my journal.
So much so that once my short-term sublet came to an end, I signed a 10- month lease. In my gut, I knew this spontaneous and not-so-unique way of making new friends was a big part of the reason I chose to stay.
I kept the weekly hangouts going, and before I knew it, it was November.
I invited people from the Facebook group I created to my new home for a housewarming. As I looked around at the internet strangers-turned-friends, gathered in my apartment, I thought to myself, “How did I pull this off?”
I think back to the moments I spent people-watching from my old apartment balcony, hoping for exactly what I’ve been living for the past 8 months and imagining what it would feel like. Having a home packed with warmth and friendly faces (and all of it documented on a disposable film camera, of course), was truly a reminder that somehow, I’m capable of creating and curating the life I want.
But more than that, I realized that myself and the 15 other 20-something-year-olds in my apartment, we weren’t all that different. We craved the same thing — connection. And we were tired of waiting around, sitting on balconies, in parks, in cafés, hoping to find others in the same shoes.
That common ground was enough for each of us to let go of the insecurities, anxieties and doubts we had about putting ourselves out there. Was it completely logical to invite people I barely knew into my new home? You know the answer to that one.
But all of us, not just me, chose to trust in the idea that sometimes being vulnerable has rewards. In this case, it resulted in friendships. The kind that everyone tells you your 20s is all about. And even when those eventually fade, it won’t change how much better life was for all of us in that moment and in this chapter.
