Podcast Thoughts from the School Pickup Line

There’s something sacred about the school pickup line. Okay my son isn’t at a school that ha a pick up line its more that he was taking a class at the college and cant drive yet.

 The engine is off. The world is muted. No one is asking where their shoes are. It’s just me, my thoughts, and a few quiet minutes that feel like finding a twenty dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. A tiny treasure. A “me moment.” I’ll take it.

Today, instead of scrolling, I turned on the The Holderness Family Podcast. I love the way Penn Holderness and Kim Holderness talk about ADHD, menopause, marriage, and parenting without polishing it into something shiny and fake. They let it be messy. Honest. Human.

It feels like sitting at a kitchen table with friends who aren’t trying to win gold medals in “Most Put Together.”

Today’s episode was about creating friendships.

And it hit a little deeper than I expected.

When we lived in Washington state, I had a village. A real one. The kind where you could text, “Can you grab my kid?” and the answer was yes before you even finished typing. I had moved away from family, so I built support from scratch. And somehow, it felt easier back then.

Maybe it was the season of life.

When you have small kids, friendship is practically speed dating. You bond over goldfish crackers and sleep deprivation. You stand shoulder to shoulder at the park while your toddlers negotiate over the same shovel, and suddenly you’re swapping stories about teething and Target meltdowns. Survival creates connection. Tiny humans are social glue.

Then came the move to Arizona.
And the move during Covid.

Which felt less like planting roots and more like tossing seeds into a windstorm.

Suddenly, there were no casual chats at preschool pickup. No lingering after church. No birthday parties packed with moms balancing cupcakes and pop. The world shrank. Doors closed. And building friendships started to feel like trying to make sourdough without starter.

Now my kids are older. They don’t need me hovering at the playground. They disappear into friend groups of their own. Which is beautiful. And also… disorienting.

Because where do moms go when we’re not orbiting the sandbox?

It’s funny how friendship changes shape over time. When we’re young, it feels automatic. Proximity does most of the work. In adulthood, especially after a move, it requires intention. Courage. Awkward first invitations. “Hey, do you want to grab lunch?” texts that feel weirdly vulnerable.

And if you’re like me, with an ADHD brain that can hyper-focus on literally everything except texting someone back in a timely manner, it adds another layer. You love people deeply. You think about them often. But translating that into consistent connection can feel like juggling while riding a unicycle.

The podcast reminded me that friendships aren’t just found. They’re cultivated. Slowly. Like desert plants here in Arizona. They don’t look dramatic at first. But give them time, a little water, and stubborn hope, and they bloom in ways that surprise you.

Maybe this season isn’t about recreating the exact village I had in Washington. Maybe it’s about building a different one. One lunch. One conversation. One brave invite at a time.

And maybe it’s also about giving myself grace.

Because starting over is hard.
Making friends as an adult is weird. (Won’t lie love those videos that say “If adults made friends the same way our children do.”)
And doing it post-pandemic, with teenagers, hormones, ADHD, and a calendar that looks like a game of Tetris? That’s Olympic-level life.

But I’m still here. Still showing up. Still pressing play on podcasts that make me feel less alone.

And in a matter of minutes the quiet is ending.

But for a few minutes in a parking lot in Arizona, I remembered something important:

Villages can be rebuilt.
Connection is still possible.
And sometimes friendship starts with simply being honest about wanting it.