I’ve been thinking about how friendships change over time. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene kind of way. Just quietly. Gradually. Almost invisibly.
If you look closely, you’ll notice there are different kinds of friends in your life. Not better or worse. Just different. And understanding that difference saves you a lot of confusion.
Some people are leaves.
They show up in a particular season. A new job. A new city. A new phase of life. You see them almost every day. You share inside jokes. Late-night conversations. Coffee breaks. Maybe even secrets. It feels solid because it’s consistent.
But leaves don’t stay forever.
When the season changes, they drift. Not because anyone did anything wrong. Not because there was betrayal or drama. Just because life shifted. The shared context disappeared. The daily proximity faded. And what felt permanent turns out to have been tied to a moment.
It’s easy to resent leaf friends. To wonder why they didn’t fight harder to stay. But leaves aren’t meant to survive winter. They were never built for that. They were there to add color while the sun was out.
Then there are branches.
Branches are stronger. They can hold weight. You can lean on them. They’ve seen you struggle. They’ve been around longer. They’re present across multiple seasons.
Branches feel dependable. And often, they are.
But branches can snap under pressure.
Life brings strain—misunderstandings, distance, unmet expectations, personal growth that moves in opposite directions. And sometimes what seemed unbreakable fractures. Not because it was fake. Not because it wasn’t real. But because it wasn’t built to withstand certain storms.
Losing a branch hurts more than losing a leaf. There’s history there. Investment. Shared chapters. When a branch breaks, you feel the crack in your chest.
And then there are roots.
Roots are different.
Roots aren’t loud. They’re not always in your everyday orbit. You might go weeks or months without talking. But when something real happens—when life caves in or opens up in a way that feels too big to hold—you know exactly who to call.
Roots don’t panic when you change. They don’t compete with your growth. They don’t disappear when it’s inconvenient. They’re anchored beneath the surface, steady and unseen, holding you upright even when you don’t realize it.
Roots don’t need constant maintenance to survive. They’re tied to something deeper than shared hobbies or current circumstances. They’re tied to who you are.
The mistake most of us make is expecting every friendship to be a root.
We meet a leaf and expect permanence. We lean on a branch as if it can hold unlimited weight. And when they fall away, we question our worth or our judgment.
But maybe the real wisdom is recognizing people for what they are without demanding they be something else.
Leaves teach you joy in the moment.
Branches teach you resilience and boundaries.
Roots teach you what unconditional really looks like.
If you’re honest, you’ve probably been all three to different people.
You’ve been someone’s leaf—close for a season, then gone.
You’ve been a branch—strong until you couldn’t carry the strain anymore.
And if you’re fortunate, you’ve been a root for someone too. The steady voice. The safe place. The one who stayed.
Life isn’t about collecting the most friends. It’s about recognizing the roots when you find them. Nurturing them. Protecting them. Showing up when it matters.
Because when storms come—and they always do—it’s not the leaves that hold you up. It’s not even the branches.
It’s the roots.
And if you look at your life right now, even in the quiet moments, you’ll probably realize something comforting:
You don’t need many.
You just need a few that go deep.
Kenrick Vaz 