Once a year, usually in early February when the calendar is otherwise fairly bare, ten of us get together. We’re all men, all old friends, and for many of us this weekend is the only time we see each other all year. Twelve months can pass without so much as a coffee, yet within minutes of arriving it’s as if no time has passed at all. The same jokes resurface, the same roles re-emerge, and the same easy rhythm takes hold almost instantly.
It’s always struck me how remarkable that is. In most areas of life, long gaps lead to awkwardness or distance. But with old friends, something deeper seems to persist. The scaffolding of shared history is still there, waiting quietly, ready to be stepped back into.
What’s also interesting is that this group is, on the whole, very health conscious. Everyone exercises regularly. A couple are still competing in triathlons. We talk about training, injuries, recovery, sleep scores, and the latest marginal gains. And yet, when we’re together for this weekend, all of that discipline goes out of the window.
We eat too much beige food. We drink too much wine. We go to bed far too late. We sleep badly. Objectively, from a narrow physiological perspective, it’s not a particularly healthy few days.
And yet, paradoxically, it feels profoundly nourishing.
There’s laughter — the kind that leaves you breathless. There are long conversations that drift from nonsense to meaning and back again. There’s the quiet comfort of being fully yourself, without performance or explanation. And when the weekend ends, everyone leaves tired but buoyant, lighter somehow, even if a little heavier.
This isn’t just sentimentality. There’s a growing body of evidence from psychology, sociology, and neuroscience that points in the same direction: strong, positive relationships are one of the most powerful predictors of long-term happiness and wellbeing. Not wealth. Not status. Not professional achievement. Not even perfect health metrics.
We’re remarkably good at getting this wrong. As a society, we often pursue money, power, or recognition with the assumption that happiness will follow. But time and again, studies show that beyond a basic level of security, those things add surprisingly little. What consistently matters most is connection: feeling known, valued, and part of something larger than yourself.
From a biological perspective, this makes sense. Humans are social creatures. Our nervous systems evolved in communities, not in isolation. Shared laughter, physical presence, and emotional safety all reduce stress hormones and activate pathways associated with resilience and contentment. In other words, that weekend of laughter and friendship may well do more for long-term health than a perfectly optimised diet ever could.
That doesn’t mean lifestyle choices don’t matter — of course they do. But it does suggest that health is broader than steps, macros, or VO₂ max. A life well lived isn’t just about minimising risk; it’s about maximising meaning.
So here’s a gentle challenge. Think of someone you haven’t spoken to in a while — an old friend, a former colleague, someone you once felt close to. Send a message. Suggest a coffee. Arrange a walk. See how it feels.
Chances are, you’ll be surprised by how quickly you slip back into that old rhythm — and by how good it feels to do so.