It feels like a constant throughout my life, a familiar comfort in a changing world. Growing up, everyone around me seemed to already *know* things, creating a subtle distance. It was a feeling of being on the outside looking in.
Over the years, I’d occasionally catch snippets of *Friends* during reruns, always entertaining, but never truly captivating. That changed when I was fifteen, relentlessly persuaded by my aunt to give the first season a proper chance one summer.
I devoured all ten seasons, completely enraptured. The nineties aesthetic, now experiencing a revival, felt strangely familiar. The oversized coffee cups, the effortless friendships, the iconic fashion – it all resonated deeply. I especially loved discussing favorite storylines with my cousin, a fellow television enthusiast; it was the first show that truly bonded us.
The characters were supposedly in their mid-twenties, which felt impossibly grown-up to my fifteen-year-old self. Yet, it offered a glimpse into a future that felt both attainable and intriguing. It began to shift my perspective on what life could actually be.
My previous understanding of adulthood, shaped by shows like *Pretty Little Liars*, was wildly unrealistic. I’d assumed everyone would be settled with a family by twenty-five, not navigating life’s uncertainties in a coffee shop. *Friends* revealed a more honest truth: adulthood isn’t about having all the answers, it’s about figuring it out along the way.
Like Chandler’s career change, my own father reinvented himself professionally in his late twenties. While I knew it had been successful for him, I’d always considered it unusual. *Friends* normalized the idea that life rarely follows a straight path, and that it’s okay to redefine your goals.
Beyond offering a pre-emptive reality check about my twenties, *Friends* connected with me on a deeply personal level. Despite not being born when the show first aired, its nuanced themes about family truly resonated. It consistently portrayed ‘unconventional’ families with sensitivity and grace.
From Ross’s co-parenting with his ex-wife Carol, to Phoebe’s surrogacy, and Rachel’s journey as a single mother, *Friends* championed diverse family structures. Then, Monica and Chandler’s struggle with infertility and their eventual adoption journey struck a particularly profound chord.
Having always known I was adopted, I found their storyline incredibly moving. Growing up, mainstream television rarely depicted adoption with such honesty. I was able to see parallels to my own life, even though the show had ended long before I was aware of it.
Like Rachel and Joey, my parents’ friends had written letters of support before my adoption, a gesture I knew about but hadn’t fully appreciated. Seeing it portrayed on screen brought the effort and love surrounding my adoption into sharp focus. It fostered a new level of gratitude for my parents.
Whether you discovered *Friends* in its original run or, like me, later on, its enduring appeal is undeniable. It seamlessly blended lighthearted humor with moments of genuine depth and relatable emotion. That balance is what made it so special, and what I’ll miss most now that it’s leaving its streaming home.
It’s important to acknowledge that *Friends* isn’t without its flaws. The all-white main cast and some insensitive jokes, particularly those targeting Monica’s past weight and a neighbor, are undeniable. Thankfully, I grew up in a time where these issues were being openly discussed and challenged.
I was shocked by some of the humor, and grateful to have been raised with a critical lens. While a reboot isn’t necessary, I hope a modern reimagining would be more inclusive and sensitive. The loss of easy access to *Friends* will be felt by many, and I’m certainly among them.
It was a comforting constant, a show that never lost its charm. As I approach my mid-twenties, I hope to continue finding reassurance in Monica, Phoebe, Rachel, Joey, Chandler, and Ross, reminding me that life doesn’t have to be stuck in neutral.
The beauty of *Friends* lies in its ability to make you laugh while simultaneously offering a poignant reflection of life’s complexities. It’s a timeless quality that will stay with me long after the final episode fades to black.
