I often wondered what it would be like when children entered into my social picture, but I never imagined that it would happen so quickly and with so many of my friends at the same time. Some days it feels as though the spontaneity and fun of life is no longer an option, short of me running out and finding new friends who are childless and more adventurous than my parental friends. You see, for my friends who have been graced with children, there has arisen a pervasive sense of preoccupation with these new lives, and rightfully so. Understandable, because these new lives are utterly dependent on my friends outpouring care and love. But this means that there is less energy and less fun to go around for me and for the things we have built our memories of friendship upon.

Child-centric preoccupation, which most of my friends now seem to have, hit me for the first time when my wife and I, having just returned from a year abroad in London, attended a weekend reunion with old best friends at Balboa Island, Calif. What was long anticipated as a weekend of late nights, deep conversations, filled with good food and drink, turned out to be a weekend of watching their kids and trying to muster up amazement at their heartfelt attempts to walk, talk and play. Surely these are amazing events, and I really do enjoy them, but personally, they didn’t compare to the old times where we could sit and discuss politics together. Further, not that my stories of the last year were that important, but limiting our London musings to five minutes hardly seemed enough, but with children starving for “momma’s finest,” everything gets put on hold.

Meanwhile, my wife and I find ourselves drawn closer together, and to some of our single friends who have more time and energy for doing dinner and grabbing coffee on random occasions. It is just easier, and frankly more gratifying to be with friends who can carry on a conversation and who are interested in us.

The challenge is much deeper, because we know that we are being called into a more empathic friendship beyond ourselves, where we find new “common ground” with our old friends -- even though they seem so different now. This is hard, because it means letting go of what was and taking hold of something very new and different, something far less predictable.

One friend, Heath Green, who is completing his Ph.D. in clinical psychology, and who just became a proud father, stopped by our place on the way home from work the other day. He confessed his tough day, and his lack of energy for heading home to relieve his wife who takes the afternoon shift with their daughter. As he began to “unload” all of his frustrations, some resulting from the complications of his new role, my wife and I listened. Both of us were struck with how many of life’s balls he had in the air, and how relatively successful he was despite the seemingly nonstop multi-tasking he was doing. In the midst of this conversation, as I was attempting to hear him, I began to hear myself more clearly. My heart for my friend began to speak, and I could hear some of the ways I could be a true friend, and much of it related to my willingness to go and do for him what he needed, rather than concentrating solely on what I wanted.

The following day, I was heading off to the local coffee shop, where I used to meet Heath and get caught up. Before I left, I called him to see if he would join me, and as expected he couldn’t. He was in the middle of his morning session with his little girl, Olivia, who has been very reluctant to take the bottle, especially from him. She was crying and frustrating him immensely, and he was afraid to be in public at the coffee shop with a screaming baby, whom he could not control. As I was hanging up the phone with him, apologizing for yet another missed opportunity, he said: “You know, you could bring coffee and bagels to my place.” I hesitated and said, “Yeah, that’s a possibility...I’ll see if I have time.” As I drove toward the coffee shop, thinking about reading the paper and drinking a cup of my favorite blend, I had this gnawing sense that times had changed, and it was time for me to change, and meet my friends where they are in their new roles as parents, albeit much less centered on me.

I picked up the bagels and coffee and headed over to his place for an hour of playtime with Olivia. In turn, Heath was able to grab a quick shower and breakfast while I played my role as “Uncle” Scott, with his daughter. I have found that times have changed; maybe I am just a little slow to change, too.