Today I spent time with two former colleagues—Jim and George—as well as George's wife, Susie. I worked with these two wonderful gentlemen more than a decade ago. How I managed to insert myself into this duo to make it a trio is beyond me. Jim and George have much in common: similar age, similar education, similar career path, many common friends and acquaintances, and both male. I, on the other hand, am younger, studied something completely different, followed a different career route, know few of the people they know, and am female.

On the surface, the one thing we have in common is that we all worked in the same section of the same department for three years. If I dig a little deeper, though, I see that we have similar values, similar perspectives, and similar senses of humour. We click.

Jim and George are incredibly caring, respectful and supportive. As I noted after our first visit, I feel safe, cherished and welcomed when I'm with them. And as I commented on our second visit, people who nurture, validate, serve, entertain and love us are like sunshine on a spring day, a walk in the woods, a warm fire for cold toes, a satisfying meal, and long hugs. I enjoyed these same pleasures today (except that it was fall instead of spring).

It was also marvelous to visit with Susie—to pick up the thread of a story I had heard eight months ago. Among the things we chatted about today was the importance of having friends from different generations. Once a week, she meets an older friend. Perhaps friends are friends not simply because of what they have in common, but also because of what they differ on: similarities are reassuring; differences are interesting.

Susie also talked about traditions, including an annual bonfire that she and George host on New Year's Eve with their family. This year will be the 49th such bonfire.

It got me wondering how many times you have to do something before it becomes a tradition? Three times to prove that the first two times weren't flukes? Twice because that's all you need to start a streak? Once if you're intentional about repeating the occasion? Traditions help to strengthen the bonds of relationships. They give people a reason to come together and a focus when they do. They make it easier to ensure that schedules will align ("We always go to George and Susie's on New Year's Eve."). They relieve all parties from the burden of formal invitations ("We'll see you in the spring!"). And they take away any uncertainty that one might feel ("Am I expected to bring something?").

Many friendships develop among people who, initially, didn't have to make any effort to see each other regularly: they worked in the same company or department, or studied in the same school, or volunteered for the same organization. Why do some relationships endure—moving from colleagues, classmates or fellow volunteers to friends—while others fade? Is it chemistry, shared values, bonding over a similar experience? Is it tradition? Is it the commitment of the individuals involved? It's all of these, but I believe that commitment is the most important—a sentiment that the relationship is good for both people and worth the effort to keep it going.

As we sat around the fire today, George told a story about having once gone to his doctor and having received a prescription to "get outside." In the past three years, I've never asked any of my doctors for a prescription beyond the drugs they've already ordered, but if I had, a wise doctor might have said: "make friends." Sure, it takes time to nurture friendships, just as it takes time to get outside, but the rewards are immense.