The story

Hey friend, great to see you again. Happy Sunday.

The Anchor

I'm sitting, listening to a red-haired woman in a red dress singing Eric Clapton's "Change the World" with piano, electric bass, and a drum kit backing her up.

My friends beside me are talking. Our three drinks fill the small circular table. I pick up my old-fashioned, the sip goes to my already swirling head.

"It's an anchor!" Steve exclaims.

I tune out the music and tune in to the chat.

For over a decade, I've reunited with Steve and Nick once, then twice a year.

We met over 15 years ago when trying to launch an independent music website called Zygiella. The site failed, the relationship continued, all thanks to this anchor.

It's not a Christmas tradition riddled with obligations or a high school reunion to see whose yearbook predictions came true. It's something different. Something deliberate. Essential.

Psychologists call it a relational ritual: predictable, repeated, bounded experiences that reinforce identity and belonging.

And they might be one of the most underrated ingredients of happiness.

My wife travels with her high school friends every two years to a southern resort. No spouses, no children, just the girls—once teens, now women—reconnecting on a deeper level than daily life permits. The trip has some rules: no kids, no spouses, and the same protection around the time. It's sacred.

Saving Sunday’s own Jon stumbled into his own version after reading A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. The book follows two guys hiking the Appalachian Trail, and it sparked something in him. He discovered Ontario's Bruce Trail—990 kilometres from Niagara to Tobermory—and convinced his friend Devin to start chipping away at it. Five years in, they've covered nearly a third. With two kids now and Devin with one, it's harder to carve out the time, but they still make it out at least once, sometimes twice a year. Jon told me he hopes they don't finish anytime soon. "When the trail ends," he said, "there's nothing left to look forward to."

• Read his entire story at Hike up your happiness

I asked Saving Sundays’ Justin if he had an anchor; he wrote this for us.

Why Anchor events work

Most friendships, even close ones, drift without structure. Life gets chaotic—kids, work, energy dips, logistics. Without a recurring container, even strong bonds decay into "we should really catch up soon."

• Anchor events are different; they remove friction. Your brain doesn't have to coordinate schedules from scratch or wonder if it'll happen. It's already locked in and lowers what psychologists call activation energy—the effort required to get something started.

• Anchor events create scarcity. A golf tournament to honour a fallen friend. A 30-years-and running high school reunion Super Bowl party. A baseball fantasy draft. And scarcity increases perceived value because it is finite, protected, and valuable. Compare that to "let's grab coffee sometime." Without a container, the time keeps drifting further away.

• Anchor events also tie to identity. They're rituals that say, "We’re the people who do this." That reinforces what researchers call narrative continuity, which humans crave. It's why my twice-a-year gathering with Steve and the other guy isn't nostalgia. It's honouring a shared chapter. We built something together, even if it failed. Shared struggle creates deeper bonding than shared convenience.

The difference between routine and ritual

Weekly meetups are routine. Anchor events are identity-reinforcing, rare enough to matter, structured enough to survive; they’re like ceremonies.

The higher the effort, the greater the value.

Oddly enough, Steve, Nick, and I have travelled; we’ve spoken about going to Panama and taking our bi-annual get-together global. If it's too easy, it’s not as special.

Justin's Croft Invitational requires planning, coordination, and a weekend away, where you have to out-plan the planners before they can say no.

Jon's trail hikes demand physical effort and logistical juggling.

My wife's resort trip involves booking flights and clearing calendars months in advance.

That slight inconvenience is part of what makes them matter.

The Pebble
From Croft Invitational

The challenge
Build your Anchor

My wife ran a half-marathon in Nashville last April with her sister and a friend. Together, on the couch in the Airbnb, they decided they would run a half-marathon, over a weekend, every year. If they needed it to be cheap, they’d stay local. Otherwise, they’d travel. The container is the race.

1. Pick the container.

Fixed date or fixed trigger. Super Bowl Sunday. First weekend of June. Annual draft night. Every February 13-15. It must be predictable, non-negotiable, and pre-committed (ideally for years to come).

2. Define the rules.

Steve, Nick, and I started out as beers, blossomed into discovering local neighbourhood beers, and, following a few too many beers, we’re instituting more water breaks.

3. Tie it to identity.

Don't frame it as "we should hang more." Frame it as "this is our annual thing." Name it. Annual Founder Debrief. Old Guard Weekend. Croft Invitational.

4. Lock it in for multiple years.

Ideally, it happens organically, but there’s no harm in saying "let's commit to doing this every year for the next five." The expectation setting makes today’s bond stronger.

5. Make it slightly inconvenient.

Effort signals importance. Travel. Dedicate a full day or weekend. Protect it from other obligations.

If you could create one new anchor event with someone specific, who would it be? And what would the container look like? Reach out to that person. They’re probably looking for one, too. Maybe pass this along to those who do.