Why Your Friend Group Should Start a Podcast

Not for the money. Not for the followers. Because someday, you might want these conversations back.

I think your friend group should start a podcast.

Yes, yours.

And I already know the first objection.

There are too many podcasts.

I agree.

Everybody has one.

There are podcasts about movies, dating, sports, parenting, true crime, reality TV, books, video games, relationships, celebrities, business, food and probably podcasts reviewing other podcasts.

The world does not desperately need another podcast.

But maybe you do.

Because I’m not suggesting you start one so you can become famous.

I’m suggesting you start one because you’re already having conversations with people you love.

Why not save some of them?

You’re already doing the podcast

Think about what happens when your friend group gets together.

Someone starts telling a story about work.

That reminds somebody of something that happened on a trip five years ago.

Now someone is telling a dating story.

Then you’re talking about a show everybody is watching.

Twenty minutes later, you’re debating something completely unrelated and nobody remembers how the conversation got there.

Someone tells a story everyone has heard 15 times.

Everyone complains that they’ve heard it 15 times.

Then everyone listens to it again.

That’s the show.

You don’t need to find chemistry between the hosts.

You’re friends. The chemistry is already there.

You already know everyone’s personality.

You know who’s going to derail the conversation.

You know who remembers every detail.

You know who remembers absolutely nothing correctly but tells the story with enough confidence that everyone starts questioning their own memory.

You have years of history.

Inside jokes.

Old stories.

Shared experiences.

You don’t need to invent a dynamic for the microphone.

You’ve been building one for years.

I grew up in the ’90s

And I loved it.

I genuinely think it was the best decade to grow up in.

But there’s something about it that makes me a little sad now.

We didn’t have cameras in our pockets.

Of course cameras existed.

Our parents took pictures.

Someone brought a camcorder to special events.

There are photo albums and VHS tapes somewhere.

But nobody was documenting ordinary life the way we do now.

There wasn’t a phone sitting in your pocket capable of taking thousands of photos and hours of video.

And because of that, so much of my childhood exists almost entirely in my memory.

I can remember being with friends.

I can remember places.

I can remember how certain periods of my life felt.

But I really wish I had more of it.

More pictures.

More videos.

More completely pointless moments that nobody at the time would’ve thought were important enough to record.

I don’t necessarily want footage of some major event.

I’d love five minutes of an ordinary afternoon.

Just people talking.

Laughing.

Doing absolutely nothing important.

Because those are the moments you don’t realize you’re going to miss while you’re living them.

At the time, it’s just Tuesday.

Thirty years later, you’d give almost anything to visit that Tuesday for five minutes.

We can do that now

That’s what makes this generation different.

We have an unbelievable ability to document our lives.

And mostly we use it to photograph food.

Which is fine.

My camera roll is full of food and drinks too for whatever reason.

But think about your phone.

You probably have thousands of pictures.

Vacations.

Weddings.

Concerts.

Pets.

Friends.

Family.

Screenshots you saved four years ago and can no longer explain.

We document what everything looks like.

But how much have you documented what your life sounds like?

Your best friend’s laugh.

The way one person in the group tells a story.

The phrase somebody always says.

The way everyone starts talking over each other when something gets funny.

The completely pointless argument that lasts 25 minutes.

Someone telling a story from childhood you’ve somehow never heard before.

That’s what a podcast can capture.

And that’s the part I think people miss when they hear the word podcast.

It doesn’t have to be a business.

It can be a time capsule.

You don’t even have to publish it

I’m serious.

You could start a podcast and never upload a single episode.

Call it whatever you want.

Sit around a table once a month.

Get some microphones.

Or start with the equipment you already have.

Pick a few things to talk about.

Then press Record.

That’s it.

Maybe you eventually decide to put it online.

Maybe your friends and family listen.

Maybe strangers discover it.

Maybe nobody ever hears it except the people sitting around the table.

It still mattered.

Because you made time for each other.

And that’s another reason I think friend groups should do this.

Adult friendships need a reason to get on the calendar

When you’re young, friendship happens almost automatically.

You’re at school together.

You’re in the same neighborhood.

You see each other constantly.

Then everyone grows up.

Careers happen.

Relationships happen.

Families happen.

People move.

Schedules become ridiculous.

Someone says:

“We all need to get together soon.”

Everyone agrees.

Six months later, you repeat the cycle.

A podcast gives you an excuse.

“We record Monday nights.”

Now it’s on the calendar.

And maybe you’re technically getting together to make a show.

But really?

You’re making time for your friends.

That’s valuable all by itself.

Don’t start by asking how much money you can make

Could a podcast make money?

Sure.

Maybe people start listening.

Maybe you build an audience.

Maybe a clip takes off.

Maybe eventually a sponsor calls.

Maybe your weird little show turns into something none of you expected.

That would be awesome.

Take the opportunity.

Have fun with it.

Buy nicer equipment.

Take the group somewhere.

See where it goes.

You genuinely never know what could happen when you start making something.

But I wouldn’t make that the reason to begin.

Because if your definition of success is “Did this make money?” you’re going to miss the

part that was valuable from the beginning.

You’re spending time together.

You’re creating something together.

You’re having conversations you might not otherwise have.

You’re learning things about people you’ve known for years.

You’re laughing.

And you’re recording it.

That’s already the payoff.

Anything else is a bonus.

Because one day, somebody’s chair will be empty

This is the part I wish we didn’t have to think about.

But we do.

Life changes.

People move away.

Friendships change.

People get married and start families.

Careers take people across the country.

Schedules get harder.

Years move faster than we expect.

And eventually, some of the people we love won’t be here anymore.

That’s not meant to make this sad.

I think it’s a reason to appreciate what we have while we have it.

If you gave me the option right now to listen to an hour of people I love just sitting around talking 20 or 30 years ago, I wouldn’t care what they were discussing.

They could be arguing about what to order for dinner.

I’d listen.

Because it wouldn’t really be about the topic.

I’d want to hear the voices.

The laughs.

The little things you forget.

The things you don’t even realize you’ve forgotten until something suddenly brings them back.

That’s what you’re creating when you record these conversations.

Maybe right now it’s Episode 14 of a little podcast hardly anyone knows exists.

Someday it could be priceless to you.

Imagine listening 30 years from now

That’s the thought that gets me.

Imagine you’re older.

You find an episode you haven’t listened to in decades.

You press Play.

And suddenly you’re back there.

Your friends are younger.

You’re younger.

Someone starts telling a story.

Someone else interrupts.

Someone laughs.

And for the next hour, everybody is back around the same table.

You won’t care how many people listened to the episode.

You won’t care whether you had a sponsor.

You definitely won’t care about the download numbers.

But you’ll remember the people.

And you’ll get to hear them again exactly as they were.

That’s worth recording.

So start the podcast

Don’t wait until you have the perfect microphones.

Don’t spend six months trying to come up with the perfect name or logo.

Don’t worry about whether the internet needs another podcast.

It probably doesn’t.

Do it anyway.

Call your friends.

Sit around a table. Jump on a video call. Whatever works.

Pour some coffee. Open a bottle of wine. Order pizza. Whatever your group does.

Pick a topic.

Or don’t.

Just Press Record.

Talk.

Laugh.

Tell the stories you’ve already told a hundred times.

Ask questions you’ve somehow never asked each other.

Make something together.

If ten people listen, great.

If ten thousand people listen, incredible.

If a sponsor eventually pays you, even better.

But if none of that ever happens?

You still have the episodes.

You still have the memories.

You still have proof that on this particular night, at this particular point in your lives,

everybody made it to the table.

And yes, I practice what I preach. My friends and I have our own podcast,

The Squad Theory Podcast. We talk about different topics each week, give each other a hard time, disagree, laugh and see where the conversation takes us.

If something bigger ever comes from it, that’s great.

But I’m starting to realize we already got something pretty valuable.

We recorded the time.