There seem to be phases in life when you need to go it alone to prove your independence, ponder your path, or just generally figure things out.

These phases, I’ve discovered, are for the young.

By the age of 30, it seems like every one of us Lone Rangers should find not only our Tonto, but an entire posse of sidekicks who will take on the black-hatted bandits that come our way.

Because we no longer mosey through our lives in the Wild West, these modern-day bad guys won’t likely display their holstered weapons for all to see. Instead, they’ll be apt to sneak up on us carrying cancer, divorce and the ordinary daily stresses that feel extraordinary when weighing down collectively on our shoulders at the end of a long day.

We could probably still go it alone if the issues of the mid-life years could be resolved with a quick fix. But the reality is that, as we age, there’s less that can be cured with a round of antibiotics, a single session of counseling, or a day in court.

With these kinds of heart-sinking issues increasingly occupying our thoughts, we need to know that a whole pack of people not only has our back, but our front, and our psyches, too. If these people tote tomahawks or a Dirty Harry glare that wards off evil, even better.

It’s these long-fix issues that my friends and I are now grown-up enough to take on that make me see my connectedness to people in my community as less of a luxury and more of a necessity. Until now, I think I viewed my time with friends as a fun distraction from the daily demands of being a mom, wife and productive citizen. We got together to share a laugh, a chick flick, a glass of chardonnay, Bunco, a book club, or a birthday dinner out.

As much as we’ve enjoyed one another’s company, I can’t say we really needed each other until now. I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment this changed, but it had to have been sometime between one of those bigger-league favor moments – like fetching ear drops in the dead of night at the 24-hour pharmacy for a friend’s screaming child whose dad was away on business – and the first pal’s announcement that she’d need a mastectomy, a divorce attorney, or a eulogy.

This change in our dynamic makes middle age feel a lot like middle school. We’re back to being as vulnerable as we were when we crossed our fingers behind our P.E. uniforms, desperate that a friend would make sure we weren’t the last one picked for the team. We need to know, too, that there will be someone to sit with at lunch, and that someone not related by blood or vows might want to celebrate our birthday.

Only now, in addition to the old themes of friendship, we’re also relying on these friends to make our family dinner if we need to undergo chemo, and still invite us over when divorce means our RSVP status has changed from two to one.

As heavy and dramatic as these challenges are, our friends won’t let them define us. This is why it’s more important than ever that we gather for good causes as well as good fun—if for no other reason than to send a message to our psyche that the bad guys never win.

Our modern day posses may not be outfitted with chaps and spurs, but our white hats are implied as we travel together through life grieving when we need to, supporting because we want to, and, most importantly, celebrating all that we can.

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This column was origninally published in the Times Media, Inc. family of newspapers.