In February I published Love and Salt, a book of letters I wrote with my friend Amy Andrews, and found myself in the uncomfortable position of being expected to talk and write about the subject of friendship.
I’ve become something of an expert on the topic. I can quote Cicero and Aristotle and Montaigne and Lewis on the subject. I can tell you stories of great friendships in literature, from Ruth and Naomi to Frodo and Samwise. I can even call up statistics that show friendship is on the decline in the digital age and a scientific study that posits women are biologically hardwired to make friends.
But here’s my dirty little secret: my knowledge is all academic. The truth is, I’m not a very good friend. Growing up, my closest and most treasured friend was a long-distance pen pal I only saw a couple of times a year. Thirty years later, nothing has changed but the pen pal.