Making friends as an adult is hard

But... will you sign my yearbook?

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I didn’t make this, but I would eat it.

A friend asked me to join a book club 15 years ago. Our group met once, and it never gelled.

I’ve been book club-less ever since.

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Every woman I know seems to be in a well-established book club. They’ve forged meaningful relationships over Trader Joe’s-sourced charcuterie boards, $15 bottles of rose, pretending to have read The Goldfinch, and instead talking marriage, care-giving, sharing their favorite new lipsticks or sunscreens.

I’m typically not a FOMO kind of person, except when it comes to book club. And because I am prone to ruminating, I’ve often wondered:

What’s wrong with me?
Why has no one invited me?
Am I just not book club material?

I mean, of course I am book club material. I not only know how to read, but I read a lot. I write, too! I like cheese! I regularly finish a book and think, if only I could talk to someone about this!

It occurred to me that maybe instead of wallowing, I could just start a book club.

The prospect filled me with excitement— both the good kind and the anxious kind. Inviting other people to join my book club felt a little like getting people to sign my yearbook or running for student council. It’s a nerdy, and requires putting yourself out there. Oh god, what if everyone thinks I’m thirsty for friendship! What if they all say no? Why is this is so embarrassing!

Honestly, it felt like a perfect Hey Eleanor challenge. I went for it.

But first, I identified what I wanted to get out of the experience:

1. Regular hangs with interesting people that I’d like to know better (and talk about all those books I’ve been reading!)

2. Creating a fun-but-low-pressure environment. No need to finish the book, pick your best outfit, serve caviar. Show up as you are.

3. Convenience.

With this clarity, I decided to limit invitees to neighbors.

I started with Chelsea. She lives a few doors down, earned her PhD from USC in sociology and gender studies, wrote this book and this book. I’d be super intimidated by her, except for the fact that she is just so cool and easy to talk to?

One of Chelsea’s books. Get it here.

After a literal month of working up the courage, I asked her to sign my yearbook join my book club, secretly thinking she was too busy for such things. But no! She agreed! And she liked the idea of getting to know our neighbors better, too.

I told her I worried that no one would want to sign my yearbook join my book club, and that I wasn’t sure who to ask. Chelsea pointed out that a club can just be three or four people. (Yes, you’re right! Thank you, Dr!) Keeping it small felt way less overwhelming. Chelsea asked another neighbor. I asked a fourth, who lives a block away, and then a fifth, who reluctantly agreed after I told her it’s going to be super casual and it’s okay if you don’t finish the book.

Chelsea and I picked a book (Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, which in retrospect may have been a bit heavy for meeting numero uno, but we both wanted to read it AND it’s a classic for a reason), and set a date a few weeks into the future.

The day before, I picked up the quintessential Trader Joes’s goods: the fig and olive crisps, the aged gouda, the salumi, the olive tapanade. I chilled a bottle of rose and some fizzy waters, because we all like options. I tried to come up with interesting, thoughtful questions about the book in the event that we actually discussed it. But totally okay if we don’t*!

(*But you know I read the book.)

The morning of, I sent everyone a reminder, worried they’d forgotten as I myself am prone to do.

A sick kid.
A family emergency.
An end of the school year moment of overwhelm.

In the end, it was Chelsea and me, eating cheese, talking about our own books (she has another coming out this fall; overachiever alert!), enjoying a perfect summer evening on the porch.

After she left, I checked in with myself about how the evening hadn’t quite turned out as expected. I worried no one showing up would make me feel like a loser, like when everyone flakes on your birthday. (Anyone remember Carrie Bradshaw’s 35th birthday party?)

But I didn’t feel that way at all.

✅ I still got to hang out with a cool, interesting person I want to know better
✅ I read a book (that we didn’t really talk about anyway!)
✅ We kept it low pressure, and…
✅ It couldn’t have been more convenient

Life happens. June is a busy time of year. How many times have I had to cancel last minute. (Answer: so many times.) And everyone who didn’t make it expressed interest in coming next time. Knowing what I hoped to get out of the experience ahead of time made it easy to not take it personally— it felt successful to me. My favorite kind of hang is a one-on-one hang.

Making friends as an adult is hard, and life has a way of getting in the way. The thing about any sort of lasting friend group is that they must start somewhere, and that somewhere requires time, energy, and probably a few tries.

I haven’t given up. I’ll pick another book, another date, make another charcuterie board.

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What’s the best book you’ve read lately? Any tips for starting/maintaining a book club? Share with the rest of us!