It is strange that friendships, which nourish and sustain us and often provide our deepest source of connection, lack the sort of standards that are routine in romantic relationships

I have this friend, Sarah. Since meeting in our thirties, we’ve shared many of life’s essentials: hairdressers, dog-walkers, phobias (airplanes and mice), health scares, worries over our kids, and insomnia caused by husbands who snore. But lately I’m aware that whenever Sarah calls I feel a tightness in my chest and, more often than not (thanks to caller ID), I don’t pick up the phone. I feel guilty, but that’s preferable to spending hours listening to Sarah complain. I’ve been meaning to tell her how I feel, but I haven’t quite worked up the nerve. (suite…)