#14 - One thing I learned about friendship

and what to expect in 2025

Hi friends, and welcome to the first newsletter of 2025.

As you’ve probably noticed, I have renamed this newsletter. The aesthetic is inspired by British folklore, which is having a huge cultural revival at the moment but also happens to be something I relate to on a deeper level. Its tradition of storytelling and connection felt like a fitting backdrop.

This year, I’d really like to hear from you. So if you are reading this, I’d love to know more about your friendship dilemmas. Feel free to leave a comment at the bottom of this post or write to me directly. My email address hasn’t changed in 15 years: alicerizzo@hotmail.fr.

Finally, I’m excited to announce a new collaboration: a modern-day pen-pal experiment with Charlie Rumsby, who is a lecturer at Sussex University. Together, we’ll be exchanging letters—part personal reflections, part philosophical musings—and sharing them with you. At this stage, I have no idea how this will turn out, so it’s exciting and scary at the same time. Charlie tells you more about it over here.

Recently, my partner pointed out that I might not be best placed to talk about friendship. He said, and I quote, that I constantly ‘push people away’. I disagreed but still, his comment made me pause and think: why am I best placed to talk about friendship? And perhaps more importantly, why should you, the reader, believe me?

There is one simple straightforward answer to this: I care about it. Probably more than most. For much of my life, I’ve felt as though others didn’t get me. But maybe that’s because I didn’t get others. Writing this newsletter is my way of committing to that understanding.

When I started this project eight months ago, I was looking for a close friend—someone I could share more with than just a few pints at the pub. I approached it with the same mindset I’d use for finding a new job: I was looking for someone who matched my values, skills, and long-term goals. I was convinced that if I put in the effort, this ideal friend would find me too.

But nothing would do: that connection I was looking for wasn’t there, no matter how hard I tried. Friendship as an adult is very strange. I still struggle to concede having to plan a meet-up three weeks ahead of time. I dream of the spontaneity of ringing someone on the day to grab a coffee. I would absolutely love for you to turn up at my house uninvited.

Over time, I figured that, much like a romantic partner, a good friend often comes along when you least expect it. It doesn’t mean you are not worthy of a deep platonic connection, it just means you haven’t found that person yet. And I’ve learned that you can’t really control that. Accepting and letting go is liberating.

Then in November last year, I attended the Lewes Bonfire, an event I’d long wanted to photograph. I arrived in the afternoon to explore the town before the evening chaos, then headed to my Airbnb. I was greeted by Kate, the host, a lovely woman who’s calm energy instantly put me at ease.

There was a fire lit in the kitchen, and she was making chili con carne. Then, the gentle strum of a guitar floated in from the garden. It turned out Daisy Rickman, a folk musician I knew of was staying in the house next door. It was definitely a sign, I thought. Another guest was spending the night, Charlie. We had dinner together before heading to the bonfire.

In the morning, I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Charlie but I had a feeling we would cross paths again. A few days later, we agreed to a little experiment: we would engineer a modern-day epistolary exchange. She describes it in more detail over here. Charlie, who is a lecturer at Sussex University, has the rare gift of turning simple words into elevated sentences. She is perceptive and a very good listener.

As a child, I vaguely remember having had a pen pal. I was around nine years old and I wrote to someone living in Canada. I remember choosing blue paper to write my letter and including pressed flowers I had picked from the schoolyard. I can’t recall their name or our conversation, but I remember the joy of choosing my words carefully and sending them across the ocean.

Right now, I have no idea how this experiment will turn out. It is both exciting and scary. I guess, that’s what’s called ‘trusting the process’ and you, the reader, will see it unfold right before your eyes.