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outlooks,” he says. “Think about what’s important to you, then find others in the same boat. Join those activities, troll those sites. Then relax. Be your generous self. You’ll meet others like you.”
    Sensing my let’s-get-out-there-right-now attitude, Cacioppo issues a quick warning. “If you are looking too urgently—if you’ve got to find your best friend
today
—it probably won’t go as well. You may find people who will betray you or disappoint you. A person can tell the difference between someone who desperately wants to be her friend and latches on right away and someone who seems cool and laid back about it.” Was he on my date with Heidi and Michelle? “You have to have the right frame of mind. Give it time.”
    Not to worry, I tell him. I’m giving myself a whole year.
    Once I find people I connect with, Cacioppo says one of the best ways to upgrade the relationship from friends to best friends is to venture out of our natural habitat. “It’s like marriage,” he says. “Too often we fall into a routine that makes a relationship stale. Research suggests doing things that are ridiculous. Sharing that kind of experience promotes bonding. The same is true for friendship. You might meet friends in the places you enjoy—like a book club—but then you want to get them outside of that safe environment. Go bowling or dancing. Those are the kind of friendship-building activities you need.”
    Got it.
    As for my master plan, the whole fifty-two-dates-over-a-year thing, Cacioppo is skeptical. “It’s a lot to take on,” he says. “Friendship brings responsibilities and obligations. If you’re tending too many, you may not have time to get really close to any of them.”
    Too many friends? That’s what I call a high-class problem.
    Cacioppo adds a final thought. One that is apparently supposed to make me feel better. “Finding a best friend is a low probability for anyone. But you only need one or two to ward off loneliness. What you’re doing is smart, but it will be hard.”
    Believe me, I know.

    Just after my date with Hannah, I somehow landed an invitation to a second book club. Matt’s coworker Natalie, who I met at a wine-tasting fund-raiser, organizes this one. She mentioned it at the benefit and Matt immediately chimed in.
    “Rachel’s been looking for a book club,” he said. “She’s obsessed.” Obviously he’d forgotten that I just found one.
    “You should come,” Natalie told me. “We’re reading
Olive Kitteridge.
”
    Committing to two clubs a month seemed ambitious. My schedule is getting pretty full between the weekly girl-dates, my yoga classes, and, hopefully soon, follow-up dates. Making friends is a full-time job. The problem is that I already have a full-time job. And let’s just forget crazy notions like spending time with my husband during our first year of marriage.
    Against my better judgment, I agreed. I can read two books a month, and double the book clubs means twice the potential BFFs.
    As I read through people’s responses to the next meeting’s Evite, I get the feeling I’m going to be the youngest person there. By about ten years. “I’ll be there if I am feeling well and Bill can watch the little one,” says one member. “Sorry,we’re taking the kids to meet their great-grandparents,” says another.
    I was wrong. I’m the youngest person here by only five years, but they feel like important ones. Three of the members have two children (one woman brought her five-week-old while I brought two bottles of pinot grigio), one is a school principal, another mentions her upcoming tenth anniversary. There’s lots of chatter about breast-feeding, composting, and second children. I chime in when the conversation turns to
The Biggest Loser
and
Twilight.
    Eventually one woman, Anne, starts talking about the guy she’s dating, a law student. Much more my territory. They finally had the age talk she says, which had been weighing on her for weeks.
    “What