I told her I had a few things left on my bucket list. She told me my life was a bucket list. I pulled my pen from my pocket, scribbled that down in my dog-eared little notebook. It seemed clever at the time. Like that one time when a friend told me she thought of me as Indiana Jones with a camera, a thought that made me smile for a week. Who doesn’t love Indiana Jones?

What makes me recall these details so fondly is that I, of course, want these fantasies to be true as much as anyone else does. I’m surrounded by friends who are one martini away from being James Bond, or one adventure short of being Ernest Shackleton. My friends are hard to connect with. It’s recently taken me a couple weeks to get something I needed from a friend because ...

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