My Book: The Salad Days

Conversations on life, loneliness and friendship

I have never considered myself a writer. I was discouraged from becoming a journalist—told that it was a dying field in which I would never make any money. So for years, after university, I wrote mainly in my head until my desire to share ideas threw me back into wordplay. You know the outcome as 52 Friends. 

The first time I considered myself someone worthy of being able to write a book was in December 2022 in my apartment in Miami. It was simply because, after many sleepless nights, I decided that if I wanted to, I could. I was experiencing a sadness so profound that I developed the ability to type 5000 words in two hours only to read back my work weeks later and discover that it was unusable. But the thoughts I managed to jot down acted as the foundation of my writing over the coming months. 

I knew that if I were to write a book, the contents would have to be something I would be incredibly proud of. Something my children would read one day while I told them, “I wrote this in my 20s. I didn’t realize how young I was then.” 

The topics of loneliness and friendship which I have devoted my work to are difficult ones to cover because in the pursuit of understanding such important areas comes an emotional tax. In January 2023 after returning home to Toronto from Miami and finding myself in an unhappy romantic relationship the year prior, I promised that I would spend the year ahead of me meeting people and documenting friendships. 

It is then through hundreds of conversations that I became worried about the state of our social health. People, many of us, have developed a fear of one another. The question to me was not why because the cause is not solely our doing, the better question and the one I wanted to answer was how do we build a friendlier world given the existing circumstances. Through conversations and personal reflection, my book will summarize my year of thinking. 

When I was certain that I would begin writing, I phoned Dr. Ami Rokach. A man who has written tens of books throughout his over 40-year career as a clinical psychologist focusing on loneliness, relationships and sex. He reminded me to think of the reader's experience. I had met so many people but including too many stories could become confusing. There is also a stigma surrounding loneliness and Dr. Rokach forewarned me that some people may not want their stories publicly known. Still, he said, “If you write a book, I’ll write the forward.” 

Finally, there is a feeling that I hope to capture. One of vibrancy and tenacity. Like Coney Island in the summer. In the 50s. Once a month over the next few months, I’ll share an essay that will offer you a glimpse into my book.  

It begins here with an important character, my high school history teacher, Mr. Shaw and an explanation of the book’s title, The Salad Days. 

I remember my first tenth-grade history class with Mr. Shaw because I was unimpressed by him. The word in the hallways was that he was one of the school's best teachers and so naturally I expected to be greeted by an entertainer. Instead, I was met with a man who calmly tried to familiarize himself with each of the students and then played a game where he named a country and asked us to name the capital city. 

Eventually, as I got to know Mr. Shaw, I realized there was wisdom to his stability. He created a classroom where everyone felt comfortable being themselves and that made him a great teacher. 

I called Mr. Shaw in January 2023 to invite him to coffee as part of my 52 Friends project. I had just come out of a long period of sadness and I didn’t know what I wanted out of life but I knew that I wanted to speak to someone who made me feel like I was significant. Like the 15-year-old who was once so sure of her identity. 

We met at a coffee shop not far from the high school. The last time I saw Mr. Shaw was when I came to visit him after my first year of university. He told me then that I was becoming funnier with age. He has now retired but works as a Volvo mechanic. 

What I thought would be a one-time coffee became a ritual. Every few weeks, Mr. Shaw and I meet to talk about life and share ideas. We were both surprised by the attention my project was garnering, an area of concern for two relatively private and unknown people. 

“You could be like Elena Ferrante,” I tell Mr. Shaw when I propose the idea of a book, referencing the anonymous Italian author. 

“I’ve always taken pride in my work and I do give the best brake job in the city but I have no desire to be known. No talk shows. No pictures,” he says. 

We land on some sort of compromise. Perhaps the way I’ve always worked, ideas first. 

Our conversations began here. I told Mr. Shaw about my time in Miami and my lacklustre romantic relationship. 

“I came to visit him over a weekend and I felt so lonely,” I say. 

“That’s really interesting. To come visit someone but to feel lonely,” he says. 

“I was so naive,” I say. 

“People can be deceptive. The world isn’t always honest,” he says. 

“My dad says the men in Miami only care about making money, working out and getting laid,” I say. 

“Sounds like it,” says Mr. Shaw. 

He goes on to explain that ideas are the real drug behind relationships.

A few weeks before our first coffee, Mr. Shaw’s close friend and a fellow teacher, Mr. AppleJohn passed away suddenly. I learned that they once shared an apartment decades ago and that Mr. AppleJohn was a man of thought. 

“AppleJohn used to call the early part of a budding relationship ‘the salad days,’” he says. 

“What does ‘the salad days,’ mean?” I ask. 

“The interactions are light, fresh, and new compared to the meat and potatoes of a relationship where people bear down on important issues and challenges,” he says. 

“Interesting. I wonder if some people stay in the salad days for longer than others,” I say.  

“I would think quite likely. Perhaps youthfulness contributes to this whereas an older person or an older soul might think too much time in salad is a waste of valuable time. It’s a very nuanced interplay of emotions, goals, and outcomes. A colleague once spoke of wanting children and felt time was against her so she married the first person who asked. A rather practical decision. May or may not be love,” he says. 

“It seems that it could be about balance. Too much time in salad and the relationship lacks practicality. Not enough time in salad and we risk missing joie de vivre,” I say. 

“I agree,” he says. 

I thought about the salad days concept for a long time. Once telling Mr. Shaw that when I go on dates I ask myself if I could rob a bank with this person. Not because I ever intend to become a criminal but because I desire to be with someone complementary and trustworthy enabling the heist to be successful in theory. 

“Do you think that love that exists during the salad days is real?” I ask Mr. Shaw. 

“Two people can love each other very much but still break up,” he says. 

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“I once had a girlfriend, this was before I went to teach in Japan, and we were together for a year and a half. My plan was for her to come with me to Japan but her plan was for us to stay in Toronto. People can see compromise in different ways,” he says. 

“I see,” I say.

“Now I realize it was probably just salad,” he says.