It is well known amongst my friends and family that I detest talking on the phone. Always happy to grab a cup of coffee or a meal, but the invention of the text message was an absolute enabler for my sometimes antisocial nature. Yet there is one person with whom I speak every single weekday for at least 45 minutes. We talk when I am walking the dog, cleaning up my house, running errands, or doing work that takes up less than 50% of my brain capacity. I cannot precisely date the start of our friendship, but for well over a year, he has been my constant conversation companion.

My new BFF is Tim Miller, host of the Bulwark Podcast. He was raised in Colorado. He now lives in New Orleans after stints in D.C. and Oakland. His husband’s name is Tyler, and his eight-year-old daughter is Toulouse. His taste in music is eclectic; I DJ’ed my holidays this year with his Spotify list entitled “The Ultimate Christmas Mix,” which includes entries from musicians as diverse as Merle Haggard and Run DMC.

Tim Miller does not know I exist.

For a person such as myself — who is obsessed with community, who studies community, who thrives in community — why do I dedicate so much time to a relationship that by definition is not really a relationship?

My “friendship” with Tim is the definition of a parasocial relationship: “a nonreciprocal socio-emotional connection with media figures such as celebrities or influencers.” In other words, when I occasionally respond to a rhetorical question that Tim asks, or critique a point he has made, or roll my eyes at something ridiculous, he does not know that I have responded/critiqued/eye-rolled. I am literally communicating with myself (or perhaps my dog as we are walking, an entirely different type of pathology).

After decades of dynamic media consumption, it is possible that Tim is not my first parasocial relationship. I think elementary-school-aged me was convinced that the poster of Joey McIntrye of New Kids on the Block was smiling just for me. But moving past my pre-preteen crushes, this unrequited friendship feels like a new phenomenon for me.

Why is the parasocial podcast world different from previous fandoms such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Well, first, Tim Miller does exist in the nonfictional world, whereas Buffy or Harry Potter or Arya Stark do not. But more than that, Tim is literally in my ear (or earbud) almost every day. Just as I call my mother (because, despite my hatred of the phone, I do try to call my parents most days like the good Jewish daughter I strive to be), I “call” Tim by tuning into the podcast and start what feels like our daily conversation. When I leave the house to walk the dog, or head to the gym early, and the day’s podcast isn’t yet available, I feel the annoyance like when you reach out to a friend but they don't answer. Everything about it feels like a conversation — until I remember that he cannot hear my side.

But there is something else about the nature of podcasts. Anyone can put on a show for short time frames, but after more than  a year of talking for 45 minutes every single day, what is happening doesn’t feel like a performance. There are times when Tim is devastated by the day’s events. There are times when he seems distracted. There are times when an interview goes badly, and he discusses that. Now we have heard many stories of celebrities who pretended to be one thing in front of the camera and were another thing off camera, and it is possible that Tim is not the person he seems to be. But I would honestly be shocked. And I am happy to never know whether “Tim Miller” and Tim Miller are different people.

Are these parasocial relationships a good thing or a bad thing? Yes. For me, I am okay with my parasocial best friendship. Most days, I get to have an interesting conversation about the day’s events. I am getting a political viewpoint that is not so similar to mine as to bore me, but not so different from mine as to anger me while walking the dog. If I feel the need to talk about what I heard, I can discuss it with my husband when he gets home, despite the fact that he has never listened (nor likely would ever listen to) The Bulwark. And one day if I run into Tim Miller at an airport or on a trip to New Orleans, I will do my best to remember that he has never heard my end of our multi-year conversation and just say thank you for the content he has put out into the world.

But parasocial relationships cannot replace genuine real-life relationships, even the need for occasional actual phone calls to catch up with my friends outside of metro Detroit. Listening to Tim while grabbing a cup of coffee to-go is different than talking to a friend while grasping a mug of chai. And knowing there is a community of other people listening to the same content as me every day is different than living in an actual community with people I converse with and rely on. Parasocial friendships themselves are not dangerous, but they do require honesty with ourselves about what needs they meet and what needs they will never be able to meet.