Sometimes I find myself fixated on a topic for weeks, mulling it over with anyone who’ll listen. Even better if they challenge me a bit. I approach each conversation with diligently bullet pointed arguments – some researched, some bred entirely from my own understanding. I make the argument over and over again until I’m certain of its context. Certain that this is a belief I’m willing to take full custody of. Aware of all its flaws and rebuttals, often searching for that final nail in the coffin to bring my point home. Sometimes that nail is an adjective I can’t quite put my finger on, or a point of reference I haven’t uncovered yet because although undisputed, intuition doesn’t tend to be a solid citation. Recently, I heard a creator differentiate friendship and community. And while her breakdown of these two concepts didn’t quite resonate, the idea of creating distinction between these two ideas blew my mind. The realization that community is likely to be made up of friendships, but friendships do not necessarily create community was the nail. The A-HA! The ding-ding-ding so to speak. But, after the satisfaction of closing the case, came mourning.
For years, I have declared myself grateful for my village. My group of God-given people who’d have my back through whatever – offering covering and willing to share hard truths. I praised what I thought to be the most solid relationships one could ask for. But, in the two years that I’ve now been geographically separated from many of those villagers, and in the two minutes that I listened to a breakdown on the hierarchies of friendships, it settled in that yes. I do have friends. Only, what I am actually searching for is community.
“Friends are people you care about, people you laugh and cry with, people you’ve shared experiences with, and people you like to catch up with. Community is a group of people who rally around you in every season. There is more life sharing than catching up.“
My generation of peers and I have adopted this culture of what we like to call “low-maintenance” friendships. These friendships are made up of people you don’t feel obligated to talk to everyday or even on a weekly basis, but you show up when you’re needed. And whenever you get together, it’s like no time has passed. Except, time has passed. Life has been lived. And quite frankly, we aren’t showing up for most of it.
Some of the people I hold closest to my heart consider themselves low-maintenance friends. Our conversations aren’t frequent. Much of our keeping up happens as we listen intently, (possibly) adding commentary to Close Friends’ stories like podcasts. I have no idea what their day-to-day routine or current fixation snack is. God forbid something happen to them, I’d likely not be the first, second or even sixth person to know about it. But, I love them. And I say firmly that I am grateful for what presence they’ve had in my life. Nevertheless, I deem it important to acknowledge that we do not show up for each other. The more appropriate thing to say is be it directly or indirectly, we show up when we’re invited to. We attend the launch parties and birthday dinners that we get Evites to. We arrive with condolences and mental health check-ins after seeing R.I.P. posts on Instagram. But how much life are we missing? Because in reality, how do we know when we really need to show up for someone if we have no idea what’s going on in their life? How am I to know that my friend needed a good laugh, if I didn’t know work ripped her a new one this week? Or that she needs prayer and covering while she’s working through some spiritual tests? I missed an opportunity to pop up at her house with takeout after she fell deeper into burnout because I haven’t talked to her in 6 weeks.
Adulthood is demanding. Time seems to be moving faster than it ever has. I get it. I do.
I just reject this idea that we don’t need people. I loathe the mastermind who sold us the idea that “it’s better to want somebody than to need them”. Because not needing people is not a flex to me. It is not something to be worn as a badge of honor. I need people. I want to need people. I want the people in my life to pour into it something so valuable, so beautiful, so imperative that it fluidly becomes a necessity. Whether it’s seraphic wisdom and belly-aching puns, or flawlessly curated playlists and a perspective that brings rooms to a state of sobering reflection. I want people around that feel immeasurable.
As I’ve begun to discern the depth of my yearning, I’ve come to understand why I have so often felt inexpressibly dissatisfied. And while I affirm myself for the dedication in what appears to be the conclusion to a season of unveiling, I also feel a fusing of grief, relief, guilt and joyful expectation respectively.
I find myself grieving the relationships that have run their course in the way I’ve known them to exist. Relieved that I am able to part ways with love, freeing me to enter new seasons with a deeper appreciation of myself – and with the wisdom that there is no villain in this story. Rather, fair differences in needs, preferences and alignment. At times, guilty for wanting to experience new relationships at all. Ones I hope to be more community driven than what I have with some really great people right now. But most of all, excited… for those connections that I know are making their way to me as I further align myself with my heart’s most candid desires. And truly, that’s all I could hope for.
