I recently got an invitation to a party, and my first thought was to find a reason not to go. Maybe I’d say I was traveling, or that my kids needed me, or that I was getting sick.
But even as I thought of more excuses, I said “yes,” resigned myself to going, and put on a forced smile. My friend would be glad I came.
I went to the party with a plan: get in and out in an hour. I’d greet the host, spend some time with her, and then get a glass of Prosecco. After that, I’d make awkward small talk with strangers, asking how they knew the host. We’d talk about the weather, what shows we were watching on Netflix, and then the weather again. I’d do my duty and leave.
I didn’t leave until three hours later. During the cocktail hour, I couldn’t get away from someone who wouldn’t stop talking about their “incredibly successful” business. Then, I was forced into a seated dinner, stuck between two close friends who talked over me and refused to switch seats when I politely asked. My friend gave me a quick hug and rushed off to host. I wondered if she’d even remember I was there. On the way home, I wished I’d listened to my gut and declined the invitation.
For a long time, I thought I was an introvert. Only in the last few years have I realized I’m not an introvert; I’m socially selective. Being socially selective means choosing quality over quantity in my interactions with my community, including family, friends, and neighbors. I don’t want to socialize just to be social, to stay busy, to have a good picture for social media, or to please others. I want to see my loved ones because I want to, not out of obligation or guilt. I want to be fully present and genuinely happy to be there for my community, not looking for a way out.
Recently, a new conversation has started about how we should best support our communities. On the one hand, we should with our and our so we can balance our responsibilities to ourselves with our responsibilities to others. We should say “no” more often.
But sometimes, we need to push ourselves and make compromises to build community. Over the last few decades, technology has made it easier to live isolated and independent lives, avoiding the messiness of being in community with others. You can order groceries online and avoid crowded stores. You can call a taxi without having to explain where you’re going. You can find a date without the awkwardness of approaching someone at a bar.
However, as Divya Venn writes, “being annoyed is the price you pay for community.” “It means having guests when you’d rather be alone, letting someone live with you even when they annoy you, attending events you’d rather skip, and turning the other cheek.”
Of course, it’s okay to be annoyed, to accept being annoyed, and to do things that annoy us. Accepting some discomfort is part of the social contract in most communities. But this constant annoyance can turn into deep resentment over time, damaging relationships and our connection to the community. For me, nothing is more irritating than participating in social activities just to check a box instead of making real connections.
I know I owe a lot to my family, friends, and community. We support each other in the unglamorous, everyday moments: arranging playdates when school is closed, delivering meals when someone loses a loved one, giving a neighbor a ride when their car won’t start. I don’t find any of this inconvenient or annoying because that’s what community is for, and that’s how we support each other.
But if I did find any of these things annoying, I would need to rethink what’s really bothering me. Maybe it’s not helping a neighbor with her packages; maybe it’s that I don’t feel valued by that person.
Ultimately, this discussion about what we owe our communities and the price we should pay to be part of one should focus on how important these relationships are to us. We shouldn’t see making meals for a sick friend or walking someone’s dog as an annoyance because these “annoyances”—the tough, boring, and mundane moments—become the foundation of our connections and what it truly means to be part of a community.
