I talk about being an introvert often.

And I am.

What I am not is isolated. I think the two things can get confused. People assume introverts want to be left alone. While many of us need quiet and solitude to recharge, that isn’t the same thing as disconnection. Human beings were created for relationship. We might express that need differently, but we all need it.

Lately I’ve been wondering where our ideas about belonging come from. Who decided that some people are worth knowing and others aren’t? Who taught us to build tiny circles and guard them like exclusive clubs?

It’s sad when you think about it. Because while we are more connected than any generation before us, we often seem more alone.

The world changed after COVID. Dating was already online, but now friendships are online too. Political discussions happen online. Game nights happen online. Movie watch parties happen online.

More and more we sit in our homes talking to everyone while nobody is actually around.

We have access to endless information but fewer places to use it. We know what everyone had for lunch but don’t know our neighbors.

And people are lonely. Not just lonely.

Out of practice.

Many of us have forgotten how friendships naturally develop. We interview people instead of simply spending time with them. We want a lifelong friendship on the second day of knowing someone.

Of course, not every modern convenience is bad.

One-click ordering?

I’m not volunteering to go back.

But somewhere along the way, we lost something important.

The Third Place

Home is your first place.

Work is your second place.

A third place is somewhere you go that isn’t either one.

When I was a young adult, I met friends at TGI Fridays. There was a Christian nightclub called The Stable where I listened to spoken word. I spent time at the library. I walked through a park in Dearborn and often bumped into people I knew.

Those places mattered more than I realized.

Now, as a middle-aged adult, Siafa and I gravitate toward diners with good coffee and good conversation. There is a local bagel shop where we can sit for hours refilling our cups and talking.

Those places still exist, but they seem harder to find.

The simple act of sitting somewhere with a newspaper, a novel (like Finding Alberta), or a friend feels like it’s disappearing.

Everything is becoming more curated.

More polished.

More social-media ready.

Less human.

A Messy House

About a year ago I read Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.

One of my favorite takeaways was the idea that messiness is often evidence of life.

That challenged me.

I like things neat.

I like things organized.

I especially like them that way when company is coming.

Recently my friend Jennifer visited from Georgia with her husband for my daughter’s graduation.

The first time she visited, our house looked almost perfect. Another friend had helped organize the pantry, clean out the refrigerator, and tidy everything up. We had only lived here a short time and I felt proud of how everything looked.

This visit was different.

May was chaos.

Graduation.

School.

Life.

The house looked lived in.

During her visit we sat on the porch talking, and at one point she told me she liked our home much better now than before.

I was surprised.

She said the neat, organized version made her feel like she couldn’t sit anywhere or touch anything.

This version felt welcoming.

Comfortable.

Alive.

That stayed with me.

Sometimes the things we think make people comfortable actually keep them at a distance.

Sometimes perfection creates barriers.

Sometimes a little mess makes room for people.

Striving vs. Straining

I think about loneliness a lot.

Not because it only affects middle-aged people.

It affects everyone.

Young adults.

Widows.

Divorced people.

Married people.

Men.

Women.

The healthy.

The sick.

The lonely epidemic doesn’t discriminate.

And when life begins to feel less like striving and more like straining, something dangerous can happen.

If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you’ve heard me mention my two nephews who died by suicide.

Mental illness played a role in both of their stories. But one thing I’ve learned is that when emotional pain exceeds a person’s ability to cope with it, the mind begins searching for an exit from the suffering. Not because the person wants death. Because they want relief.

That’s why isolation is so dangerous.

It quietly removes resources.

Perspective.

Friendship.

Laughter.

Encouragement.

Hope.

The things that help carry us through difficult seasons.

Choosing Life

Striving to live looks different than straining to live.

It looks like giving yourself grace.

Allowing yourself to be imperfect.

Accepting that some days the house will be messy.

Some conversations will be awkward.

Some friendships will take time.

It doesn’t mean abandoning healthy boundaries.

I still get overwhelmed in certain social situations.

I’m still an introvert.

But I intentionally stay connected.

Church is one of those places for me.

A phone call.

A porch conversation.

A shared meal.

Small things.

Ordinary things.

The kinds of things that remind us we belong to each other. And maybe that’s what we’re missing. Not more followers.

Not more information.

Not better algorithms. Just more places where people can show up as they are, pull up a chair, and stay a long while.