Yesterday my car wouldn’t start.
I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe I left the light on. Maybe I forgot to plug it in. Either way, when it came time to leave and pick up the kids from school, it was completely dead.
I tried to handle it myself. Pulled out the charger, hooked everything up, did my best to be independent.
But I forgot to press one of the buttons...
That’s not really the point of the story though.
The point is… I couldn’t get the car started in time.
So I called next door and asked my neighbor if I could borrow her car.
She said yes, of course.
(side note: I've been on a journey to learn how to ask for help. I realized this last year that I had/have a real problem with asking for help. I seen/see it as a utterly pitiful display of weakness... But, it is also a beautiful necessity. And what I've learnt while actively recognizing this fault in my foundation of thinking and reconstruction my perspective on "help", is that people yearn to give it. And it think the "it" might be love. Which seems to be the solutions to a good majority of our humanly problems, but I haven't concluded my full observation yet)
Before walking over to grab the keys, I packaged up a container of that soup I had made earlier and a couple of treats. We stood there for a few minutes chatting and giving each other a Coles notes version of the updates on life since we've seen each other last. Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Her thankful for the soup and joyful to be able to help, I grateful for the keys.
Just a simple moment.
A really nice simple moment.
As I walked away with her keys in my hand, I had this sudden feeling...almost like a quiet reminder that I should spend more time with her...and a few special others. That I should be more present. That I should make more time for these kinds of small connections.
Later, as I was driving back from dropping the kids off at their requested destinations (we’re very much in that phase of life now), I started thinking about something.
I hate to admit it, but one of my very first instinct when the car wouldn’t start was to open my Uber app.
Good marketing on their part. We don’t have Uber where I live, so that wasn’t an option. But if I had been in the city, that’s exactly what I would have done.
And that thought sent me down a bit of a squirrel hole (my version of a rabbit hole. Just as distracting, much more chaotic.)
Leading my to the realization that almost every time we add convenience to our lives… we quietly remove connection. And ironically, we are living in a world right now that is crying out about loneliness and division.
I used to say often, it takes a village. And I firmly believe it does, but I don't say that phrase much now. And sadly its because it was starting to be met more often then not, with:
“Must be nice. I don’t have a village.” or "What village"
And its a sad truth a lot of people are feeling.
But villages weren’t built overnight. They were built through thousands of tiny moments.
When I started looking into this more, I came across something sociologists call “weak ties.”
Weak ties are those small, passing interactions we have with people throughout our day. The chat with someone in the grocery line. The conversation with the cashier. The friendly moment with the person pumping gas. The neighbor you stop and talk to on the sidewalk or at the post office.
They aren’t deep friendships.
But they are tiny threads that weave us into the fabric of community.
And those threads are disappearing.
Think about it.
We used to sit together as a family and watch one television in the living room. Now everyone has their own device in their own room streaming something different.
We used to call a neighbor when we needed a ride to the airport. Now we open an app.
We used to talk on the phone for hours. Now we send a quick text — and many of us feel slightly annoyed when the phone actually rings.
We used to go out to restaurants and share meals together.
Now meals arrive at our doors in bags.
Same with groceries.
No more wandering the aisles. No more chatting in line. No more little moments of connection with strangers.
Everything shows up at the door.
Sometimes you don’t even have to speak to another human being.
Now, I’m not saying convenience is bad.
Of course it isn’t.
We all enjoy it. I do too.
But I do think we need to become aware of the trade we’re making.
Because every time we gain a little more convenience, we might be losing a little bit of connection.
And connection is something we desperately need.
Maybe next time you go to the grocery store, choose the checkout line with the person instead of the self-checkout.
Look them in the eye.
Say hello.
Offer a compliment.
Let that small moment matter.
Maybe instead of ordering groceries this week, you go pick them off the shelves yourself.
You never know who you might meet.
Maybe that person God is trying to lead you to is standing in the produce aisle, but you didn't cross paths with them because Instacart was easier.
I hear a lot of people in the dating world or even the "trying to make friends as an adult" world (equally mythical) saying there’s nobody out there anymore.
Well it's just my observation, but …
A lot of us aren’t out there either.
We’ve removed so many of the natural places where people used to meet.
Everything has been streamlined, optimized, delivered.
And in the process, we may have accidentally delivered ourselves into isolation.
So oddly enough, I’m grateful my car didn’t start yesterday.
And it reminded me that the village doesn’t appear out of nowhere.
It’s built in small moments.
Sometimes even in the inconvenience of a dead car.
And maybe we don’t need quite as many conveniences as we think we do.
Because they aren’t always making life easier.
Sometimes, in fact most of the time they’re just helping us consume more… while connecting less.