Ann Friedman - No community without effort

My friend Glynnis MacNicol is doing some great work [NYT gift link] to dispel the persistent myth that child-free people live a life without children. "Loving anything is an investment in the future," she writes. Her op-ed reminded me of this 2022 essay by Catherine Bush, in which she declares that "auntie," not "mother," is the most aspirational framework for connection and caregiving. Our friendships, our communities, our environment all depend on learning to show up joyfully and consistently, without obligation and without scorekeeping. 

There's a flip side to the devoted-auntie narrative, which is that it's also on people with children to show up for the child-free. The hard truth is that no one gets to be in community without effort. And while everyone is allowed to play a different role, you don't get to bury your head in the nuclear family and indefinitely ignore your wider friend group while reaping the benefits of connection. As a person who is still an aunt but now also a parent, maybe I need to write I Love the Aunties in My Kid's Life. And I’m Doing My Best To Show Up for Them, Too. It has to be someone like me, because I don't think the comment section could handle a childfree person saying, "parents need to show up for the other adults in their community." Especially in this age of parenting-as-health crisis. 

I'm going to repeat that hard truth: No one gets community without effort. I buy the theory [paywalled Atlantic article, sorry] that it used to be easier when church and civic organizations were more central to adult life. A few years ago when a friend of mine moved to a new state, she lamented, "I wish there was a secular church we could join." But even in the pre-Bowling Alone days, connection wasn't set-it-and-forget-it. Sure, you didn't have to do so much initiating and scheduling. You still had to take the time to learn friends' stories and keep up with their lives, though. You still had to bring a dish to pass.

We will all go through phases when we don't show up for our friendships the way we'd like to. But inaction can't become the longterm norm. And showing up can look very different for different people. Community is tricky like that: Everyone needs to contribute, but can't—and shouldn't— contribute the exact same way or on the same timeline. (Insert the case for intergenerational friendship here! [LA Times]) Every party needs the first friend to arrive, and the last one to leave. And the friend who remembers to take photos and the one who does the math when the check comes. You get the idea. If you try to make it all feel precisely equal, you simply won't have good community. 

For most people, loneliness doesn't stem from a lack of friends. It comes from not feeling connected to the friends you already have, while "peering in" on their lives via social media. (You can read more about this in the ancient text Big Friendship.) This problem is not fixable if you expect community to just happen naturally. It is fixable if you are willing to work. Some thoughts on where to start:

1. Lower the stakes. Every group hang does not have to be a theme party with a bounce house or a four-course meal worthy of Instagram. De-glam your gatherings: "Come over and watch TV, I will make a pot of chili."
2. Make specific asks. This can be an invitation or a request. A last-minute text like "I'm going to the brewery at 5pm and I need you to share a giant pretzel with me" is surprisingly effective. So is, "I just had emergency dental surgery UGHHHHasdkdsgfjkaf. Would you mind picking up a prescription for me?" Friends really like to be of service in small, concrete ways! I'm sorry but "Would love to see you soon" is a useless text. 
3. Do not attempt one-for-one math. If you initiated last time, don't grow increasingly annoyed as you wait for your friend(s) to make the next set of plans. Just get over it and be the one to ask again. And if you benefit from someone else always making plans, be the one to handle some other aspect of socializing. Figure out your own way of showing up for your community. 
4. Set a recurring calendar event. Cards, at your house, once a month. Basketball, at the local park, every Saturday morning. Solstice potluck, every December 21. This can be annoying to set up but is low-maintenance once it gets going. 
5. Don't ask, just do. This is for closer friends, and I swear it's not a contradiction to #2. Instead of saying "Let me know if I can help," go ahead and do something you know would be helpful. Easy example: Make double of what you're already making yourself for dinner and take them half. (Shoutout to my mom, who taught me a lot about community, for this hack.) 
6. Take two minutes to tap into the lives of your friends. Ok, maybe it's ten minutes. Again, this one is hard to quantify. But the point is, avoid sinking into the quicksand of your own life. If community matters to you, that means the specific people in it matter. Send a few "how are you doing this week?" texts or voice messages, and pay attention to what comes back. Treat your friends like main characters, not your supporting cast.

"I know her by her teeth." I re-read Sarah Smarsh's decade-old essay on class and dentistry because the two adults in my house had emergency dental procedures this week, and the infant is pushing new teeth through tender gums. I wanted to be reminded that it is a privilege to sit under those bright lights and attempt to breathe through my nose for 4 hours. Smarsh's essay appears in her new collection, Bone of the Bone.

From croissant lamps to bread chairs, Leonora Epstein on baked goods as home decor. [Schmatta]

If you are a word-nerd who does a lot of cooking (um, hello my people), Jaya Saxena's essay on the rise of "garlicky, lemony, brothy" recipes is for you. [Eater] And Jeff Gordinier tells the story of how rice shaped Charleston, South Carolina, with art by George McCalman. [Food & Wine]

Homeownership has started to slip from younger adults' definition of the "American dream," Anna Kodé reports. Instead they aspire to "a sense of community, the ability to experience life’s small pleasures, family and the freedom to pursue careers and lifestyles of their choosing." [NYT gift link]

A friend who knows about my deadline-mode practice of tracking my daily word count sent me Robert Caro's 1971 work log. I love this not because of the numbers themselves, but because it is a record of showing up to the long, difficult practice of writing a book. I'm going to start a log like this next year. On paper.

This is also your periodic reminder that many of the ~great writers~ were just average guys with an above-average amount of resources and time. And, often, a singularly devoted wife serving as research assistant, caregiver, chef, and housekeeper. Ahem.

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