On Connection

Connection to the people around us is a fickle thing.

When we’re young, we assume relationships just… happen. Proximity does most of the work. Our living situation dictates our friend group. We share interests, get thrown into the same places, and friendships form almost by default.

So why doesn’t that hold true as adults?

We leave home. We go to college, trade school, work. We get partnered up with a new group of humans—hopefully people in a similar season of life, maybe even people whose interests overlap with ours. And for a while, it works. But then graduation comes. Or a job change. Or kids. Or burnout. And suddenly we’re right back at square one, looking for the next group we can fit into.

I’m not an expert. I don’t have fancy degrees that give me the authority to explain it. But it seems to me we keep chasing proximity when what we actually want is connection.

Proximity is safety. In the wild, being bundled together means survival. There’s comfort in not being alone.

And it’s emotionally safe too.

If I only seek proximity, I don’t have to risk much. I can keep things light. I can stay likable. I can keep my pain tucked away. I can clutch my trauma like pearls and hide it from anyone who might actually take it from me—because if it’s gone, then who am I?

The problem is: proximity stops working eventually.

You can be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone. You can be in the same room, on the same couch, under the same roof… and still be miles apart. And I think a lot of us are realizing that more and more.

We’ve traded depth for convenience. We network. We keep everyone at arm’s length. We share only what’s required to “do life” together. Even in families, a lot of relationships start to feel contractual—responsibilities met, tasks completed, boxes checked. Not devoid of love… but thin. Quiet. Distant.

But here’s the thing.

What we actually want—what we really want—is connection.

We want the “married my best friend” kind of relationship. We want a home that feels like a bastion of love, kindness, and understanding. A place where you can be fully yourself without the fear of not being enough.

Maybe that’s just me. What do I know?

Well, I do know one thing: I’m done choosing proximity over connection.

I’m choosing presence over nods and grunts between Instagram reels. I’m choosing honesty over hiding my feelings because I assume they’ll upset my wife or my kids. I’m choosing intentional words and actions over being reactionary and going with the flow.

And I’m choosing to do it consistently—not just when I’m in a good mood.

Proximity checks boxes for others to see. Connection fills our lives with meaning, love, and joy.

But it costs something.

It takes work. Hard work. Not the kind you knock out once and call it done. The kind that asks for your whole life—your commitment, your attention, your love. Work you don’t do because you’re forced to, but because you need it. Because it makes you better. Because you want the fruit of it.

Because we are known—and judged—by the fruit we bear, not by the appearance of goodness.

That’s the work I’m choosing. One day at a time.

-Dan