#4

Sacrifice is the cost of community

Dear BFF,
​
​How much are you paying?

If I hear one more person say, "I'm just not lucky with friends," or, "You're so lucky to have good people around you," I fear I will lose it.

So let's have an uncomfortable conversation.

Have you noticed how everybody is a loner these days? Just open Instagram.

Everybody is cold, mysterious, emotionally unavailable, and very James Bond.

Warmth is cringe. Kindness is mistaken for weakness. The resting bitch face is celebrated. And I think it's costing us far more than we realize.

Do you remember what growing up felt like?

Our parents didn't just have houses. They had homes. Homes where aunties, uncles, cousins, neighbors, church members, and family friends came and went so often that you genuinely couldn't tell who was related by blood and who had simply refused to leave. Homes where you were trained by your mother, father and ten other adults you wish would mind their businesses. Homes where your grandparents crawled across the corridors, bent over, wrinkled and smelling like menthol or camphor balls- but you loved them anyway.

These were the times when booking a hotel during a trip (domestic or international) wasn't thoughtful, it was offensive. "You're in my city and you're paying for accommodation?" Absolutely not.

Instead, you would get warm meals that met you after a long journey from Lagos to wherever, fresh towels, a well made bed, and a night of laughter and gisting to welcome you into a foreign place. We didn’t realize it then but community was our infrastructure.

Our parents didn't get everything right. But they understood something we've slowly forgotten: Goodwill– their personal “ajo” system that they paid into consistently, and cashed out like mad. Their Goodwill paid school fees, housed pregnant mothers, secured jobs, fed families, comforted grief, cured cancer, and so much more.

Today, many of us want the withdrawal without ever making the deposits. We want people who would drop everything for us, but we don't want to be inconvenienced.

We're too busy to call. Too busy to visit. Too busy to cook. Too busy to pray together. Too busy to remember birthdays. Too busy to support small businesses. Too busy to spend two hours with a friend. Even too busy for two minutes.

Then one day we look around and wonder why nobody really knows us.

It's because community is built through sacrifice. Every meaningful relationship costs something. Time. Money. Energy. Pride. Comfort. The willingness to leave your house when you'd rather stay in bed. The decision to answer the phone when you're tired. The humility to know when to speak and when to lend a listening ear; and the discipline to show up long before you're needed. That's the price.

I think somewhere along the way, we convinced ourselves that keeping all our time, protecting all our peace and avoiding every inconvenience is wisdom. It isn't. It's isolation. And all it will leave you with is hypothetical good intentions, and recycled excuses.

I’m not saying there cannot be bad friends. There are many bad people in this world and some of them will absolutely disappoint you. But they are never all terrible. Not if you are trying. Not if you are going out of your way to show you care. Not if you show up when it matters. There are always good friends. Great ones even. So if every friendship leaves you convinced that everyone else is the problem, then I have to ask…

How much are you owing?

Safe landing,

Kanyinsola