I used to think proximity created relationship. That the people I saw regularly—the coworker in the next cubicle, the guy I played golf with on Saturdays, the neighbors I waved to from my driveway—were automatically friends simply because they occupied the same physical space as me. Our community connections have traditionally been thought of as friendships, bundled together under that warm, comfortable label. But lately I've been questioning whether that's true, or whether I've been using the word "friend" the way we use "fine" when someone asks how we're doing—a placeholder for something I haven't bothered to examine more closely.
As I explored in another reflection, the term "friends" shouldn't be used lightly, especially now that it's been watered down by online culture into something that means little more than mutual awareness. But the question goes deeper than semantics. Do I truly consider my in-person acquaintances true friend relationships? And if not, what are they?
Think about the coworker you've shared coffee breaks with for three years. You've talked about your families, your frustrations, even some of your fears. There's been real transparency there, moments of genuine connection. But is that a true relationship if you never interact with them outside the workplace? If your connection exists only within the container of nine-to-five, what happens when one of us changes jobs? Does the relationship evaporate like morning mist, or was there ever really a relationship at all?
Or consider the friend you share rounds of golf with every few weeks. You laugh, you compete, and truly enjoy each other's company. But is he a true friend? You know each other's golf game better than you know each other's hearts. There's companionship there, certainly. But intimacy? The kind of knowing that goes beneath the surface? I'm not sure.
I don't have neat answers to these questions, and I'm not trying to diminish the value of these connections. There's no judgment intended here—just an honest attempt to see these relationships for what they actually are rather than what I've assumed them to be. Because all of these types of community connections have their place. The coworker who makes the workday lighter. The golf partner who provides recreation and release. The neighbor who creates a sense of belonging in the place I live. These matter. They enrich life. They're threads in the fabric of daily existence.
But they're not all the same thread.
The harder question is this: How many of these types of connections do you need? And perhaps more importantly, which types? Only you can answer that, but it needs to be intentionally pondered. Not in some anxious audit of your social life, but in a gentle, honest assessment of what actually nourishes you and what merely fills space.
As someone trying to follow Christ with intention, I'm learning that community isn't just about quantity of connections—it's about understanding the nature and purpose of each one. Jesus had the crowds, the twelve disciples, and the three He was closest to. Different circles, different depths, all meaningful in their own way. He didn't treat every connection the same, and neither should we.
Maybe what I'm discovering is that I need both the courage to deepen some connections and the wisdom to release others. You may need to either increase the number of connections you're open to or shut down some that are no longer needed. Not every acquaintance needs to become a close friend. Not every pleasant interaction requires escalation into intimacy.
But some do. And knowing which ones—that's where the pondering comes in.
There's freedom in naming things accurately. In calling an acquaintance an acquaintance without shame. In recognizing that the coworker, the golf partner, the neighbor each play their own unique role without needing to be something more. And in that honest naming, there's also the possibility of something deeper: the chance to intentionally cultivate the connections that truly feed your soul.
Not every proximity is friendship. But knowing the difference? That might be where real community begins.
