the strange shape of my care

sometime mid last year, someone new wandered into one of our kizuna gatherings in the park. it had been a rough day, he told me. he had been feeling lonely recently, but something about our event made him leave feeling a lot more hopeful about his social life in Tokyo. he came back a few more times, joined some dinners, and appeared to make some good friends. for a while, kizuna seemed to have become a small anchor in his world.

and then he stopped coming. i don’t really know why. maybe he didn’t need it anymore. maybe his life priorities shifted. maybe it was a quiet fade-out, as these things often are. (all of which are perfectly valid reasons!)

i don’t believe community should ever be something you should feel trapped in or obliged to engage with if it's not aligning for you. it is a beautiful thing to grow, and change, and navigate different seasons - some in which we need to be surrounded by people, and some in which we don't. I mused separately about this need to have more communities where it is okay to step back without guilt and with intention.

but still, i sometimes catch myself idly thinking: should we reach out? is he okay? should i invite him to another event?

of course, the obvious thing that might come to mind is just sending a message, rather than making up all these stories about what could be happening (note to self, do this more 😅). it wouldn't be that hard. a small check-in: “hey, you crossed my mind.” so i did this! and turns out, he's doing just fine, and has found some great hobby groups that are socially nourishing for him. rejoice!

but this example aside, the bigger question that comes up for me here (as someone who cannot help but zoom out to broader levels of analysis on such topics, for better or worse): how do you do this for everyone in your life? what about all the others like this guy — the ones who slipped out of orbit of their circles of care? do we let them be in their journey, trusting their path? or do we throw a line now and then, just in case they're going through something and don't know how to seek help?

part of me genuinely wants to reach out, to keep a gentle thread alive with every person who’s drifted in and out of our community – and in and out of my life more generally. there's an idealistic tenderness in me that dreams of maintaining those connections forever.

but a bigger part of me feels deeply resistant to that idea. not from lack of care, but from the simple recognition that my energy and attention have incredibly finite limits. (if you know me and my response times, you know!)

i frequently fall into an unhelpful cognitive-emotive loop about this pressure to maintain friendships and keep up with the breakneck pace of modern socially network-ed life. i feel guilty about it, questioning myself constantly. imposter syndrome pops up with a 2x amplifier since i'm aiming to build a career around weaving community for social change. does my inability to hold onto these connections make me a bad friend (or fundamentally unqualified for this line of work)? am i letting people down? is something wrong with me? yep, nothing to see here, just your garden variety negative spiral!

this hits hardest when i think about my many friends overseas, who were central to the formative parts of my teenage years. there’s a slow twisting sadness there that I can’t stay present in their lives the way i wish i could.

my mind cycles through possibilities, all of which are probably true to an extent:

• maybe it’s a skill issue – maybe i could learn to be better at nurturing these ties.
• maybe it’s a life stage thing, and right now my priorities are simply elsewhere.
• maybe, realistically, it’s not even possible to maintain meaningful connections beyond a certain point. (dunbar’s number is a cruelly practical limit.)

running an active, in-person community here in Tokyo makes this tension especially sharp. i’ve noticed viscerally how limited my time and emotional capacity truly are, whenever i try to stretch myself to keep in contact with more people. the relationships i invest in here – those i can hug, laugh with, and support face-to-face – naturally get most of my energy.

but more and more, i'm coming to embrace this tension, and lean into my focus of doing wholesome offline stuff with cool people. by doing this, i realize i'm quietly participating in a form of counterculture. this clicked into place when i read these reflections on online counterculture by Manu Moreale. Manu argues that true online counterculture today isn't just switching to better social media platforms, but rather rejecting social media altogether:

“The way I see it, the true online counterculture is not to join Mastodon or Bluesky. That’s just a different spice of the rotten experience that’s social media. True online counterculture is rejecting social media altogether. [...] Counterculture is spending time making zines and sending them out to 10 people across the globe, rather than posting shorts on f****** TikTok. Counterculture is sharing things you’re passionate about not because you plan to make a living out of it but because you believe connecting with other human beings is important. Counterculture is forming online bonds with 20 people you get to know over time, rather than amassing hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram.”

this resonated deeply. i see my own choice to nurture in-person relationships, to invest in tangible spaces where we can hold real conversations and share real meals, as my own version of the rebellion against the noise and performative cesspool that are many online spaces these days.

but in an age of endless digital possibility, i admit there's always still a voice that says i could - or should - do more to keep long-distance connections alive.

slowly, though, i'm coming to a softer understanding of myself. perhaps the way i show care is less flashy but equally meaningful: by consistently showing up to create spaces for connection, setting the table, and welcoming anyone who arrives, whenever they do. maybe, for me, it’s not about holding tightly to every relationship. maybe it’s about making sure the door stays open, gently reminding everyone that they can come in anytime (but maybe don't expect a text back if you're messaging me online, lol). this is the strange shape of my care.

i'm sure you navigate your own version of this tension. we're all ridiculously hyperconnected, tied to our screens and flooded with the illusion that we can, and must, stay in touch with everyone, everywhere, all at once (fairly sure that movie was at least in part a commentary on this...)

maybe you've felt the creeping guilt of unanswered messages, friendships drifting, or connections you wish you'd kept but just couldn't.

how are you navigating this? how are you learning to accept your own limits, and discovering the unique ways you organically show care? perhaps, like me, you're finding beauty in looser ties. or perhaps you're experimenting with new ways of staying present with the people you love.

like my own, i think peoples' ways of caring can take strange shapes. we all show up differently, imperfectly, in ways that often go unnoticed. but seeing it this way helps me build empathy; even if someone doesn't message you back, they might still hold you in their thoughts. even if you have a friend or relative who comes off a bit harsh, that might just be their own awkward attempt at caring, the only way they know how.

whatever the shape of your care is, i hope you be gentle with yourself.