Is Annoyance the Price We Pay for Community?

I recently received an invite to a party. My immediate instinct was to come up with an excuse. Maybe, I would say, “I’m out of town.” “My kids needed me to be at home.” “I’m catching a cold”

But as the litany of excuses continued to run through my head, I RSVP’d “yes,” sucked it up, begrudgingly attended the party with a smile plastered on my face. My friend would be happy I showed up.

I arrived at the party with a game plan: Get in and out in 60 minutes. I would say “hi” to the host, spend some time with her, and then grab a glass of Prosecco. Next, I would make awkward small talk with strangers. “How do you know the host?” We would talk about the weather, what Netflix shows we were binging—and then discuss the weather again. I would do my time and be off.

[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]

Over three hours later, I finally left. During the cocktail hour, I wasn’t able to escape from someone who incessantly talked about their “wildly successful” business. And then, was pulled into a seated dinner, trapped in between two close friends who talked over me, and declined to switch seats with me when I politely offered. My friend hugged me quickly and ran off consumed with hosting duties. I wondered if she would remember that I was even there. On the ride home, I regretted not trusting my instincts about declining the invite.

For a long time, I thought I was an introvert. And only in the last few years have I come to realize this: I am not an introvert, I am socially selective. For me, being socially selective means I am selecting for the quality, and not the quantity, of interactions I can have when spending time with my community, including my family, friends, and neighbors. I don’t want to be social just to say that I was social, to keep busy, to be able to have a nice picture to post on social media, or to make others happy. I want to see my loved ones not out of social obligation and not out of guilt. I want to be there for my community, fully present and genuinely happy to be there, not looking for an escape plan.

A new conversation has recently emerged about how we should best show up for our communities. On the one hand, we should set boundaries with our coworkers and our family members so that we can balance our commitments to ourselves with our commitment to others. We should say “no” more often.

But also, sometimes we need to stretch ourselves and compromise in order to build community. Over the past several decades, technology has made it easier for us to live sanitized and independent lives—and avoid the messiness that comes along with being in community with one another. You can buy groceries online with the click of a button and circumvent busy crowds. You can call a taxi without even having to explain where you want to go. You can find a date without having to awkwardly approach someone at a bar.

But “being annoyed is the price you pay for community,” writes Divya Venn on X. “It means having guests when you’d rather be alone. It means letting someone live with you even when they get on your nerves. It means showing up for events that you’d rather not go to. It means turning the other cheek.”

Of course, it is okay to be annoyed, accept being annoyed, and do things that annoy us. Accepting some discomfort is part of the social contract of most communities. However, this lingering annoyance can turn into deep resentment over time and damage relationships and our connection to community. And for me, nothing bugs me more than engaging in social activities to check the box rather than making meaningful connections.

I know I owe a lot to my family, friends, and community. We show up for each other in some of the least glamorous, everyday moments: organizing play dates when school is closed; dropping off meals when someone loses a loved one; picking up a neighbor when their car won’t start. I don’t think any of this is inconvenient or annoying. Because this is what community is for and this is how we show up for each other.

But if I did find any of these things annoyed me, I would need to re-evaluate what’s really annoying me. Maybe it’s not the fact that I had to help a neighbor collect her packages, maybe it’s that I don’t feel valued in the relationship by the other person.

Ultimately, this debate about what we owe the members of our communities, and the price we should pay to be a part of a community, should be focused on how important these relationships actually are to us. We shouldn’t consider preparing meals for a sick friend or walking someone’s dog an annoyance. Because these “annoyances”—what we might consider the tough, boring and mundane moments—become the foundation of our connections to each other. And ultimately what it means to be part of a community.