Trying to Show Up

It’s getting to be that time around Christmas when people start traveling—back home, across the country, into old neighborhoods and familiar streets—to see family and friends for the holidays.

This year, it’s been on my mind.

Before I begin, let me say this clearly: I am completely guilty of what I’m about to talk about. More than once.

It’s something I keep tripping over.

Years ago, Mary and I flew to Seattle with our three kids. I told a close friend—who had just moved there—that we’d definitely meet up. “For sure,” I said. “We’ll find time.”

Mary’s parents took the train out to join us. The days filled up—kids, family, logistics. And to be fair, when you come into town like that, it’s impossible to see everyone. I understand that.

But instead of leaning in or finding a moment, I kept pushing the meet-up off until we never connected at all.

Jim—if you’re reading this—know that I think about it more than you’d expect. And know how much it meant to me when you reached out last year and said, “Let’s get dinner while I’m in town.” You wore the big-boy diapers and made it happen. That mattered.

Another time, Mary and I were in LA for a Sony dealer training. She called a friend to get together on the one day we had open.

“Oh… it’s raining,” he said.

We looked at each other. Yeah. So?

Again, I get it. Life is full. Schedules are tight. When someone is in town, not everything works out. That’s understandable.

But instead of him coming to us, we made the drive to see him.

We had a great time. Truly. It just felt odd that the extra effort only flowed one way.

I’ve had friends tell me they were in town and never reach out. And I’ve done the same to others.

Sometimes there genuinely isn’t time. Sometimes it really can’t happen. What’s harder to understand is when no effort is made at all.

That’s the uncomfortable part.

So why does this get harder as we age?

We were once inseparable. And then—distance, careers, kids, aging parents, exhaustion. All of it makes sense.

What’s harder to explain is how easy it becomes to let things slide.

To say we’ll connect next time.

To assume the relationship can absorb the silence.

To quietly choose the path of least resistance.

Every time I do connect, it reminds me of what I’ve been avoiding.

Last year, we managed to get some of our college group together—the “Boneheads.” Mostly guys, plus my roommate Laura, now all with spouses. Not everyone could make it. That was expected. That was fine.

What mattered was that we tried.

It took coordination.

It took patience.

It took actual planning.

And it was one of the most meaningful nights I’ve had in years.

Afterward, we did what everyone does.

“We have to do this again.”

“We should take a trip.”

“Let’s not wait so long.”

Time is wasting.

And I’m wasting it.

So this is less a lesson and more a reminder I keep giving myself:

Someone has to reach out.

Plans don’t happen without dates.

Not everyone will make it—and that’s okay.

Trying once doesn’t count.

And showing up, when it does work, is almost always worth it.

Schedules will never fully sync.

Priorities will always compete.

Life will always be loud.

But connection doesn’t happen accidentally anymore.

It has to be chosen.

This is me admitting I still miss chances.

Still hesitate.

Still get it wrong.

And still believing that showing up—really showing up—is one of the most important things we can do for each other as we get older.

Wear the big-boy diapers.

Make the drive.

Send the text again.

Let's keep trying.