The Space Between

I went to a retirement party recently, and something about it has been sitting with me ever since. At first I thought it was embarrassment. As hard as I tried to be endlessly polite, energetic, and enthusiastic, I couldn’t help but also vocalize my frustrations. Unfortunately, I didn’t vocalize them very articulately. It’s possible I simply sounded like a jaded, bitter, negative-nelly. The truth is, parties (events of all kinds, really) have been getting more and more challenging for me to want to attend, and to enjoy while at them.

The thing is, I had a good time. I almost always do. It’s not the gathering of people I’m against. Hell, I LOVE hosting! So, as always, I was genuinely happy to be there. I was glad to see familiar faces, pleased to support the organizers with their execution, and truly honoured to celebrate people I respect and appreciate.

So whatever this feeling is… it has nothing to do with an of that. It’s something else.

It’s the performative-ness of it all.

You know the moments I’m talking about. The warm conversations. The laughter feels real. The easy connection. And then, almost like a script we’ve all agreed to follow, come the words:

We should get together soon.

I’d love to do that with you.

Let’s make it happen.

I’m going to miss you.

And in those moments, I believe it. Not blindly, but openly. Hopefully.

Because connection did happen. Even if it was brief. Even if it was light.

But then… nothing.

No follow-up. No message (or return message). No plan. No “hey, I meant that.”

And while I understand life is busy, and people don’t always intend to mislead. In fact, I’m sure many people who say such things, mean it in the moment. It’s the follow-through that seems to get lost. Perhaps they forget. Or perhaps their memory of the connection isn’t as impactful as the real thing so they convince themselves the follow-through might be awkward. Either way, the result lands the same more often than I’d like to admit.

It leaves me feeling… rejected.

Unwanted.

A little foolish, if I’m being honest.

Like I misread something that felt real. 

Some people might say that’s dramatic. I’ve heard that a lot in my life.

But it’s simply how my brain processes things. Words matter to me. When something is said, I assume there’s at least a thread of truth behind it.

But when that thread disappears, I feel it.

It’s part of the reason I’ve grown to dislike parties and events like this. Not because of the people, but because of the pattern. Because it often feels like we’re all participating in some sort of unspoken agreement: a kind of social performance where connection is expressed, but rarely sustained.

And then there’s this.

I’m often asked why my marriage works.

There are a hundred answers I could give, most of them deeply personal and impossible to replicate. But when I strip it down to its simplest truth, it comes down to this… we choose each other.

Every day.

In the small moments.

In the inconvenient ones.

In the ones where it would be easier not to.

We choose each other in our decisions, our actions, our attention.

Not perfectly, but intentionally.

And the more I’ve sat with that idea, the more I’ve realized, it isn’t just the foundation of a strong marriage. It’s the foundation of any meaningful relationship. Friendship included.

Because friendships don’t survive on good intentions, they survive on the follow-through.

They require choosing each other, too.

Choosing to send the message.

Choosing to make the plan, and keep it.

Choosing to show up, even when you’re tired.

Choosing to return the call, even when you’d rather not talk.

Not out of obligation, but out of value.

Out of the quiet understanding that this connection, this person matters.

And no, that doesn’t mean sacrificing yourself. 

It doesn’t mean ignoring your own needs or forcing something that isn’t healthy.

But it does mean recognizing that meaningful relationships aren’t built in the big declarations. They’re built in the small, consistent choices.

I don’t think we’re bad creatures, we humans.

And truthfully, I don’t fully buy the idea that we’re all just exhausted, overextended, and stretched too thin either.

Or maybe a better way to say it is - we feel those things, yes. But I’m starting to question how much of that is circumstance, and how much of it is something we’ve quietly allowed to become our default.

Because when I really step back and look at it, we are living in one of the most comfortable, convenient, and resource-rich times in human history.

We have tools that save us time.

Access that previous generations never had.

Options, flexibility, connection, all at our fingertips.

And yet, somehow, we are constantly too busy to follow through.

Too tired to show up.

Too overwhelmed to nurture the very relationships we say matter to us. 

The very ones that energize us.

At some point, I have to ask myself, gently, but honestly…

Is this something that’s happening to us… 

or something we are, in part, choosing?

Not consciously, of course. Not maliciously. 

But in the small ways that add up.

Choosing to scroll instead of reaching out.

Choosing comfort over commitment.

Choosing the easier “we should” instead of the slightly harder “when works for you?”

And I’m not saying this from a place of judgment.

But I do think there’s a quiet cost to this way of living.

Because when we allow ourselves to stay in that space, where intention never quite turns into action, we’re not just letting plans fall through. We’re letting relationships stall before they have a chance to become something meaningful. We’re allowing connection to remain surface-level. We’re, in some way, failing ourselves. And each other. 

Not in some dramatic, catastrophic way. But in the slow, almost invisible way that matters just as much.. The kind where something good could have grown… and didn’t. 

And maybe that’s the harder truth. That it’s not that we don’t have the time. It’s that we’re choosing not to give or make it. We’ve gotten comfortable living in the space between the “we should” and “we did.”

And that space… is where relationships quietly fade.

It seems to me what we need isn’t more connection.

It seems we already have that.

Perhaps what we need is more commitment to the connection once it appears.

Less performance.

More intention.

Fewer words, better kept.

Because at the end of the day, I don’t think any of us are craving more polite conversations. I think we’re craving to feel chosen. And maybe the only way to truly experience that… is to start choosing each other back.

Ⓒ May 2026. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.