Isolation: The Reward of a Hyper-Convenient Society

By Katelyn Phan

Ruth Mthembu / @RuthyMthembu on Pinterest

The insurmountable joy of receiving a message from Kroger that my pickup order is ready is—sometimes—the highlight of my day. It takes just a minute for groceries to be delivered to my car. No talk of weather, no roaming around the produce section, no running into your neighbor. What once involved community—asking the butcher for recipe ideas or chatting with the cashier—has dissipated. In the seamless transition from Kroger to my refrigerator, I have not spoken to anyone. Not once.

Something is missing. This transition was too seamless. Frictionless.

The friction that used to tie us to one another is ultimately inconvenient. In theory, community is romantic. It requires patience and a willingness to be uncomfortable. It’s easier to “let them” cross over every boundary and disappear once you’ve had enough. Community requires us to show up even when it’s awkward, to talk through conflict instead of avoiding it.

How can I do this when I don’t even talk to anyone when picking up my groceries?

Convenience Cult

The paradox of convenience: it promises more time, more freedom, more opportunity to do whatever we want. But is this time being well spent? In a culture that pushes “stay humble, hustle hard,” downtime is seen as a liability.

“Therapy-speak” is deployed to defend our distance from one another. Words like “bad energy,” “triggers,” and “boundaries” have become popularized and are used to justify avoidance. Of course, boundaries are important, but they can become a wall between comfort and community. 

Innovations such as driverless cars, self-checkout systems and automation have created accessibility for those with disabilities and offered relief. But when ease becomes the default—when “fast” is always better—we start to forget how critical the slow and inconvenient details are.

This is our culture: convenience is superior, and needing people is inferior.

The Inconvenient Path

“I just don’t have the time.”

Building a more connected life isn’t about finding more time. It’s about choosing a different way of living, repeatedly.

How? By decentering productivity, relearning interdependence, making time (not finding it), accepting discomfort and understanding your tolerance.

A life of community isn’t found—it’s created. Inviting friends over for monthly dinners, showing up to plans instead of canceling at the last minute, offering things without expecting something in return. Normalizing slowness, imperfection and effort.

A full life asks something of you. It asks for your time, attention, discomfort—and especially your presence. It asks you to show up, not only when it’s convenient. It also asks you to stay, especially when it’s awkward.

I’ll leave you with an invitation to choose friction. Lean into the awkward pause. Relish the extra moment. Saying yes will take a little more effort, but I promise it will sustain you more than rotting in bed.

We all deserve an unrequited community. Let’s build it together.