The Value of Showing Up

Life has a way of becoming increasingly full. There is work, family, commitments, travel, emails that need answering, calls that need returning, and a long list of things that somehow always seem urgent. Most days, we move from one responsibility to another without thinking too much about it. We tell ourselves we will call someone later, make time for dinner next week, visit when things calm down, or reach out when we have a little more space. The problem is that life rarely creates that space for us. We have to create it ourselves.

I have been thinking about this more lately, particularly about the simple importance of showing up for people. Not in some dramatic way, and not necessarily because there is a crisis or a major occasion. Sometimes showing up just means making the call, sitting down for a meal, going to an event when it would have been easier to stay home, or giving someone your attention when they need it.

These things can feel small when we do them, but I am increasingly convinced that they are not. When someone is going through a difficult period, we often worry about finding the right words. We wonder what advice to give or what we can do to make things better.

In many situations, there really is no perfect thing to say. What matters more is that the person knows you are there. A phone call may not solve anything, and sitting beside someone may not change the situation, but presence has its own value.

The same is true when things are going well. Showing up for someone’s happiness matters too. Celebrating a birthday, a wedding, a graduation, a new beginning or even a smaller personal achievement is another way of saying: what happens in your life matters to me.

I think this is especially important in families. As children grow older and everyone develops their own routines, it becomes much easier for family life to happen around schedules rather than at the center of them.

The ordinary moments become harder to organize, and perhaps because of that, more valuable. A dinner together does not need to be memorable. A conversation does not need to be profound. Sometimes the fact that everyone made the effort to be there is enough.

Jewish life has always understood something about this. So much of our tradition is built around presence. We gather around a table. We visit people who are sick. We celebrate together and mourn together. We come to a shiva house even when we are not sure what to say.

Often, the most important thing we bring with us is simply ourselves. There is something very human about that idea. We cannot always fix what another person is facing, and we cannot participate in every part of the lives of the people we care about. But we can make the decision, when it matters, not to remain at a distance.

Technology has made staying connected easier than at any point in our lives. We can send a message in seconds, see photographs from across the world and know what friends and family are doing almost instantly. All of that is useful, but I sometimes wonder whether being constantly connected has also made it easier to confuse contact with presence.

A message is good. A call can be better. And sometimes nothing replaces actually being there. This applies to community as well. Communities are not sustained only by institutions or by the people whose names appear on boards and committees. They depend on people deciding to participate. To attend. To support. To check in on someone. To volunteer. To come when they are needed, including on the days when doing so is inconvenient.

I have come to believe that consistency matters more than grand gestures. Anyone can show up once when something dramatic happens. The relationships that shape our lives are usually built much more quietly, through years of small decisions to remain present.

None of us gets this right all the time. There will always be calls we forget to return, dinners we miss and moments when work or other responsibilities take over. That is life, and pretending otherwise would not be realistic.

But perhaps it is worth occasionally asking ourselves a very simple question: Who have I not shown up for lately? Not because we should feel guilty, but because the answer may remind us where we actually want to spend our time.

We spend much of our lives measuring what we accomplish. We think about what we build, what we earn, where we travel and what we manage to achieve. Those things have their place. But when I think about the people who have mattered most in my own life, I do not remember them because they always knew exactly what to say. I remember that they were there.

Mayne, in the end, being there for one another is one of the simplest and most meaningful things we can do.