I'm Not Anti-Social, I Just Don't Like Everyone

 

This is one of those statements that sounds much harsher than it actually is.

When people hear someone say they don't like everyone, they immediately assume that person is anti-social, bitter, unfriendly, or somehow difficult to get along with. 

In reality, I've found the opposite to be true.

I believe every person deserves to be treated with respect and dignity. 

Every single one. 

Whether you're my best friend, a coworker, a stranger at the grocery store, or someone I've known for five minutes, you deserve a baseline level of kindness simply because you're a human being.

What I don't believe is that I'm obligated to like everyone.

Those are two completely different things.

Somewhere along the way, it feels like society started treating respect and friendship as if they were the same thing. 

They're not.

Respect is mandatory.

Friendship is optional.

I can be polite to someone without wanting to spend my free time with them. 

I can wish someone success without wanting them in my inner circle. 

I can hope that good things happen in their life while simultaneously having no interest in building a relationship with them.

That isn't hatred.

That isn't being anti-social.

That's simply recognizing that not every person is meant to occupy the same space in your life.

As I've gotten older, I've become much more selective about who gets access to my time, energy, and attention. 

Not because I think I'm better than anyone else, but because all three of those things are finite resources.

Every hour I spend dealing with unnecessary drama, negativity, or chaos is an hour I'm not spending with the people who actually make my life better.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that there are people who bring peace into your life, and there are people who bring complications into your life. 

The older I get, the more I find myself gravitating toward the first group and quietly distancing myself from the second.

That doesn't mean I dislike the second group.

It just means I don't need them sitting at my table.

I think a lot of people struggle with this concept because they've been taught that if someone isn't your enemy, they should automatically be your friend. 

But life isn't that simple. 

There is a massive middle ground between friendship and hostility.

Most people I meet fall into that middle ground.

They're perfectly fine people.

I wish them well.

I simply don't need them in my life.

The funny thing is that when I was younger, I probably spent far too much energy trying to make everyone like me. 

I think most people do. 

You want to fit in. 

You want to be accepted. 

You want to be part of the group. 

So you spend time chasing approval from people who were never going to be your people in the first place.

At some point, though, I realized something.

Not everyone likes me either.

And that's perfectly okay.

I once read a quote that said "You might be the sweetest peach on the tree, but some people just don't like peaches."

That perfectly sums it up.

There are billions of people on this planet. 

The idea that every one of them should enjoy my company is ridiculous. 

So if I'm willing to accept that not everyone is going to like me, why would I feel guilty for not liking everyone else?

The goal isn't universal approval.

The goal is mutual respect.

That's a much more realistic standard.

I've also noticed that many people confuse boundaries with hostility.

I have plenty of coworkers that I always have a nice conversation with.

When we're at work, we enjoy each other's company.

But are we ever going to hang out in a non work setting?

I doubt it.

And that's perfectly fine.

There's no hard feelings.

There's also no forced expectation of anything needing to happen outside of work.

It's just fine as it is, where it is.

It could even get to the point where said coworker says "Hey, a bunch of us are going to do (insert social activity here) after work if you'd like to join us."

That's where you can make a decision, do you want to spend time with them outside of work?

Maybe you do, maybe you don't.

It's your decision, and neither one is wrong.

Where it can get murky is if you decide not to go, and now you might be hit with the "anti-social" label.

If you decline an invitation, you're anti-social.

If you keep your circle small, you're anti-social.

If you prefer a quiet night at home over a crowded social event, you're anti-social.

No, maybe I just know what I enjoy.

Maybe I've reached the point where I'm comfortable admitting that not every social opportunity is actually an opportunity.

Sometimes it's just an obligation disguised as one.

I've met people who seem to collect friendships like they're collecting trading cards. 

Every person they meet immediately becomes a close friend. 

Every acquaintance becomes a best friend. 

Every interaction becomes another social commitment.

That's never been me.

I don't need 1,000 friends.

I'd rather have 10 people I can trust than 1,000 people I feel obligated to keep up with.

In fact, some of the happiest periods of my life have coincided with having a smaller social circle.

Fewer misunderstandings. 

Fewer obligations. 

Less drama. 

More genuine relationships.

Trips to Taco Bell after wiffle ball, just eating and talking, telling stories.

We were never trying to impress each other, we just loved Taco Bell, and the conversation came naturally.

Times like that are the true core memories I hope to be able to hold onto forever.

Quality has always mattered more to me than quantity.

And that brings me to something I've realized about myself over the years.

I need genuine sincerity.

Not the obligation to attempt to be sincere.

There's a difference.

I've never been particularly interested in relationships that exist because people feel they're supposed to maintain them. 

The relationships that matter to me are the ones where people genuinely want to be there in the first place.

Not because social convention says they should.

Not because somebody told them they have to.

Not because they're trying to keep up appearances.

Because they genuinely care.

I certainly hope that the people that are in my life are here because they genuinely want to be.

Because I can assure you, if I've become a part of your life, in whatever big or small way that it may be, know that it's because I genuinely want to be there.

I think that's why performative behavior has always felt strange to me. 

If someone tells me I have to react to something, part of me immediately questions whether the reaction is even authentic anymore. 

If someone is only saying something because they feel obligated to say it, how much meaning does it actually carry?

For me, sincerity has always mattered more than appearances.

I'd rather receive a simple message that someone genuinely meant than a perfectly crafted message that exists only because they felt required to send it.

I think sincerity is also what separates an acquaintance from a friend.

Every meaningful friendship I've ever had started the same way. 

Not with some grand moment, but with small interactions that gradually became bigger ones.

It starts with a simple:

"Hey, how's it going?"

Then maybe a few weeks later, it becomes a slightly longer conversation.

Then you start learning things about each other.

You discover common interests.

You share stories.

You exchange opinions.

Eventually, one of those conversations turns into:

"So what are you up to this weekend?"

And before you know it, you're making plans outside of the environment where you originally met.

That's how bridges get built.

Not through obligation.

Not through social expectations.

Not because somebody told you that you should be friends.

They get built through genuine interest in another person.

The strongest friendships I've had were never forced. 

Nobody assigned them. 

Nobody required them. 

Nobody sat down and decided we were supposed to be friends.

We simply enjoyed each other's company enough that we kept choosing to spend time together.

Over and over again.

Until one day we realized we had become friends.

Another thing I've come to accept is that not every friendship is meant to last forever.

That sounds depressing at first, but I don't think it is.

Think about how many people you've met throughout your life. 

School friends. 

Former coworkers. 

Teammates. 

Neighbors. 

People you saw almost every day for years.

 At one point, those people were a regular part of your life. 

You knew what was going on with them. 

They knew what was going on with you.

Then life happened.

Someone moved away.

Someone got married.

Someone had kids.

Someone changed careers.

Someone got busy.

And before you know it, the person you used to talk to every day is now someone whose name pops up once a year because Facebook reminded you it was their birthday.

They write "Happy Birthday."

You click "Like."

A few months later, they do the same for you.

And that's the entirety of the relationship now.

What's interesting is that I don't view that as a tragedy.

I don't view it as a failed friendship.

I don't view it as evidence that somebody did something wrong.

It's just life.

For a certain period of time, our paths crossed. 

We shared experiences. 

We created memories. 

We helped shape each other's lives in ways that were meaningful at the time. Then our paths diverged.

There was no fight.

No betrayal.

No dramatic falling out.

Just two people continuing their journeys in different directions.

I think social media sometimes tricks us into believing that because we still have access to people, we still have relationships with them. 

Those aren't necessarily the same thing.

Being connected isn't the same as being close.

And that's okay.

Relationships don't have to last forever to have value.

Some people are with us for a reason.

Some are with us for a season.

Very few are with us for a lifetime.

That doesn't diminish what they meant to us.

It simply acknowledges reality.

As Gotye famously sang, sometimes they're just somebody that we used to know.

Not because of bitterness.

Not because of sadness.

Not because of regret.

Just because life goes on.

One of the most freeing realizations I've ever had is that not every relationship requires a grand conclusion. 

Sometimes people simply drift apart. 

Sometimes they move in different directions. 

Sometimes you realize you have less in common than you once thought.

That isn't failure.

That's life.

At the end of the day, I don't think being a good person requires you to like everyone.

I think being a good person requires you to treat everyone fairly.

Those are very different standards.

One demands emotions.

The other demands character.

And character is something you can choose every single day.

So no, I'm not anti-social.

I enjoy good conversations.

I enjoy meaningful friendships.

I enjoy spending time with people I care about.

I simply don't believe that every person I meet is entitled to a permanent reservation in my life.

Respect?

Absolutely.

Kindness?

Always.

Friendship?

That part has to be earned.

Thanks for reading this folks, until next week!