It takes a village, but no one wants to be a villager

“It takes a village, but no one wants to be a villager”. I heard these words recently, and they remained utterly fixed in my mind. I must have turned them over a thousand times, walking down St Giles’ last week. Something clicked then. It gave voice to something I didn’t realise I had been feeling. I kept thinking about that art show or swim competition I’d asked my friends to attend, even for 15 minutes; about my quiet hope, which waned with every minute that passed without their presence. Or the many failed birthday parties I arranged in the past – too close to finals for most to make it. It extended beyond big things, too: the lunch I’d rescheduled three times, or the last-minute cancellations that seem to beleaguer any plans I make: “Sorry! I have an essay”, or “I’ve got less done this week than I thought, can we meet next week?” 

I consider my time precious. I am anxious about being late, and when I make a plan, barring illness or serious crises, of course, that time is sacred. I understand that this is not everyone’s mindset. Indeed, I’ve had to change my habits (often leaving ten minutes late intentionally, only to still turn up five minutes early) and adjust my expectations in university accordingly. But I will never subscribe to being a ‘flake’. I don’t make promises I know I cannot keep, and I always show up. I used to think ‘flakiness’ was unique to my home university, some sort of Ivy league self-absorption which made everyone unable to make space in their lives for other people. Coming to Oxford, I’ve realised it may be a broader issue. 

Oxford is full of busy people. It can seem at times like you are fighting for space in between someone’s various committee obligations, tutorials, and frantic essay crises. After all, no one can conceivably be in three places at once. However, it seems like time, and again I lose that battle for priority in the absolutely endless list of tasks everyone must complete. Promises, if they’re not immediately codified in Google Calendar, may as well ring hollow. It’s not even that people here (or at my home university, for that matter) are selfish. Plenty of people show up when it counts. However, enough people don’t, so that I’ve begun to notice a pattern. I believe this is the consequence of a changing mindset: a sort of deep-rooted individualism. 

I’m not sure if there is a single culprit for this phenomenon, however, looking at internet “self-care” trends may provide some insight. In recent years, short- and long-form videos alike have reiterated this specific refrain: “protect your peace”. On the surface, this is an innocuous, even positive mantra. It distils the ever-important need to establish boundaries, and prevent yourself from becoming a human doormat, into a catchy slogan. I agree with this message in many regards. As a bona fide people-pleaser myself, healthy boundaries are incredibly important, especially as instant communication seems to have eroded most physical ones. On the other hand, I think that this phrase can have insidious connotations. In an effort to inform us that we “don’t owe anyone anything”, these creators also tell us that we cannot put anyone before ourselves. Indeed, if showing up for someone else is too much of a burden, they say we should eschew it altogether. 

As always, it is a balance. Prioritising yourself is a nice message, especially if you are someone who regularly subordinates yourself in an effort to place others’ needs first. However, I think that, in almost every case, we actually do owe others basic courtesy, among other things. I will be the first to admit I do too much for others, folding and contorting myself to accommodate their needs. This is not good for either party: not for me, who exhausts myself in an effort to accommodate someone else, and not for them, who does not realise they were forcing me to assume such an unusual shape. At some point, I had to realise that it wasn’t worth it. But the fact that I tried remains important. We do owe it to others to try.

Then again, maybe they have their reasons for needing extra accommodation. Often, the sad part is that it’s not malicious at all. Occasionally, people don’t show up for a variety of completely understandable reasons. Forgiveness is important, as it’s impossible to know what these reasons are. However, it does not negate how demoralising it feels to repeatedly reach out. I think that in the process of trying not to owe anyone anything, we have also forgotten that people are owed a genuine apology, if not an explanation. If there is a reason we cannot show up, we must try to express it. 

In other cases, I have seen people “protect their peace” to the point where they fail to take the initial step. Of course, there comes a time when reaching out, or trying to arrange plans with someone becomes futile, but that should never be the case at the outset. These same self-interested narratives, which tell us to put ourselves above everyone else, would tell us to cut out people who do not show up for us immediately. They would say that the burden of reaching out causes too much discomfort. Perhaps this person hasn’t shown up, apologised, or explained their behaviour. Of course, you cannot keep reaching out to someone who refuses to engage with you at all. But, oftentimes, you cannot know this until you’ve earnestly tried. 

When I was younger, I used to wait for people to text me first, wondering why so few people ever seemed to make plans with me. I took it far too personally.  Eventually, one of my friends said to me, “Everyone is waiting for someone to message them first, at some point, you have to do it yourself”. This advice was precious. Waiting around to be wanted was silly, as I had done nothing to encourage it – I hadn’t shown up or reached out myself. Everyone wants a village full of people who care about and support them. But to have a village, you need to be a villager. Sometimes that means showing up, reaching out first, or supporting someone with no initial expectation of reciprocity. People will show you who they are. If they cannot be there for you, you don’t need to keep trying. However, that doesn’t mean that you don’t have to try from the outset. You need to give others a reason to be a part of your village. 

In an age of such rampant individualism, we must support one another. I urge you: go to your friends’ piano recitals or garden plays and grab lunch after a tutorial or between revision classes. The only way to combat these self-interested narratives is to show the people in your life the quiet, steady presence of your love.