Funny How You Can

I'm observant.

The kind of observant where I don't even need to ask questions anymore.

I'm just watching.

And baby, some of y'all are putting on a whole Broadway production.

There was a time when I'd try to figure people out.

I'd replay conversations.

I'd search for misunderstandings.

I'd look for the missing piece.

I'd wonder if maybe I wasn't communicating clearly enough.

Maybe the timing was off.

Maybe life got in the way.

Maybe they were busy.

Now?

I just watch.

Because actions don't need subtitles.

I watch what people fund.

I watch who they prioritize.

I watch where they spend their time.

I watch who gets their energy.

I watch who gets their consistency.

I watch who gets the version of them they swore didn't exist.

And what I've discovered is simple.

People rarely lack the ability.

They simply make choices.

Funny how they can.

That's become one of my favorite phrases lately.

Funny how you can.

You can answer everybody else's texts.

You can show up for everybody else's events.

You can celebrate everybody else's wins.

You can make time for everybody else's plans.

You can communicate with everybody else.

You can be thoughtful with everybody else.

You can be intentional with everybody else.

You can.

Just not with me.

And that's okay.

What isn't okay is pretending I don't see it.

One thing that really started making me laugh was the "WYD?" crowd.

You know exactly who I'm talking about.

The people who talk to you all day.

All.

Day.

Talking about restaurants.

Talking about movies.

Talking about concerts.

Talking about places they want to go.

Talking about things they want to do.

Talking about experiences.

Talking about plans.

Talking.

Talking.

Talking.

Then at the end of the day, here comes the text.

"WYD?"

Now see, I've reached an age where I need clarification.

Because are you asking because you're genuinely interested?

Or are you asking because your thumbs got bored?

Because those are two very different things.

You ask me what I'm doing.

I answer.

Then suddenly...

Silence.

Gone.

Missing.

Vanished.

No follow-up.

No invitation.

No plan.

No purpose.

Nothing.

Meanwhile, you're actively doing the exact thing we spent six hours talking about.

Now why did you ask me what I was doing?

For attendance purposes?

Were you taking roll?

Conducting a census?

Gathering demographic information?

Because clearly my availability wasn't actually needed.

At this point, just miss me with the question.

Go enjoy your evening.

Respectfully.

Because what you're not going to do is make me think we're building a bridge when you're actually just checking to see if the bridge still exists.

That part.

That part right there.

I've learned some people don't actually want to spend time with you.

They want to know they could if they wanted to.

One is connection.

The other is comfort.

And some folks use your availability like a security blanket.

They don't want to use it.

They just need to know it's there.

And baby, I've started paying attention.

The restaurant reels are another one.

Lord, the restaurant reels.

You send me seventeen videos about a place.

Seventeen.

The menu.

The drinks.

The atmosphere.

The dessert.

The live music.

The reviews.

The parking situation.

I finally say, "Okay, let's go."

Suddenly you're busier than airport Wi-Fi.

Every single time.

Then three weeks later you're texting me from the exact place.

Or posting pictures from there.

Or telling me how amazing it was.

Now hold on.

Let me make sure I understand.

You wanted me to know about the place.

You wanted me to talk about the place.

You wanted me to engage about the place.

You just never wanted to go to the place with me.

Got it.

Thank you for clearing that up.

Because confusion isn't a love language.

Mixed signals aren't communication.

They're information.

At some point I stopped asking what happened.

I started asking what is this showing me?

Because the answer is usually standing right in front of you wearing a name tag.

Relationships taught me this lesson before business ever did.

Some people couldn't communicate.

Until somebody else showed up.

Some people couldn't commit.

Until somebody else showed up.

Some people couldn't make time.

Until somebody else showed up.

Some people couldn't plan.

Until somebody else showed up.

Some people couldn't be emotionally available.

Until somebody else showed up.

And then suddenly they're writing paragraphs.

Planning vacations.

Returning calls.

Expressing feelings.

Sending flowers.

Look at you.

A miracle.

Somebody notify the medical community.

We've got a breakthrough.

And before anybody gets offended, people absolutely grow.

People absolutely change.

But stop allowing somebody else's selective effort to make you question your value.

Because sometimes the issue isn't capacity.

It's priority.

And those are not the same thing.

One thing I've noticed is that the people who demand the fastest response from you are often the same people who take the longest to respond back.

They need an answer immediately.

Did you get my text?

Did you see my message?

Can you call me?

Following up.

Checking in.

Double texting.

Triple texting.

Sending smoke signals if necessary.

But let you need something.

Now communication is hard.

Now life got busy.

Now they're overwhelmed.

Now they're unavailable.

Interesting.

Because responsiveness isn't a communication skill.

It's a priority indicator.

The people who need you will seek your attention.

The people who value you will reciprocate it.

There's a difference.

A big one.

Business taught me another version of this lesson.

People will use your expertise.

Use your wisdom.

Use your network.

Use your resources.

Use your platform.

Use your introductions.

Use your ideas.

Use your generosity.

Use your emotional labor.

Use your encouragement.

Use your prayers.

And after a while, they'll start acting like the fruit just appeared.

Like the tree planted itself.

Like the field worked itself.

Like the harvest came out of nowhere.

Funny how that works.

Everybody loves the harvest.

Everybody loves the fruit.

Everybody loves the benefits.

Everybody loves the outcome.

Very few people respect the field.

Very few people respect the work.

Very few people respect the sacrifice.

Very few people respect the labor.

Very few people respect the years it took to become who you are.

They just somehow arrive right when everything starts blooming.

Fork in hand.

Tupperware container ready.

Talking about, "What we got?"

"We?"

Baby, who is we?

You weren't here when I was planting.

You weren't here when I was watering.

You weren't here when I was waiting.

You weren't here when I was carrying the weight.

You weren't here when there was nothing to see.

But now that there's fruit, suddenly you're family.

That's adorable.

And that's when the lesson finally clicked.

Some people don't want a relationship.

They want a resource.

Some people don't want connection.

They want convenience.

Some people don't want reciprocity.

They want access to the benefits.

The giveaway is simple.

Watch what happens when you stop initiating.

Watch what happens when you stop carrying the conversation.

Watch what happens when you stop checking in first.

Watch what happens when you stop being useful.

Watch what happens when you stop pouring.

A whole lot of relationships start looking real different when the faucet gets turned off.

The older I get, the less interested I am in who needs me.

I'm paying attention to who values me.

Who shows up.

Who remembers.

Who reciprocates.

Who makes room.

Who makes effort.

Who doesn't require a favor, a referral, a recommendation, a connection, a prayer request, a crisis, or an emergency before my phone lights up.

Those people?

Those are my people.

Everybody else?

I'm not mad.

I'm not bitter.

I'm not even surprised.

I'm just paying attention.

And trust me, that's become far more powerful than any confrontation.

Because once you see people clearly, you stop trying to explain away what they've already shown you.

Funny how you can.

Funny how you always could.

And funny how the older I get, the easier it becomes to tell the difference.