The Pull Toward Proximity

What I Think We're Really Doing Standing in the Cold at Tree Lightings

This past Saturday, my wife and I stood with maybe six or seven hundred other people in the dark and cold. We were all there for one reason: to watch someone flip a switch and turn on the lights for our town’s Christmas tree.

When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous. A bunch of people standing in the cold, waiting for lights to turn on. That’s it. That’s the event.

But as I stood there in the crowd, kids running around, families huddled close, strangers bumping shoulders, I realized something. This wasn’t about the tree. It wasn’t about Christmas. It wasn’t even about the lights.

It was about proximity. About being near other humans. About feeling connected to each other.

We seek this proximity in so many different ways.

• We have streaming services with every song ever recorded, but we stand in crowds at concerts, singing along with strangers.

• We have massive TVs at home, but we pack into stadiums and sports bars to high-five people we’ve never met when our team scores.

• We have workout equipment in our basements, but we go to gyms where we nod at the regulars and share the struggle.

• We can brew coffee at home, but we become regulars at coffee shops where the barista knows our order and we recognize the faces.

• We can work from home offices, but we sit in coworking spaces, cafes, or libraries, working alongside other humans.

• We can watch movies on our couches, but we go to theaters to laugh and gasp with a room full of strangers.

All these things have a solo version. A version we could do alone, often more efficiently and more comfortably. But we don’t. We often choose the version that puts us in proximity to other humans. The version where we might catch someone’s eye. Share a moment. Feel less alone.

I’m starting to think about the why underlying the what we are doing. And I keep coming back to one thing. In all these spaces we’re seeking something simple yet very complex: human connection.

Connection is one of the key places where my Heart-Strong adventure keeps pointing me. When you start looking at the world through the lens of love and fear, you see patterns everywhere. Connection isn’t random. It’s love showing up.

Our brains are literally wired for it. Love isn’t just romantic feelings. It’s our core system for connecting and thriving. When we choose proximity over isolation, when we gather instead of staying home, when we stand in the cold to watch lights turn on, we’re activating those love circuits.

I’ve been hosting Campfire Conversations this year, sitting down with people around actual fires to talk about where love and fear show up in the world. In a recent conversation with Kerem Durdag, he said something that captured this perfectly.

“Physical proximity is our essential oxygen,” he told me. “From those physical communities comes public benefit and public good.”

That’s what the tree lighting was doing. Creating physical proximity. Giving us permission to be near each other. Even though most of us likely did not realize it and would not name it, we were there to feel human connection. To feel love.

So, here’s what I’m curious about. What are the things in your life that you do where the real draw is connection, not the activity itself?

Maybe it’s not a tree lighting. Maybe it’s your weekly pickup basketball game. Or the bar stool you sit at every Friday. Or the running group that gets you out of bed on Saturday mornings. Or the book club that’s really just an excuse to see those people.

When have you felt that pull toward proximity? That desire to be near other humans, even when there’s no logical reason you need to be there?

I’m learning that recognizing these moments is the first step toward understanding how love actually works in our lives. Not the Hollywood version. The real version. The one that shows up in crowds on cold November nights, watching lights turn on a tree.