I have a dream of starting up a small-town grocery store.

It would be filled with all the things that are Olga approved. If you know my wife, you know that she has a much higher standard than most other rating agencies available. But just because it would be healthy does not mean it would not be fun. There are some candies that she does, in fact, approve of. And I am sure she would let me sneak in some ice cream. But, overall, it would be healthy.

And in this small-town grocery store, there would have to be a coffee shop, with a place for people to come in and sit. And on the wall would be a selection of used paperbacks, because I love the idea of encouraging a reading culture.

And maybe we could include some select pieces from local artists, like painters and potters.

It is community. It is culture. It is health.

This quaint dream of a small-town shop fades out of mind as my smartwatch buzzes, telling me that some sweet lady delivering for InstaCart has just dropped off some of our forgotten groceries from our last trip to the supermarket.

The hard part about a small-town store is the hours, the product supply, the diversity, the freshness. It just cannot compete on those terms with the large super-stores. Plus, with just a few taps, I can bring the whole catalogue of these massive buildings right to my home in the same day for just a small fee.

I don’t have to drive, or talk to anyone, or meander the aisles. It is all done for me. Absolute convenience.

The inconvenient truth is that when the world becomes wholly “convenient,” we will lose out on the real sense of community that we can have by bumping into one another. We miss that real life is actually found in the friction of everyday experiences and that by bypassing these moments for convenience’s sake, we are missing out on life.

For example, the first time my now wife and I actually hung out as friends was in the grocery store. Learning about healthy food and cooking was something that bonded our early friendship. Loping up and down the aisles gave us an opportunity to talk and learn one another.

One of the more joyful moments of being a return customer to a certain store is getting to know the workers. Olga and I would attend the Kroger in Urbana around the same time every week, and we knew that we would bump into Brittany. In the time we were shopping there, we watched our lives change. She was single when we met her, and by the time we were leaving, she was engaged and had bought a house. In turn, she knew us before kids and was around to see us bring two babies into the store. In a world of convenience, we so easily can miss the friction of relationships.

Community isn’t efficient. Relationship is mostly time-wasting. It means running into people while out and about and having to hear about their cat or their holiday plans or whatever.

Community isn’t efficient, but it is what so many people say they are missing. If you want community, then you have to commit to being a part of one. That means getting out, wasting time, and bumping into other people.

Get off the digital store and walk into a local one. You may end up meeting your new best friend.

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