The lost art of dropping in

This article didn’t start as a grand idea. It started mid-sentence, mid-meeting, somewhere between key messages and audience personas.

We were in a branding session with our client Ali – the kind of client we love most – this morning. The work was flowing, the conversation meandered (as it often does), and suddenly we weren’t talking about market segments anymore. We were talking about life. About feeling the need to be perfect. About how busy it gets. About how hard it is to catch up. About how even the people we love now require a calendar invite and a week’s notice to see them.

And someone said it: “Remember when you would just drop in for a cuppa?”

That’s the thing about the people and businesses we work with. They expand our worldview. They don’t just ask us to help shape their brands; they invite us into honest, human conversations about things, large and small. Those conversations linger long after the meeting ends. This one has.

Because there was a time when you didn’t need a plan to see people you care about.

You’d be driving past. You’d notice a light on. You’d think, I’ve got ten minutes. You’d knock. The kettle would go on. You’d sit at the table and talk about the small details of life. Talk about the big important subjects you didn’t want to face. Leave feeling lighter than when you arrived.

No agenda. No productivity. No worrying about having an Instagram-worthy house. No reason beyond being there.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that was no longer allowed.

Now we schedule friendship like business meetings. Two weeks’ notice. A precise start time. A polite end time. A follow-up text: So good to see you, let’s do more of that.

We tell ourselves a story:
People are busy.
I will be an interruption.
It would be rude to just drop in.
Everyone’s stretched. Everyone’s tired. I better not.

So, we don’t knock.

But here’s the thing. I think that story is mostly fiction.

Yes, life seems fuller now. Yes, work can bleed into everything. Yes to the kids, the commitments, the time-crunch. It’s all real. All true.

But so is this: many of us are quietly lonely. Many of us crave unscheduled connection. Many of us would love someone to turn up with no expectations beyond a cuppa and a chat.

Dropping in was never about efficiency. It was about belonging.

It said: I see you. I thought of you. I had a spare moment and I chose you.

Those moments helped stitch communities together. They gave us context. Perspective. Purpose. They reminded us that life wasn’t just tasks and to-do lists. It was people. It was presence. It was showing up without a specific reason.

Now we schedule everything – including our relationships – and wonder why everything feels so thin.

We think we don’t have time, but I suspect what we’ve really lost is permission. Permission to be informal. To be imperfect. To be vulnerable. To take up a little space in someone else’s day.

This isn’t a call to barge into lives uninvited. It’s a questioning of the story we tell ourselves – that connection must always be planned, polished, and pencilled in.

Maybe the problem isn’t that we’re too busy.
Maybe it’s that we’ve forgotten how to be available.

So, here’s today’s radical idea: knock on the door. Text and say, I’m nearby. Kettle on? Bring some bikkies. Sit for 10 minutes.

Bring back the ordinary magic of just calling in.

Because sometimes the most meaningful conversations – about life and who we are – start when no one planned them.

Peita