To friends past and present, I see you and I thank you for your love. To mom, thank you for letting me talk endlessly about this topic and for your encouragement to take it by the horns, rather than scrapping it like I had wanted. This journey is still ongoing, but as I am learning, I am not the only one en route.

// Installment One

“I felt like an insider and an outsider all at once. Inside my own heart, I know this is what I want; but it isn’t mine yet. I was only there to help everyone else enjoy. I appreciate the experience but my heart aches for this sense of life” – July 25, 2019.

While I was unsure of what exactly caused me discomfort, I knew there was something lacking. Moments recorded in my past, dating as far back as elementary, a yearning I had in my relationships with people. Even when I didn’t have the words to put with what I was feeling, there was an understanding that something was missing. Negative space I felt the absence of, without having the knowledge of what it was or what to do about it.

 I had no inherent problem making friends or participating in activities. I actually considered myself to have a lot of friends, I was able to get along with any group, sit at any table, and feel welcome. What I did notice in school was how I did not have a group. People I considered my best friends had their own best friends. I didn’t just want a group for the sake of it, I wanted people that wanted to build something more.

At fourteen I had a relationship that catalyzed my quest in finding community. It was there that I had many opportunities to watch the love that I wish I could bottle. 

“…I had just had the time of my life, sheepishly observing (mostly in absolute awe) a family gathering of the boy I liked. How effortless their love was displayed- how intentional time was together. I only understood that magic when I had to leave- my father picked me up and as I was walking down the front  steps – music and bountiful laughter came spilling out of the open window. It was a cold night- and looking back to the house I saw the amber light pooling out on the dark yard below. I remember having one of my first feelings of yearning for that thing. Of which I wouldn’t be able to name for many years later.” – Undated

I had friends, I had a family that held gatherings, I had hobbies that I enjoyed. But having glimpses of that magical feeling, that thing, came and went. It was purely observational for most of my adolescent years. What was that? What it felt like was love on the sidelines- waiting, eagerly, to be put in. Placed with the rest of the group moving in tandem. 

At seventeen, I was hired by a person I admired to serve at a party they were hosting on their farm. Guiding guests up the winding road, dutifully parking cars, serving hors d’oeuvres – I also was mentally taking notes. I was trying to ease the (let’s say it) jealousy bubbling up as I looked around and saw these people loving each other, like it was easy. Like it was all they were there to do. No phones to be seen, music playing, fairy lights strung. I again greeted that feeling. I had a name for it by that time. Connection. 

Well. It was named, I knew what that negative space was now. Surely now that the feeling was pinpointed, I could fill it – and quickly. I would not say I was unlucky by any means that it didn’t. Having a name only led to more questions.

The summer of 2021 I was asked to teach a course over the summer to high school students for college credit. This course could be over anything. I felt I had nothing tangible to share, let alone teach. I sat with my list of potential classes in my phone notes until the deadline came. I submitted an idea that I kept coming back to despite not knowing the heart of my curriculum, how to show up, or how to get people interested to sign up for it. And to my surprise, it was accepted. 

I remember leading meditation, serving tea, giving out exploratory journal prompts (which I too followed), and encouraging real face-to-face conversations. I named my course “Cultivating Connections.” Trying to keep secret that this was just as experimental for me as it was for the students. The summer came and went, poignant as it was, I still left unfulfilled.

I turned twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-two. And what changed (other than everything) was spending more of my time doing rather than thinking about what I was missing. The task of opening up authentically eased when I moved out of my hometown. Be it by forty miles. I unconditioned any previous ambition of being palatable for everyone. I also had to shake the thought that all communities were already built, and I wasn’t given the passcode to be let in. Once that was out of the way, I could finally open my eyes and look around me.