Community is built in small, everyday ways.
No, this isn’t another post about coffee.
I’ve had a really good few weeks. Not because anything big or special happened. There were no grand trips, no major milestones, no celebrations. My days have been good because I — we — have been with our people.
For someone as introverted as I am, it might surprise you to hear that my cup is so full right now. As it turns out, introversion doesn’t mean I don’t love being with people. It just means the type of connection matters. When the company is nourishing, I leave more energized than when I arrived. (And when it’s shallow, chaotic, or draining in any way… I leave empty.)
There was a fantastic tasting menu dinner with excellent company. We got to know a loved one’s new significant other — the kind of meeting that can be exciting and awkward in equal measure — and it ended up being wonderful. We swapped family stories, she got a peek into our “family” dynamic, and the comfort level rose fast enough to create the kind of inside jokes that feel instant. There was a lot of laughter.
Another night, we had dinner with friends we hadn’t seen in a while, at a Denver neighborhood staple. We thought about going somewhere new and trendy, but decided instead to revisit a local mainstay. Over a bottle of red wine (I couldn’t tell you what kind, since I let someone else choose), we talked about how sad it is when long-standing restaurants close, and how important it is to support the ones we love. The food was still excellent, the drinks simple but perfect — but most of all, the company made the night. I couldn’t tell you everything we talked about, but I can tell you how it felt: light, warm, and easy.
Then there was the casual dinner we hosted at home. This summer has been relentlessly hot — 90+ degrees for days on end — so we offered our air conditioning, along with a simple, budget-friendly meal. Outside, the air was heavy and still, the kind that sticks to your skin (why has this summer been so humid?! We thought we moved away from humidity!), but inside, the cool hum of the AC made everyone instantly relax. That night, we learned more than we expected about plants and hydroponics, the dogs got a playdate, and we got the kind of conversation that lingers with you.
We also visited one of my favorite restaurants in Denver, where we know the chef-owners and staff. We brought them bags of candy because we knew it’s their fuel, and in return, we got hugs, quick chats, and the camaraderie of people who are happy to see you walk in.
Not all of these moments happened over dinner, though.
I saw my hair stylist, someone I’ve been going to for a few years now. We caught up on the six weeks since our last visit, and she asked about my pottery. It’s a small kindness that lands bigger than you’d expect. There’s something affirming about someone remembering your little side projects; it makes you feel seen. And of course, I asked about her upcoming trip to Greece, and we yapped and yapped while she was giving my hair a much-needed trim.
Speaking of pottery, I went to the studio last week and learned how to make a lidded jar. It was a bit of a group effort, the kind of collaborative cheerleading that’s built into the pottery community. We swapped tips, laughed at our mistakes, and as it tends to happen, the conversation somehow drifted from clay techniques to imposter syndrome.
And all of this was just within the last two weeks.
With each shared meal, each story, each burst of joyful-tears laughter, I’ve felt a little more grounded. A little more connected. A little more seen. A lot more appreciated, and appreciative. The last two weeks have been a beautiful reminder that community isn’t always about large gatherings or elaborate plans. It’s often about a handful of people who just get you, and the cumulative effect of those small moments is what keeps you going.
My cup is full. And when it’s full, it’s easier to pour into the people who fill mine.
Leave a Reply