“It’s all too much.” Over the past few years, I’ve caught myself repeatedly saying some version of this sentence while waving my hands around in the air. The negative headlines are relentless, the outrage cycles never end, the problems feel enormous, and the cruelty is soul-crushing. I doomscroll because I want to bear witness (looking away is a privilege many of my neighbors of color don’t have), but I’m learning that being informed is not the same as being connected.
The only moments I feel truly connected to others and believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s hope to turn this ship back towards kindness and empathy is when I’m with my community. My real-life, in-person, not-always-convenient, and sometimes-messy community. So what does this look like?
Regularly hosting friends and family.
Hosting certainly takes effort. Coordinating a date, cleaning the house, planning food and drinks, doing the dishes after … I’m tired just writing a few of the steps out! There are so many reasons not to host, especially at a time when so many of us feel stretched thin just by the day-to-day of life.
But every single time I gather people together, I’m always so glad I did.
Dinner for a small group of friends, an ‘80s-themed birthday blowout, a nail painting party with girlfriends and their kids, cooking brunch for an out-of-town friend, a closet cleanout clothing swap, a pizza and movie night, or just sitting on the couch in comfy clothes doing literally nothing. It doesn’t matter if it’s simple or extravagant. What matters is creating a reason and purpose to gather my community together. When I fill my home with or am surrounded by people I love and enjoy, something sacred happens. It reminds me that this life – both the joy and the pain – is communal.
Becoming a joiner again.
When I was in school, my parents’ favorite joke was, “If there was a nose-picker’s club, Brynna would join it.” While maybe a bit of a stretch, it’s not completely wrong. Looking back, I’m grateful for the opportunities I had to interact with so many different types of people and learn from so many different types of experiences. Being a joiner allowed me to build a diverse, wide-reaching community.
Somewhere along the winding road to my 40s, however, I stopped saying yes as often. A friend and I always lament that finding the “activation energy” to do things beyond the day-to-day can be hard, especially when you’re a full-time working parent.
But when I do say yes – when I attend the listening session on local politics, go see a new band, play paddle or pickleball on a weekday, attend an author event, go for a power walk around the neighborhood with a friend, make a spontaneous visit a local bookstore, or meet girlfriends on a random Friday for lunch – I actually walk away with even more energy. The introverts reading this might be rolling their eyes. But I really do think we’re all suffering from a human connection deficiency, and regularly saying yes to joining in with others provides us with a much-needed boost of connectivity.
For example, joining the Indianapolis Moms Book Club over five years ago has given me one of my biggest injections of connection. It feels quietly radical to sit around a table talking with 20+ women who are both exactly the same and completely different from me. We disagree. We laugh. We veer wildly off topic (a lot). But we continue to show up and remind each other that thoughtful conversation and nuance still exist. It doesn’t really matter the books we pick. It’s the ritual of gathering together in our little book-ish community, looking each other in the eye, and really caring about someone else’s perspective and what they have to say.
Volunteering
Perhaps most importantly, I’ve found community in volunteering, where the fellowship I crave and the purpose I need intersect. Putting my time, treasures, and talents towards a cause I care about is tangible and immediate. I get to see the impact in real life and gain a much-needed reminder that good does still exist in our world.
I’ve found community and built strong friendships through volunteering for a local non-profit that provides services for individuals with disabilities, for organizations like Seeds of Caring, for my daughter’s Girl Scouts troop, and for her elementary school. Sometimes my service is significant, like spending months planning a fundraiser gala. Sometimes my service is quick, like taking 45 minutes to set up the Teacher Appreciation Week dessert table. But every time I realize there is something profoundly hopeful and comforting about working alongside people who are giving their time to a cause bigger than themselves without expecting anything in return.
Listen, I get it. Life is busy, almost offensively so. Between the work deadlines, the school drop-offs, the practices, and the inboxes, there’s rarely a moment that isn’t spoken for. And when those few free hours do appear, the siren call of the couch, the television, or phone is hard to resist.
But I keep coming back to what I know to be true: scrolling through the wreckage of the world online rarely makes me feel better or less alone. Showing up for people always does. The dinner table, the book club, the volunteer shift … these aren’t escapes from the chaos of our world. They’re the antidote to it.
Building community – whatever that looks like for you – won’t fix everything. It’s not always convenient and definitely isn’t perfect. But it will remind you, again and again, that we really are in this together.
