on finding your people

one awkward introduction at a time

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When we moved to New Jersey a little over 4 years ago, my husband joked that people would run the other way when they saw me coming.

We had just relocated 3,000 miles from California. Our kids were 2.5 years old and 2 months old. We'd visited our new town exactly one time before and knew exactly zero people. To add insult to injury, it was December. And it was freezing.

First, I don't recommend this.

Second, I'll repeat: we knew exactly zero people.

But I already knew what it felt like to start over, after multiple moves to multiple cities over the prior decade. The intoxicating mix of newness, excitement and fear.

And the mild panic of no one to share it with.

Which is why, at any chance I got, I'd introduce myself to complete strangers. Toddler whining, baby on hip, hand extended, "Hi, I'm Catherine, we're new here. Where do you live? Do your kids go to school in town? Can I be your friend? I'm free on Tuesdays!"

I still have multiple random numbers saved in my phone, such as "Kelly (Library, son Ethan)" or "Monica (Produce aisle, daughter Lucy)."

My friend conversion rate was pretty low, at the start.

But slowly, one awkward introduction at a time, I started to find my people.

Now, for the first time since I was a kid, I find myself with a physical village all around me. It it is a source of deep and profound comfort. Knowing I'm not a solitary village witch on the outskirts of town, with no one to visit with.

This physical village is specific, in that it's filled mostly with people in similar life stages and circumstances.

As a parent especially, it validates my life experiences ("Yes, my kid does that too and it's the absolute worst") and provides actual physical support ("Yes, let me pick up your son and drive him home so you don't have race across town at rush hour").

It is something I didn't know that I needed until I had it. A leak I didn't notice until it was sealed.

And.

This village is not the only village. It can't be, nor should it be.

Because my needs as a mother are different than my needs as ________________.

This is blank, purposely, because I, and you, and we, are always so much more than whatever label might currently be overshadowing all the rest.

This is a nudge to pay attention to those things.

And get curious about where your other village witches might be.

What are they thinking about, and dreaming of, and yearning for, around their solitary fires? What do they wish they could talk about with someone else? What could they only hope others would truly understand about them? What are they afraid to talk about, because they're scared it makes them different? Because they know it makes them different?

They are out there. And they are waiting for you.

Go find them. Introduce yourself.

xx

Catherine

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