Who Are My People Now?

One of my favorite parts of being at The Swell Center actually happens after class is over. People are gathering water bottles, phones and whatever else they brought in with them. But instead of heading straight for the door, they linger. Someone starts a conversation. Two people who didn't know each other before class are still talking. Another person asks, “Are you coming next week?” And sometimes I just stand there observing the moment and feeling a little bit more excited.

This is what I was hoping would happen here.

What I didn't realize when I started The Swell Center was that I needed community just as much as everyone else. I'm approaching a season of life with a lot of change in it. The kids are becoming increasingly independent. Paul and I are planning our November wedding. I've left behind a corporate identity that defined a large part of my adult life and am creating something entirely different. And as I approach 50, I find myself becoming more thoughtful about where I put my time, my energy and my heart. Which has left me asking a question I suspect many of us ask at some point: Who are my people now?

And maybe more importantly: Who are the people I'll walk through this next season of life with?

The funny thing about wanting community is that someone has to be willing to create it. And creating it requires vulnerability.

Someone has to text first.

Someone has to walk into a class where she doesn't know anyone.

Someone has to sit beside the stranger.

Someone has to say, “Want to grab coffee?”

Someone has to admit, “I'd like more people in my life.”

Someone has to go first.

I'm learning to go first, too.

Opening The Swell Center was going first.

Showing up to teach when I'm worried nobody will come is going first.

Introducing two people because I have a feeling they might connect is going first.

Telling someone how much I appreciate them is going first.

And perhaps part of going first is accepting something I am still learning:

Finding your people requires becoming comfortable with not being everyone's person.

I don't need to belong everywhere in order to belong somewhere.

In the last 2 months, The Swell Center has been teaching me that in ways I didn't expect. There are days when I'm preparing to teach and I look at the registration list. Five people. Immediately, my mind wants to turn that number into a story about me.

Maybe I'm not a good instructor.

Maybe people aren't interested.

Maybe this isn't working.

And then those five people arrive.

Someone needed that hour.

Two people meet.

Someone comes back the following week.

Someone stays afterward to talk.

Someone tells me she's glad she found this place.

And slowly, the question I've been asking starts to change.

Instead of: How many people came?

I'm learning to ask: What happened because they came?

That feels like a very different measure of success.

One of the gifts of this season of my life is that I'm becoming less interested in how many people are in the room and much more interested in who is in the room.

The people who stay.

The people who return.

The people who ask someone else if they're coming next week.

The people who are willing to walk into a place where they may not know anyone yet.

I'm learning that maybe this is how community actually begins.

One person decides to come.

Another is brave enough to say hello.

And someone learns it's okay to go first.

I started The Swell Center hoping to create a place where people could find their people.

Now I realize I might be finding mine, too.