I’ve lived in the same house for 33 years. That is longer than any home or town I’ve lived in before; nearly half of my life so far, and longer than my parents lived in any one residence. Had you asked me when I was younger if that would happen I’m certain I would have said no. I remember when we first moved to where we still live, into a new home, a newer developed neighborhood, not part of a larger city – it felt foreign from the adulthood I had known so far. I questioned how much I would have in common with those around me.

And yet! Over the last year especially, I’ve realized how important my local community is to me. How much I value the connections I have with people who have been part of my past. The person I run into at the grocery store who I met through our kids, and who I may rarely see now, or someone who I connected with one way or another in all these years. I too occasionally prefer anonymity. However, having mostly moved myself out of an intimate work community, I recognize how extra important this local community is to me. I remind myself not everyone feels this way: how prevalent loneliness is in America today.

The particularly sweet spot of human interaction for me are the serendipitous moments of unexpected connection. While it is more likely to run into people we know in a small community, it still astounds me how a surprise connection can happen within larger spheres – nearby Portland for me, an airplane, a hotel across the country. What it takes is being willing to spend a moment away from all of our “gotta dos” to pay attention to the person we pass in the street, sit next to on the bus, and so forth. Yes, we need to protect ourselves from those who may not have our best at heart – yet it shouldn’t stop us from being willing to being open to others.

Some of you have asked if I pre-write and schedule my blogs over time. Nope. I generally don’t have one ready to go out, and I no longer insist to myself on blogging with a certain regularity. For example, I started this post last night because of what happened to me yesterday.

While waiting for a work colleague, I noticed my friend “L” slowly making his way into the restaurant. He too remembered me and asked how my writing was going. (L’s wife lived in the same adult living facility as my mom, and he also knew her from Marylhurst University.) L told me he wanted to introduce me to a friend who was joining him, which he did toward the end of my stay at the restaurant. I sat down with my friend for an hour or so, and when leaving I happened by a booth where another friend “D” sat with two friends, one who had apparently heard me talking with L about my writing. “I knew the author would be you.” said D. “I had a dream about you the other night!” I accepted their invitation to sit and join her, and she introduced me as a local author, but also that our kids had long ago played soccer together in high school. I reminded D that her in-laws also lived in the facility with my mother, to which D remembered me reading chapters of books to the residents, including her in-laws.

While things like this don’t happen every day, and I was by then ready to get home – being a true ambivert – I felt full and grateful. It’s nice to be seen, isn’t it? To connect with humans, to laugh about silly things – like the dream D had about me doing a cartwheel on stage and falling, and her being the one who came to help me. (Me, cartwheels? I laughed out loud and told them in my 7th grade PE class at LaGrande junior High, the teacher told me my cartwheels “were crappy.”) For me, being in this community allows me to still return to even those simple moments where I am seen, I can laugh about something silly from the past, or share in condolences and sympathy in life’s sadnesses.

It’s a sad fact that I still remember that teacher’s comment. Good news then that I’d already identified volleyball as my gig. And, as it turned out for me, athletics was where I then found my real place. At that rough age of early teenhood, I had found my community and my truest friends.

Later, as we do when we are lucky enough to feel supported at work, I knew to look for friendships in those first workplaces. I usually found a few folks that I felt I could most relate to and trust. And today, these nearly retired years later, while I don’t see them as often, I have many colleagues that continue to be my trusted friends and community.

Last week I was asked what inspires my writing, especially the fiction I write. I imagine if you have read either Beyond the Ripples, or Humanity’s Grace, you too observed my focus on human connection. Both books are illustrations of the power of connection, especially when we give ourselves time and energy to reach out. I’ll be the first to acknowledge when our lives are especially challenging, we are working too many hours, stressed about finances, family or work or grief – it’s difficult to imagine any time to connect. Somehow, though, we must. Those are the times when human connection most matters. And it is how we can help others if we are not in that place of life at the moment. Simply by being open, observant and curious. Ernest, in Beyond the Ripples, was curious about the bottle he spotted, which led to finding Annie’s note which led to Amelia and Sarah meeting….which led to….and so forth. All of the characters in Humanity’s Grace have moments of grace – moments of noticing someone, doing something about it, and finding or creating joy – even in the most difficult times.

While I do still communicate with folks from my prior work world, and friends in my community, my own life of connections has expanded with that of other authors. And just as I’ve found in sports and work and those related to our kids’ friends: I’m more comfortable with some than others. We all naturally gravitate more to some people than others. What is important is that we feel included somewhere and with someone. As I remember learning from my early parenting days, each kid needs at least one good friend. Well, as aging humans, perhaps we need a bit more buffer than that. We will lose some of those good friends. And there will be a time, when they lose us.

Most of us spend (or have spent) more than half of our time at work. For those who are employed, whether in person or remotely, work connection is a no brainer. Unfortunately, we commonly hear about the “toxicity” or unfriendliness or exclusiveness that can happen at work. I could write and speak too long on this topic, but most of us know what it takes: active listening, being inclusive, understanding different backgrounds, experiences and preferences, inviting folks into conversation and activities, being willing to put aside differences or misunderstandings.

To all of this I would add, look for those moments of opportunity. Reach out to family and friends, including those you know who may be struggling or grieving. We probably have to love ourselves first, to be able to give back to others. And those offerings might not always be as big or challenging as we think. Yes, meal trains are important during times of our lives, but so is taking one minute to check in at a mailbox or outside the apartment building. Be intrigued by but gentle with the humans around us. We each have such unique life stories! We truly have no idea what is going on for someone else, but we can listen or simply offer a smile.

Other readings

Beyond the Ripples
Humanity’s Grace
Blogs about joy and grief and dying