Last week at the writers’ colony, we had a full house of 6 people from 5 different states. There were men and women writing memoir, poetry, fiction, and even composing music. They varied in age, ethnicity, and interests. And yet everyone got along. Everyone was united by their common goal to write. And every time you ran into someone in the kitchen, in the hallway, or the parking lot, this union was apparent with a short conversation or a knowing smile.
August isn’t usually a big time for residencies; most people are going back to teach at school, or managing their children going back to school, or just ready to be home for a bit after a busy couple of months. So it was really nice to witness this small community thriving, engaged, and just really happy to be here. Personally, I had a really rough week: I’d gotten the mower stuck twice, weedeated until callouses formed on my palms, and been stung by unseen stingers at least 10 times on my legs. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and I was ready for the weekend. But when I saw these writers, they would ask how I was doing. They would note how hard I’d been working. They would ask if I, too, was a writer.
This week, I thought I was going to write about going to Michigan for my husband’s mother’s family reunion. Then, I was reminded by my mother that - last week - I’d neglected to share a certain memory that took place at the end of July. I figured I should probably re-tune this post to be about family…but somehow that didn’t feel right, either.
Upon passing a writer in the driveway, I realized what my gut was trying to tell me: it wasn’t just about family. It was about community. And it was about having somewhere where you actually feel like you belong.
You see, going to a family reunion in Michigan was not at the top of my list this summer. And I’ll admit, I experienced some overwhelm, some social anxiety, some “I can’t wait to get home” moments. But I also got to see and experience places I never would have otherwise. Along with in-laws and cousins, I got to stay in this really awesome Airbnb tucked away on a wildlife preserve with killer swans. I bonded with my 1-year-old nephew in the backseat of a Subaru driving to a tiny lakeside bowling alley, where I failed miserably, but didn’t care. I played charades for the first time in a long time. I stayed up late and laughed and talked and drank (a bit too much)…and in the end, it was all okay. In fact, it was great. Because ultimately, I discovered that I belonged there. And that was a pretty special feeling. One that, I guess, I didn’t fully expect.
A few weeks later, my parents came to town. My mom really wanted to cook this Hungarian concoction over an open fire…despite the fact that it was nearly 100 degrees that day. It’s called Szallonasutes, and if that doesn’t tell you anything about it, it’s basically this really fatty bacon that you roast over a fire until it drips liquefied fat onto pieces of bread, which you then top with a mixture of tomatoes, peppers, and onions. I cant say that it was my favorite thing I’ve ever eaten, but it was certainly an event that we all - Burchs and Meeks combined - got to experience together. Plus, we got to start it with a shot….which always provides some laughs when my mom is involved. (i.e. You have to make sure she doesn’t laugh, because she will aspirate her alcohol and have to go the doctor when she gets back to Ohio. And no one wants that. )
It’s easy to put a lot of pressure on ourselves to make perfect moments that we can take perfect pictures of so that everything will look and feel perfect when we generate just the right number of likes and comments. We’ve been sold a lie that we can only feel special or noticed when this sort of transaction occurs, ensuring our belonging in the digital world in which we’ve placed increasingly significant value. It’s hard not to get caught up in the feeling of success when you get a notification that the reel you created for your business just hit 500 - no, 1000! - views. It’s hard not to feel like you’ve failed when you put your heart and soul into writing something that gets no measurable reaction.
So maybe we stop seeking belonging in the viral, content-driven world. Maybe we “settle” for embracing the tiny moments that really matter in our living, breathing, tangible world. Maybe that means we take an extra moment to wave at a stranger, or let them merge into our line of traffic. Maybe it means we ask questions to learn more about those we love. Maybe it means we let go of the voice inside our head that’s holding us back from truly experiencing the present moment in a way that will assure us, Yes, you are here. And you are somewhere you belong.