They tell us that loneliness is an epidemic.
We keep hearing that we are more connected than ever, yet we are more disconnected than ever.
Connections don’t just happen through cables and fibers and screens.
Connections build community.
Community deepens connections.
We know this to be true.
But in true American fashion, we maintain the facade of grit and rugged independence, regardless of what it does to our health.
We are not well.
We yearn for more. I’m talking about more than justice, equity, democracy, and compassion that are on our collective wish list (yet at the same time are on the chopping block too, depending on where you stand). We as a species need connection. We need each other. Why is that so tough to admit? Why is that a trait so tough to admire? We are human, after all. I am a person who thrives on connection. I truly want to know your life story and will celebrate your joys and console your heartaches. Everyone has a story, and people are pretty fucking fascinating.
If only we gave each other a chance.
A chance to make eye contact instead of staring at a screen.
A chance to smile across a stack of books instead of scrolling.
A chance to say hello instead of texting.
A chance to pay a compliment instead of hitting the like button.
A chance to know our neighbors beyond an online forum.
Yes, we are connected. It’s just in the wrong places.
I realize the irony of this as I have been chronically online since 2008. Many of the OG blogger friends I made back then are IRL friends now. We had so many opportunities to get together in person and forge true relationships. For a while before we had actually met, my husband called them my “imaginary friends.” But now he gets it. These women are some of my longest friendships at this point, and there’s a group who are my ride or die, my bandit of fierce, funny advocates who will show up on the steps of the Supreme Court at midnight if the need arises (true story). What I’m saying is that being online can truly form friendships.
But we need face to face interaction too.
Last year when I moved from Raleigh, where I lived for 25 years, to San Antonio, I was so worried about making friends and finding my people. How does one do this in her late 50s? We made so many friends in our adulthood through our children or work, and now here I am with grown kids and I work from home. This was a recipe for loneliness.
But the people of San Antonio would not let the new girl in town despair. We made fast friends, through the good fortune of wearing my “What would Jimmy Carter do?” T-shirt from the Bitter Southerner. If you stop to compliment me and praise Jimmy Carter’s progressive values, I’m going to strike up a conversation, talk about my worldview, and invite you to happy hour. And we met many fine people from actually talking to people, cringe as it might sound and uncomfortable as it definitely felt. Alas, Mac Daddy and I have filled our rolodex with new friends and have a busy, rich social calendar in this new vibrant city of ours. Perhaps my favorite little group is our Sunday Supper.
Allow me to back up.
Back in Raleigh we frequented a tiny neighborhood bar that moonlighted as a gift shop. It wasn’t fancy. But it had no televisions. And that, my friends, fostered community. We walked there regularly just to say hello, knowing we would run into a friendly face at any given time. That motley crew became our community. We shared belly aching laughs, too many to count. They showed up for every postcard writing event and protest I yelped about. Even now, half of that group of people messaged me on election day to let me know they voted, and the gang facetimed me to celebrate the victory of Annie Andrews. They had after all, just as expected, shown up to my house for a fundraiser I hosted for her. These party people are a supportive bunch, and I worried and wondered about how I would ever find my people in San Antonio. We shared holidays, feasted at Friendsgiving, toasted birthdays and milestones, and celebrated the joy of connection.
Enter Sunday Supper.
It happened serendipitously. We were grilling in the courtyard of our apartment building and invited a neighbor over because I had cooked too much, per usual. We enjoyed a lovely dinner and agreed to do it again the following week. And we did it again, this time inviting a couple of others. We shifted to our community kitchen where there was more space (and a pizza oven!). It was at said pizza oven where we met two more neighbors who joined us the following week. We were intrigued by the pizza situation and noted the gentleman was wearing a Brewers T-shirt, so as all things are from Wisconsin, we assumed he’d be a nice guy (he was). The couple were lovely, but admittedly we really wanted to sample their homemade pizza and were thrilled when they brought it to Sunday Supper! We enjoy each other’s home cooked specialties and whatever catches our eye to indulge in from HEB or Central Market. Our little community was cemented, a veritable page from central casting. We even have a corgi mascot named Newton who can be found underfoot every week.
Sunday Supper is a highlight of my week, and our group chat is lively and punny. A few weeks ago we agreed to serve as each other’s emergency contacts, and guess who was first to ring the bell? Yup, twas I. I fell off a stool and broke my foot, and the Sunday Supper crew came to my rescue, replete with a cane, an ankle wrap, and snacks to nourish us in case the wait at urgent care was excruciatingly long (it wasn’t). They sat with me, cared for me, laughed with me (and maybe at me a bit too because that stool I toppled from was hilariously small), and fed me.
We just celebrated Diwali together, which always brings great joy and pride to share my heritage and favorite dishes with new people. We ponder a thought-provoking question each week that ranges from silly to deep so we really get to know each other. This is a group of people who naturally put others at ease, have no airs, and laugh easily. We have met each other’s families who have pulled up a chair and fit right in. We always have room at our table. And most importantly, we have enjoyed a flourishing friendship. Sunday Supper might be a weekly potluck of neighbors whose lives would probably not have otherwise intersected, but what it really does is feed our soul.
And no screens at the table.
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