Check out the audio version of this post to hear me read this post out loud. Think of it as part essay + part off-the-cuff podcast. This one is particularly chatty!
What I cover here today: My evolving thoughts on friendship, community, and connection + the reminders on my bulletin board that keep me steady, how I keep writing through self-doubt, Liz Moore, and more.
Earlier this week, I talked briefly on the podcast about how my feelings about friendship have evolved over the course of the past year or so. I have always had a small, close circle, and I have always preferred it that way. When I lived in New York for four years after graduating college, my friends were mostly from work. When I moved to Philly, I had a couple more local friends, but the pandemic quickly shut down any hopes of a jam-packed social calendar. But honestly? I never really felt like I needed one, either. I’ve always greatly enjoyed being home, being alone, and hanging out with my husband and our dog. Plus, I have been in constant, daily conversation with my very closest friends via text and video and social media for the better part of a decade. That has always been more than enough for me.
When we moved to our current home, located in a very small town in the Hudson Valley, I viewed my lack of desire for a sprawling social life and circle as a plus. I wasn’t so worried about living somewhere that was rural and quiet because I liked quiet. I felt content with my little family, and my small group of long-distance friends.
Our first year here was a blur of stress and house renovations. I was surprised by a lot, including how long it took me to feel at home, but also by the eventual, slow-growing feeling of dread when it came to meeting people. I knew there were lots of amazing things happening up here — it was part of why we loved the area — but what if we didn’t fit in in any of those spaces? What if we didn’t belong? These weren’t questions that came up often, but for the first time in recent memory, they were definitely there. Slowly, though, things started to change.
We started going to more local events. I made a point to introduce myself around town, even when it felt awkward. I said yes to pretty much everything. And a year later, I can confidently say that Jake and I are both more social than we have ever been in our lives. I am surprised to find that I love it. I still try to make sure I don’t schedule outings on back-to-back days. I still need plenty of alone time. But most weeks, we have at least one or two things going on with local friends and it feels very nice.
Note: I speak more in-depth about how we made friends in the audio version of this post!
In 2023, I wrote about how I didn’t want more friends, I wanted more connection. I still feel that way. The thing that I think I didn’t know I was missing, maybe, was community. Not just more friends for the sake of more friends, but real connection, and real community. People who support your work events and will come water your plants or cook you a birthday dinner. People who you can call in an emergency, or if you just need someone to go to the movies with. All of that.
I didn’t realize I wanted that because I had never really had it before in a meaningful way. I can see now how much different it makes life feel, and how much richer. Not better, necessarily. I am still just as happy to hang out at home with Winnie and Jake, doing nothing, but the thing about community is that it’s not really about togetherness, necessarily. It’s about the notion that you have a safety net around you, that there is someone around the corner who will be there for you if you really need it. People you can text inside jokes to about dumb town politics. It’s about knowing people and knowing that the fabric of your days and your spaces is overlapping with theirs in some way, and sharing that. It makes life feel uniquely full, and it makes me feel grateful.
Reflecting on this shift now, it’s clear to me that my relationship with the internet affected how I felt about making IRL friends in a pretty big way. Through influencing and constant social media use, I was able to feel validated constantly, whenever I wanted to be, really. Even when people were critical, I was all too aware of the ways I could instantly balance the negative feedback with something positive. I knew what to do and say to get likes and views and comments and messages. There is nothing wrong with this; it was my job. But I think I confused feeling validated with feeling supported, or at least feeling supported in a tangible, present, balanced kind of way.
I value the community I’ve found on the internet so very much, both the online friendships and the online-turned-IRL friendships. It has made me feel less alone in some of my darkest moments. There aren’t words for how special that is to me. As I was recently discussing with online-turned-IRL friend
, this is one of the brightest spots about the internet. But it is not the same thing as having someone who can drive you to the airport or deliver a birthday cake to your front door or join you for a spontaneous Wednesday glass of wine. Looking back, it’s not so surprising to me that when I started to step back from 24/7 Instagram use, I started to feel a greater pull toward building ties and connections in my immediate community. Of all the many ways I’ve changed in the past couple years, this is one that has maybe surprised me the most. I think there needs to be room for both now. Community both near and far.And you know what the funny thing is? Making more friends IRL has reminded me of the thing that sent me on Instagram in the first place: Community and connection. Not numbers or money. I think, maybe, I will always think about numbers — story views, paid subscribers, engagement. It’s hard to let any of that go, especially when my career still depends on it in so many ways. My Instagram story views have plummeted in the past year, for example, a fact I try to ignore but comes on my radar every now and then. Is it because I delete the app constantly and the algorithm is punishing me? Is it because I’m boring now? Uglier? And then there’s the thing that actually worries me the most: Does it mean that half as many people will pre-order my next book? I don’t want to think about all of this, but I still do. I still feel bad about it sometimes. I still wonder what is wrong with me and attempt to account for all the very many reasons people unfollow or swipe past or don’t care. What sets me in the right direction these days, away from all of those questions, is remembering that the people who connect with me or my work will stick around, and the rest won’t, and that is OK. There will always be more people who don’t get it than do. That’s OK, too.
I mean, I don’t like every person I meet. I don’t enter any social setting and expect to be totally validated right away. In fact, when I do meet someone new and they say something that makes me think, “Yes! Exactly that!” or “I thought I was the only one!” I know immediately that it is rare and it is special. This, I think, is the approach I’m trying to take to my work these days and, more specifically, to how I share it. In life and work, I am just trying to find my people. The fact that that they will only be a small fraction of the larger world isn’t the bad part, but the special one.
In today’s bonus content for paid subscribers, I’m talking about the reminders on my bulletin board that keep me going. The first one (“shame is not the way”) is the place where I started this essay. It is one reminder that is totally evergreen to me, applicable to basically everything and utterly unchangeable. It set me thinking on the things that have changed for me and, well, you have the above essay…
But back to the stuff that stays the same. The stuff that always works. That, to me, is the best stuff in many ways. Here are five notes (and one photo!) on my bulletin board that have made a difference in my life. Maybe they’ll work for you, too.
“Shame is not the way.”
