Finding your people is a little like assembling Ikea furniture: you start with a vague sense of optimism and all the necessary pieces, only to realize you’ve been staring at an unreadable instruction manual for hours, wondering why you’re missing a screw (and your sanity). The truth is, whether you’re navigating relationships or building a supportive community, no one hands you an Allen wrench for social connection. Trust me, I looked for one in Manhattan, London, and a summer villa in Tuscany—and still came up short.

But when I finally found my tribe, it was nothing short of champagne-popping enlightenment—like stepping out of a Renoir painting and into the tactile, sun-drenched humanity of a Mary Cassatt drawing room. Let me save you some time (and a little frustration) by sharing how I got there and, more importantly, how you can too.

Curation vs. Connection: A Hard Lesson in Humility

The first thing you need to know about me is that I grew up in an art world bubble. My childhood consisted of gallery openings where the prosecco always seemed colder than the conversation, and summers spent sketching in the Louvre while other kids braved Disney World. Idyllic? Maybe. Relatable? Absolutely not. For years, my “circle” consisted of people who, like carefully chosen art acquisitions, fit the mold of my life perfectly but rarely made me feel genuinely seen.

Exhibit A: After recently moving back to Manhattan from London, I found myself at a gala celebrating a retrospective on mid-century sculpture. I was elbow-deep in conversation with a fellow Upper East Sider who asked, “Where do you summer?” (Translation: Are you someone who matters?) I smiled and said, “Wherever the community is.” Their reply came with a hollow laugh: “Good luck finding that outside Saint-Tropez.”

Spoiler alert: They were wrong. But it took me stepping out of my meticulously curated world and into something far more unpredictable—unpolished, even—to realize what that actually looked like.

The “Tribe Test” (Or, Who Will Text You on Moving Day?)

Here’s the simplest way I can explain what I learned: Your people are the ones who feel like sunlight cutting through an overcast day. They’re the rare friends or communities that make you a better version of yourself—not through judgment or advice, but through joy, encouragement, and genuine presence.

To find them, you first have to ask yourself one extremely unglamorous question: “Who will text me on moving day?” This isn’t metaphorical. It’s literal. Think about the people in your life right now. Which ones would break a sweat helping you lug furniture without making you feel indebted? Those are the first bricklayers of your support network. Everyone else? Great for small talk at cocktail hours; less handy when you’re cradling your back atop an Ikea mattress.

This exposure-to-effort ratio helped me reshape my connections. It meant valuing people not just for shared interests but for shared values. It’s one thing to geek out over our joint admiration for Georgia O’Keeffe’s New Mexico landscapes, but quite another to both practice vulnerability when life gets messy.

Just Join the Damn Pottery Class Already

Let me guess: you’re skeptical about finding your people because mingling with strangers sounds like your worst nightmare. I get it—I’d rather face Medusa with no sunglasses than sit through one more networking event. But here’s the golden ratio of community-building:

Shared interest + repeated exposure = friendship potential.

Case in point? I once joined a beginner’s pottery class—not because I cared about shaping clay (spoiler: I was terrible), but because I was craving connection. It was humbling to fail alongside strangers until we weren’t strangers anymore. Funny how a lopsided vase can bond you with someone for life.

There’s a reason clubs, fitness groups, and hobby classes breed connection: they provide a low-stakes way to meet people whose energy aligns with yours. Within a month, our little pottery crew turned into a weekly ritual of coffee dates and life advice exchanges. Did we all end up with matching “Live Laugh Clay” mugs? No. Did we end up with matching levels of supportiveness? Absolutely.

The Magic of Micro-Moments

One of the greatest myths about finding your people is that it requires some cosmic alignment or dramatic meet-cute. You know, the stuff rom-coms are made of. The truth? The best connections are built from micro-moments: tiny acts of kindness or vulnerability that stack over time.

Take my friend Ella, who arrived at a rooftop gathering I hosted during my Oxford years. When I casually mentioned that I was struggling with imposter syndrome (art world burnout, anyone?), Ella didn’t dismiss it or pivot the conversation. She simply said, “Me too. Let’s brainstorm ways to handle it.” I didn’t expect that level of candor over prosecco and canapés, but it was a micro-moment that led to years of steadfast loyalty.

My advice? Pay attention to these little interactions. They’re the brushstrokes that paint a bigger picture of your tribe. Kind gestures. Honest admissions. Empathy without ulterior motives. These are the things that separate acquaintances from people who genuinely matter.

Crafting Your Own Gallery of Relationships

Art galleries have taught me a lot about life—both its creative triumphs and a few its absurdities. They also taught me that not every piece belongs in your personal collection. Some connections look stunning from a distance but leave you cold up close; others, though quiet, reveal depth and nuance over time.

To curate a meaningful community, you need to be intentional:
- Know Your Style: What kinds of people make you feel inspired, safe, and empowered? Seek them unapologetically.
- Declutter Ruthlessly: Don’t hold on to toxic relationships out of guilt or nostalgia.
- Frame the Best Ones: Celebrate and nurture the people who show up for you consistently.

Think of it like staging an exhibition. Not every painting demands a spotlight, but the right ones will transform your space—and your life.

Your People Wait on the Other Side of Fear

I won’t lie to you; finding my people wasn’t easy. It involved stretching outside my comfort zone, saying “yes” to moments of awkwardness, and admitting (begrudgingly) that I couldn’t do it all alone. It required vulnerability—and the oh-so-rare willingness to let people truly see you beyond the highlight reel.

In my case, it also meant accepting that my tribe wouldn’t look like a lineup of art critics or jazz aficionados smoking cigarettes on the Seine. Instead, they were a kaleidoscope of unexpected connections: a passionate ceramics teacher, a neighbor who turned into a confidant, a London flatmate who still sends me opera playlists.

If you’re still searching for your community, start small. Show up as yourself—quirks, flaws, and all—and let authenticity act as your north star. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness; it’s an invitation. And on the days when you feel like giving up, remember this: Connection is easier to find when you stop trying to “fit in” and start seeking a fit for your soul.

Trust me, there’s more to life than Saint-Tropez summers. Sometimes finding your people feels even better than finding love—and lasts just as long.