How I Found My People

There’s a moment we all dread: sitting at a party, balancing a sweaty glass of cheap sangria while wondering why the conversation around you feels as flat as a day-old topo chico. You've watched someone’s vacation slideshow for the third time, nodded politely at inside jokes you weren’t privy to, and thought, How did I end up here? Worse yet, Where are my people?

If you’ve ever felt like you’re auditioning for a group where you’ll never get a callback, I see you. I’ve been there—disoriented, wondering if I was destined to spend my social life on the sidelines. But what I learned, often through missteps and awkward laughter, is that finding your tribe is less about blending into an exhausting mold and more about embracing every cringey, wonderful bit of yourself. Stick with me, and I’ll share how I stumbled my way to a supportive community—and why you can too.

Step One: Embrace the Awkward Origin Stories

Let’s take it back to middle school PE—the land of dodgeballs, deodorant warnings, and fragile egos. I remember standing in line, sweaty palms gripping my gym shorts, hoping to be picked for a team, any team, that would make me feel like I belonged. But middle school feelings don’t magically evaporate after graduation. Fast forward to my 20s, and the quest for connection can feel eerily the same, minus the gym shorts (thank God).

We don’t talk enough about how hard it is to make adult friends. Sure, advice columns will tell you to “put yourself out there,” but putting yourself out there sometimes feels like wandering through life as a human pop-up ad—constantly ignored or, worse, clicked away. What no one tells you? Awkward beginnings are almost a guarantee. Whether you’re stammering your way through a book club introduction or joining a jogging group despite fully hating cardio, getting comfortable with that discomfort is key. (Spoiler alert: I don’t jog anymore, but one of those cardio queens became one of my closest friends.)

Step Two: Rethink What “Your People” Look Like

Growing up, I thought finding your people was like nailing a movie montage: suddenly you’re eating French fries at 3 a.m., laughing until your stomach hurts, and texting inside jokes on the daily. And sure, sometimes it does look like that. But more often, it’s about finding those who understand the messy, uncanny weirdness of who you are—and love you anyway.

For me, it started with dinner parties. Simple enough, right? At first, I thought hosting was about perfectly curated charcuterie boards (full disclosure: I was Googling “how to fold soppressata like a rose”), but something magical happened. Over bowl after bowl of arroz con pollo, my guests began swapping embarrassingly raw stories—bad dates, family quirks, first-time failures—and each laugh drew us a little closer. It didn’t matter if my kitchenware matched (it didn’t). What mattered was the vibe.

Your people don’t have to look, act, or think exactly like you—but they’ll vibe with your authenticity. That’s the secret sauce. It’s the same way I clicked with Houston’s salsa crowd, even though I’ll admit I occasionally mess up my basic steps (don’t tell my abuela). Or the writers’ workshop where I nervously shared a story about growing up Cuban-Mexican, only to find others nodding in quiet recognition.

The lesson? Your job isn’t to conform—it’s to show up as you are and let the magic of connection take care of the rest.

Step Three: Be Brave Enough to Try (And to Quit)

Here’s the hard truth: finding your people means risking rejection. Case in point: I once tried to join a madrileño flamenco circle during my semester abroad in Spain. Picture me awkwardly spitting out Spanish I had mostly learned by bingeing La Casa de Papel, while people in gorgeous shawls clapped dazzling rhythms around me. My attempts were met with polite, tight-lipped smiles, and to this day, I swear I heard someone mutter “novata” (rookie) under their breath.

Did I go back? No. Flamenco wasn’t my thing—but exploring Madrid didn’t stop there. I eventually found my groove hanging out with an eclectic mix of Erasmus students, sipping café con leche, and debating whether churros were breakfast or dessert. Sometimes, you have to pivot to figure out where you really fit. Not every space will welcome you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong somewhere.

Step Four: Build Your Connections, One Small Step at a Time

Look, no one forms a lasting community overnight (unless you’re starring in a Netflix limited series called Instant BFFs, which does not exist, by the way). Sometimes, it starts with one genuine conversation—a compliment on a song you overheard, a shared moment of commiseration over bad parking at a grocery store. My first true “I think I’ve found my people” moment in adulthood happened at a Lotería night, after I jokingly complained that the cards never included a piñata wearing a cowboy hat—because, well, Houston.

At the next meet-up? Someone brought a piñata cowboy sticker, laughing as they handed it to me. Corny, maybe, but that small gesture made me feel seen. Friendships take root when people witness who you are and reflect it back to you.

Here are a few practical tips for building connections when the whole "letting people in" thing feels daunting:
- Start showing up for events that align with your interests. A hiking group? LGBT+ book club? Zumba at the park? Trying different spaces can help you explore where your energy is best matched.
- Pay attention to the sparks. Who makes you laugh when no one else can crack a smile? Who listens, really listens, to your vent session? Those sparks are your cue to lean in.
- Nurture the little things. Whether it’s a meme, a text, or grabbing coffee, don’t underestimate the power of consistent effort over time.

The People You Find Will Shape You

When I think back to all the spaces that shaped me—family dinners teeming with loud debate, salsa nights that left my feet throbbing, conversations over barbacoa tacos that made me feel less alone—it’s clear that finding your people is about finding yourself, too.

When you piece together your tribe, you’re not just making friends; you’re building a reflection of the best parts of your own story. Those nights of deep laughter and shared tears? They remind you you’re already enough just as you are.

So, don’t give up. Whether you’re searching for that effortless banter, that chorus of “Me too!” moments, or that unconditional support—the kind you know runs deeper than words—your people are out there. Just remember: they’re looking for you, too.

And when you finally find them? Cherish the messy, imperfect beauty of it all. Because nothing feels quite as liberating—or as lovely—as knowing you’ve found your table, sweaty sangria and all.