Finding My Soul Tribe: A Tale of Belonging, Baguettes, and Breakthroughs
The Hard Truth About Feeling Alone
Let’s start with something we all know but pretend we don’t: finding “your people” as an adult is painfully hard. Harder than assembling Ikea furniture alone. Harder than convincing yourself that “just one more episode” of The Crown is a good idea at 2 a.m. Harder, even, than navigating the minefield of modern dating when half the options text like they’ve never met a vowel.
Yet, here’s the truth I learned the long way: it’s worth it. Your people—your chosen family, your kindred souls—are out there. But like love, like a good slice of tarte au citron, they take time to find.
My own journey to finding community was messy, hampered by my innate introversion, a stubborn streak of independence, and (let’s be real) a habit of ghosting group chats. But somewhere between Montreal, Paris, and figuring myself out, I struck gold. Here’s how—and what you can take from it, sans the existential meltdowns.
The Montreal Phase: “Friends… Wait, What Are Friends?”
I grew up in Montreal, a city where culture is as rich as the gravy on poutine and any Friday night might end with a karaoke rendition of Céline Dion. But my childhood friendships were mainly convenience-based (shoutout to the girl with the trampoline) or thrust upon me by proximity—long gone once diplomas were handed out.
As an adult, I suddenly realized that the built-in, school-day social structure no longer applied. People moved away, settled into relationships, or got weirdly obsessed with green juices. And me? I had just graduated, buried myself in translation work, and started honing the solitary craft of being a writer. Spoiler alert: none of those things scream “extrovert magnet.”
For a long time, loneliness felt normal. We talk a lot about romantic loneliness—the kind that gets soundtracked by sad playlists and wine-fueled texts—but platonic loneliness is its own beast. At some point in your 20s, even your rants about your ex get boring to yourself. I realized I needed people. People who got me, challenged me, and knew that my idea of a perfect Sunday involved croissants and over-analyzing Amélie.
Paris: The Art of Fitting Out
When I studied abroad in Paris (yes, I know, this is dangerously close to me being “that person”), I had my Big Lightbulb Moment. I’d come to Paris expecting pâtisserie-fueled camaraderie and late-night wine-filled soirées where everyone looked like they’d just walked off a Louis Garrel movie set. Instead, my first few months in La Ville Lumière were… less romantic. Think rainy nights reading alone in tiny cafés, feeling like an awkward alien who had forgotten the password to French chicness.
At some point, I stopped trying so hard to fit in. And wouldn’t you know it? That’s when things started shifting. I bonded with people who cherished my offbeat, overly analytical quirks: a fellow Canadian who missed hockey and maple syrup with the same ferocity as me, a Londoner with a passion for existentialist philosophy, and an Italian who believed gelato was a form of therapy.
Paris taught me that community doesn’t have to look like a Taylor Swift girl squad. It can be a ragtag group of people who see you—the good, the bad, and the slightly neurotic—and meet you there anyway.
How I Finally Found My People
Fast forward to my late 20s: back in Montreal with a deeper sense of self (and several ill-fitting Parisian scarves). My friend circle expanded. It wasn’t an accident. By now, I’d learned that finding your people requires a mix of intention, patience, and a willingness to be awkward.
Here are the biggest lessons I learned (and a few you can steal to shortcut the process):
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Own Your Weird
Stop trying to appeal to everyone. Like dating profiles, the more you lean into exactly who you are, the more you’ll attract like-minded people. From discussing obscure Québécois fiction to debating whether Stromae is a lyrical genius (he is), I found my tribe by refusing to shrink my passions. Let people know what you love unapologetically. They might be into it too. -
Go Where the Magic Is
Community doesn’t usually knock on your door like DoorDash. For me, magic lived in book launches, cozy wine bars, and—you guessed it—the local boulangerie. It can also live in dance classes, volunteer meetups, or that knitting circle you keep saying you’ll check out. Bonus: shared interests mean there’s already a built-in icebreaker. -
Vulnerability Is the Price of Admission
My French side avoids vulnerability like the plague, but the truth is, people don’t bond over perfect facades. I deepened friendships when I admitted my fears, shared my “I’m still figuring it out” moments, and stopped pretending life was an endless chic montage. Turns out, no one connects to perfection—they connect to real. -
Release the Idea of Forever Friends
Some people come into your life for a season, and that’s okay. While it’s tempting to hold onto every friendship like a security blanket, I’ve learned to treasure the temporary ones too—those who shape you in some way, even if you eventually drift apart.
The Moment It All Came Together
If you’re wondering if there’s a grand moment when you know you’ve “found your people,” there isn’t. It’s more like the slow burn of realizing that certain people bring you a sense of ease—a sense that you belong. For me, it was a nondescript Tuesday night in Montreal, sharing wine and life stories with friends in my tiny apartment, Serge Gainsbourg crooning in the background. It felt effortless. It felt real.
What I’d Tell You If We Were Chatting Over Coffee
Finding your people isn’t always pretty. It’s not an Instagram-worthy montage set to a Florence + The Machine song. It’s messy, vulnerable, sometimes painful—but absolutely worth it. I’ll leave you with this:
Your people are out there, waiting for you to show up as your truest self. Take the first step toward them. Sure, it might feel awkward. Sure, you might sit through some weird Meetup events or flub your first attempts at small talk. But one day, you’ll look up from your glass of wine, your laptop, or your game night, and realize you’ve found them.
And when you do, it’ll feel like coming home.
