“Man, you’ve got to find your people.”

When one of my college mentors dropped this gem on me during freshman orientation at Georgetown, I brushed it off with the confidence (okay, cockiness) of an 18-year-old who thought he had it all figured out. My people? I already had people—my family, my high school friends, the folks back in D.C. who knew the exact steps to Chuck Brown’s “Bustin’ Loose.” What more did I need?

Turns out, a lot.

See, life has a funny way of showing you that finding your tribe—the people who really see you, support you, challenge you to be better—takes more intention than just sharing a zip code, a syllabus, or a sound system. It’s a journey of self-discovery, trial and error, and yes, a little bit of vulnerability. But when you find them? It’s like coming up for air after swimming underwater just a little too long. Here’s how I got there.

Act I: Out of Place, Out of Sync

Growing up in northeast D.C., my world was loud and electric. Our house was an endless swirl of reggae on the weekends, my mom’s oxtail recipe simmering on the stove, and debates over everything from politics to whose turn it was to sweep the porch. My neighborhood felt like an extended family picnic—sometimes chaotic, but always colorful.

So you can imagine my culture shock when I landed at Georgetown, a pristine world of seersucker, Sperrys, and brunch plans that involved something called “mimosas.” At first, I tried to assimilate (read: I bought one pair of khakis and regretted them instantly), but something always felt…off. While my classmates bonded over summer trips to Martha’s Vineyard or some boarding school drama, I stayed quiet, thinking: “They’ve got their people, and I’ve got mine…somewhere.”

I spent the better part of that first year trying to adjust to a rhythm that wasn’t mine, like a guy attempting to two-step to a techno beat. And let me tell you, there’s no lonelier place than standing physically in a crowd while mentally sitting on the sidelines.

Act II: Turning Up the Volume on Myself

The problem, I realized later, wasn’t that “my people” weren’t out there. It’s that I wasn’t giving them the chance to find me because I wasn’t showing up as the real me. Sometimes, we dim our own lights, hoping to blend in, only to end up feeling unseen. That year at Georgetown, my light was burning at 20 watts, barely enough for even a flicker.

Here’s the first thing I learned about finding your tribe: you’ve got to get comfortable flying your own flag. Maybe that means owning the fact that you’d rather debate Kendrick Lamar’s storytelling than the latest Marvel movie, or being okay that you’re more beef patties and plantains than avocado toast. When I stopped trying to fit in and started leaning into who I actually was, the shift came naturally.

I found a tight group of friends who didn’t just tolerate my quirks—they loved them. They came to my side gigs in downtown D.C., where I was experimenting with spoken word performances, and they nerded out with me over James Baldwin essays after midnight runs to Ben's Chili Bowl. These people—the ones who meet you where you are without ever making you feel like you have to shrink—these are your people.

Act III: The Group Chat Gospel

Fast-forward a few years, and my tribe is now this glorious, eclectic quilt stitched from different parts of my life. My siblings, clutch for honest advice (and endless roast sessions). My childhood friends who remember when my locs were just a fuzzy high-top fade. And my writing colleagues, who understand the particular joy and pain of staring down a blank Google Doc.

Here’s what I’ve learned about building (and keeping) your people:

  • Start Where You Are: Put yourself in spaces that match your vibe. Love books? Join a local book club. Into community service? Volunteer. That time I stumbled into a political theory discussion group changed everything. Even if it wasn’t exactly my career path, those connections turned into lifelong friendships.

  • Be the Friend You Want: Ever ghosted a text or dragged your feet making plans? Yeah, me too. Relationships require nurturing. Show up for your people, whether it’s celebrating their accomplishments or just holding space when they need to vent.

  • Don’t Rely on the Highlight Reel: True connection happens beyond scrolling through someone’s latest Instagram post. Take conversations offline. Grab coffee. Be intentional about checking in with a “How are you, really?”

  • Give People Time to Surprise You: Not everyone who looks like your tribe will end up being your tribe. Case in point: a shy, soft-spoken grad school classmate I assumed I had nothing in common with turned into one of my closest friends after we bonded over a shared love of underdog sports teams. First impressions lie.

Act IV: Keeping it Real While Trying New Moves

Here’s the catch—your tribe isn’t a static thing. People ebb and flow out of your life, and that’s okay. Sometimes you outgrow relationships. Sometimes friends move away, emotionally or physically. The point is to stay open to the possibility of new connections, even when it feels safer to hold tight to what you already have.

When I moved to Boston for grad school, my D.C. crew couldn’t come with me (though they helped me find some decent Caribbean food spots). Starting fresh wasn’t easy—it felt like reset day on a video game after you’d finally leveled up. But this time, I put myself out there quicker. I went to spoken-word nights, cooked Jamaican dishes for my neighbors, and leaned into conversations even when they tested my introverted tendencies. I’ll admit, Boston didn’t always vibe with me, but I still came away with a solid squad that made the journey worth it.

Epilogue: Your People Are the North Star

The beauty of finding your tribe is that it doesn’t just make you feel less alone—it makes you feel more you. When you surround yourself with people who recognize your light, they reflect it right back, sometimes even in colors you never knew were there.

So to anyone still searching, here’s my advice: take your time, but don’t wait too long to raise your flag. Be loud and proud about who you really are. Join the dance floor with all your awkward moves. Let yourself be seen. Your people? They’ll see you, too. Right when you need them to.