You know those perfectly-lit sitcom moments where a mismatched group of friends clinks their glasses, laughs at an inside joke, and seems to exist in this seamless orbit of mutual belonging? Yeah, that was never my life. Not as a kid quietly reading backstage while my dad adjusted fog machines, not as a teenager navigating Las Vegas’s quirky arts scene, and certainly not during my semester in London, where I mostly bonded with Tesco sandwiches. My search for “my people” has resembled more of a long Vegas buffet—trying a little of everything, occasionally overindulging, and realizing too late that some choices just don’t sit well. But somewhere along the way, I stopped sampling and started savoring.
Let me share the messy, awkward, and ultimately satisfying journey of finding my tribe—and how you can, too.
Lost in the Desert
Growing up on Vegas’s outskirts, I spent a lot of time in between worlds. My classmates were suburban kids obsessed with AIM statuses and the mall, while my weekends were spent surrounded by performers who sprinkled “darling” into casual conversation and wore glitter like armor. I loved both worlds, but I didn’t truly belong to either. Friday nights could mean sleepovers with pizza rolls and teen movies or tagging along with my mom to a costume fitting, where I’d be dazzled by racks of feathers and rhinestones. I was a social tumbleweed, caught between wanting to fit in and knowing I didn’t quite.
Truthfully, this duality shaped me in ways I wouldn’t understand until later. I learned to blend in everywhere, which sounds like a superpower but can feel like a void when you’re longing for real connection. I became the person who could switch from gossiping about the latest boy band to dissecting showbiz gossip without skipping a beat. What I lacked, though, was a sense of who I really was. It’s hard to find your people when you don’t even know who you’re supposed to be.
Cue the Existential Crisis
Fast forward to college. (Because yes, every good transformation arc needs a university montage.) Studying English at UNLV was the first time I was surrounded by big dreamers who unapologetically loved words, ideas, and debating whether Hemingway was overrated. Yet, I still felt like I was showing up to a costume party in the wrong outfit. Everyone else seemed so sure of themselves—declaring definitive stances on postmodernism while I floated between groups like “extra credit” in human form.
It wasn’t until I attended a small creative writing workshop that something clicked, ironically during a heated discussion about dessert metaphors in short stories. Yes, dessert metaphors. Go figure. I realized these weren’t just classmates—they were kindred spirits, people who got my weird humor and whose eyes didn’t glaze over when I geeked out about emotional resonance in pop culture. (If you’ve never had a debate about whether Ocean’s Eleven is secretly a film about friendship, try it—it’s oddly cathartic.) Finding this group felt like someone maxed out the saturation in my world. My tumbleweed self had landed somewhere, and the ground felt solid.
How I Actually Found My People
If you’re still scrolling, wondering when we’ll get to you, here’s where it gets juicy. Finding your crew—whether it’s friends, collaborators, or even a life partner—is like building IKEA furniture. Complicated instructions, wrong tools, existential frustration, and a satisfying result if you don’t give up. Here are the lessons from my path:
1. Get Honest About Yourself
My biggest “aha” moment came when I stopped tailoring myself to fit groups and started getting real about what I wanted. Do I like karaoke? Nope, but for years I pretended I did to avoid FOMO. (Spoiler: forced duets bring zero joy.) Once I admitted that intimate dinners and deep conversations were my thing, I started gravitating toward others who liked the same. Authenticity isn’t just a buzzword—it’s your people-magnet.
2. Try, Flop, and Try Again
Finding your tribe—like dating—is a numbers game. Not every book club, yoga class, or happy hour is going to leave you feeling warm and fuzzy. You might awkwardly walk into a knitting circle only to discover these aren’t your vibes—or that yarn gives you anxiety. That’s okay! Every mismatched interaction teaches you what works for you. Think of it as social Goldilocks-ing: eventually, you’ll find the “just right.”
3. Pay Attention to Energy
This sounds a little crystals-and-tarot, but hear me out. The right people energize you. You’ll leave conversations feeling lighter, not drained. For me, this has meant steering clear of drama whirlwinds or hyper-competitive individuals. You need people who make you feel celebrated, not tolerated. My best friendships—then and now—are rooted in encouragement, not competition.
4. Show Up Consistently
In Las Vegas terms, I had to leave the slot machine of random socializing and invest in one solid bet. Relationships require commitment—they don’t deepen overnight. I started prioritizing the people who shared my values and showed me mutual effort. From literary meetups to wine nights with my creative writing group, being consistent turned acquaintances into family.
Celebrating the Wins
Today, my tribe is an eclectic mix: a former burlesque dancer who bakes the best croissants I’ve ever had, another writer who shares my obsession with vintage Vegas, and my college workshop buddy who still emails me outlandish dessert metaphors that make me cry-laugh at 2 a.m. What links us isn’t shared interests, careers, or even proximity—it’s that we see and celebrate each other fully, flaws and all.
Your tribe might look totally different. Maybe it’s your hiking group, your sarcastic coworkers, or even just one incredible person who gets you better than anyone else. There’s no perfect formula, just the joy of figuring it out step by step.
Conclusion: Take the Leap
If you’re out there searching, remember this—the right people for you are out there searching, too. They’re probably just as nervous, stumbling through karaoke nights or book clubs, hoping to connect. Stay true to yourself, be willing to take a few leaps of faith, and forgive yourself when things get awkward (because spoiler: they will). The journey might not be as polished as a sitcom, but that’s what makes it yours.
So, what’ll it be—dessert metaphors or karaoke classics? Take your pick. Your people are waiting.
