It starts with that moment. You know, the one where you look around the room and think, "These people don’t get me." Maybe it’s a work happy hour where the small talk feels razor-thin, or a family holiday where your latest big idea gets met with blank stares. Whatever the setting, that micro-epiphany hits you: you don’t quite belong.

For most of my life, I didn’t realize how badly I wanted—scratch that, needed—a community of my own. I grew up surrounded by love, no doubt. South Side potlucks where the peach cobbler came out before the sweet tea ran dry, and Sunday mornings with a choir that could knock the sadness out of the steeliest sinner’s heart. But there’s a difference between being loved and being understood. It wasn’t until years later that I found my tribe—a group of people who not only saw me but got me. And let me tell you, the process of getting there wasn’t smooth. But like any worthwhile endeavor, it was absolutely worth the work.

So if you’re still searching for your people—or wondering whether such a group even exists for you—let me walk you through my journey. Because finding your community is a bit like falling in love (only fewer awkward first dates and way less ghosting). Stick with me; you’ve got this.

Don’t Settle for Surface (Because “Fake It ‘Til You Make It” Only Works in Job Interviews)

In my early twenties, I’ll admit, I mistook proximity for connection. I convinced myself that drinking overpriced cocktails with coworkers or swapping sports talk with neighbors was enough to keep me fulfilled. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.)

Think of it like dating someone who’s objectively fine, yet weeks into it you realize you’re bonding over…what, exactly? You fake-laugh at their corny jokes or feign enthusiasm about their astrological hot take, but deep down, you know this isn’t it. I did that in social settings for years. I showed up, I stayed polite, and I went home feeling lonelier than before. It was like trying to play Miles Davis when all anyone wanted to hear was Top 40. Fine for a minute, but ultimately soul-crushing.

Lesson #1: Pay attention to how you feel after you spend time with a group. Do you feel recharged or drained? At some point, you have to stop going through the motions and admit to yourself, “If this ain’t it, I need to stop pretending it is.”

Find Your North Star (Or At Least Your South Side Compass)

You’ll never find what you’re looking for until you figure out what matters to you. That’s what I learned the hard way when I hit what I call my “French Existential Crisis.” Picture this: I’m studying abroad in Paris, perched in some café that Hemingway probably brooded in, and my classmates are living for it. They’re tossing around words like “reverie” while scribbling sketches or quoting Kierkegaard, and I’m over there trying not to roll my eyes.

It hit me then: I didn’t care about being artsy for the sake of appearances. What I did care about was storytelling—raw and real. Give me Baldwin over a beret any day. I wanted people who valued the grit of creativity as much as the glamor of it.

Lesson #2: Identify what lights you up. Is it activism? Comedy? That nerdy love of vintage sneakers you get teased about? Forget what sounds cool or Instagrammable. What’s yours? When you zero in on that, you find people who align with your values faster than that Amazon Prime delivery.

Put Yourself Where the Magic Might Happen (Even If It’s Awkward at First)

After college, I started teaching creative writing workshops on Chicago’s West Side. I wasn’t expecting anything beyond seeing kids show off their poetic brilliance (which, to be fair, was magical enough). But over time, something else happened. I connected with other instructors. Writers who cared as much about the power of the pen as I did. Before I knew it, after-class hangouts turned into marathon jazz-listening parties where we debated everything from Langston Hughes to Lupe Fiasco.

Did I have my doubts before signing up to teach those workshops? Absolutely. Was it uncomfortable at first? You bet. But pushing through the discomfort got me to the good stuff. If you want to find your people, you can’t wait for them to come save you from a Friends rerun marathon. You’ve gotta go where they might already be, whether that’s a volunteer group, a meetup at the gym, or your neighborhood’s overlooked book club.

Lesson #3: Your people are out there, but they’re busy living their lives. Go where they’re likely to gather, and you just might collide.

Leave Room for Surprises (Because Life Knows How to Keep Things Interesting)

Can I be real? One of my closest friends works in finance—the furthest thing from my artsy, introspective bubble. We bonded not over shared career goals but over a random conversation about our mutual love of BBQ ribs at an alumni event. (Do not sleep on meat-based friendships, by the way. They are strong.) The point is, I could’ve written her off because we didn’t “seem like a fit” at first glance. But I didn’t, and now she’s on speed dial for everything from life advice to bad day blues.

Lesson #4: Don’t limit your idea of “your people.” Sometimes they’ll surprise you. Connection isn’t always about shared interests; it’s about shared energy, respect, and mutual support.

Keep It Real (No, Seriously. Like, Really Real)

Here’s one thing I know for sure: Pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in is a waste of time. Won’t work in dating, won’t work with friendships, and certainly won’t work in finding a supportive community. For years, I downplayed parts of myself because I didn’t think they “fit” with certain groups or spaces. But the moment I leaned into my full self—the jazz-loving, book-obsessed, slightly awkward South Side dude with a soft spot for spoken word—I found others who clicked with me because of those things, not in spite of them.

Lesson #5: The more you show up as your real self, the more likely you’ll draw in people who love you as you are.

The Joy of Being Understood

Look, finding your people isn’t some Disney montage of instant connection and best friend bracelets. It’s a process. It takes time, effort, and a little trial-and-error. But when you finally find a community that feeds your soul and sets your guard down? It’s better than any rom-com happy ending. Because real connection? It’s not just about love. It’s about feeling seen—and knowing you’re not alone. Go find your tribe. They’re worth it. So are you.