Finding Your People: The Slow Burn of Connection

I used to think finding my “people” would feel like dropping into an episode of "Friends": instant, effortless chemistry and an endless stream of inside jokes over coffee cups the size of birdbaths. Spoiler alert—real life isn’t like that. There were no perfectly staged meet-cutes or catchy theme songs. Instead, finding a true community turned out to be more like tasting wine for the first time: disorienting, slightly intimidating, and always better with a second try.

For the record, I don’t mean "wine-tasting friends" as in a cabernet-and-cheese clique (though you bet I have those, too). What I’m talking about is the irreplaceable joy of a tribe—the people who will hype you up, challenge you, and drag you (kicking or crying) into your best, most authentic self. My crew didn’t just fall into my lap. Building that circle took vulnerability, awkward introductions, and patience. Sometimes it felt like a blind date that didn’t end in sparks but still offered the comfort of good company. And honestly? That’s the beauty of it.

The Myth of Instant Chemistry

Contrary to Instagram quotes scrawled in an overly loopy font, “your vibe” does not automatically attract your tribe. If that were true, I would’ve found mine years ago in a cozy corner booth, probably drinking what wine insiders call a lazy rosé (aka anything cheap that pairs with fries). Instead, my early attempts at connection often felt forced—like trying to open a bottle of Bordeaux with a butter knife. Awkward brunches, mismatched interests, and (rare but real) ghosting taught me that even friendship requires work.

Take my first book club, for example. I joined hoping to talk about Émile Zola but instead spent weeks trying to dodge spoilers for the latest airport thriller everyone else thought was “life-changing.” They were lovely people, but not my people. Still, showing up to those monthly meetings wasn’t a waste. Each “almost but not quite” brought me closer to understanding what I valued: deep conversations, shared curiosity, and, yes, someone who's down to split a triple-cream brie without judgment.

Lesson learned: If you don’t click with someone right away, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you learned where not to invest your energy. Send them off with a metaphorical bottle of Prosecco (fun, fizzy, zero long-term commitment) and move on.

Where to Shop: NOT at the People-Pleaser Aisle

Finding your people starts with knowing what kind of person you are. For me, that epiphany came during a solo picnic in a Napa vineyard—just me, a baguette, my journal, and a bottle of Grenache...okay, two bottles, but don’t judge me. That day, I realized I had spent years curating my life for other people's tastes instead of my own. I was basically a human charcuterie board: delightful to look at but trying too hard to satisfy everyone.

So, let’s have an honesty moment. What lights you up? When have you felt most like yourself? Answering these questions is like crafting the perfect wine pairing. Know your notes—are you a bold cabernet (intense, straight-shooting, loves astrophysics and dark chocolate)? A buttery chardonnay (warm, approachable, happiest hosting game night)? Or, perhaps, a funky orange wine (offbeat, creative, lowkey addicted to improv class)?

Once you articulate those traits, finding your people becomes less about pleasing the crowd and more about filtering out connections that don’t vibe with your core flavors. Pinot Noir doesn’t apologize for not being a merlot, and neither should you.

Cultivating the Vineyard: Where Connection Grows

Okay, now comes the part no one wants to hear—community isn’t a one-day harvest. It’s a vineyard you nurture over time. From the roots of acquaintance to the fruit of deep bond, relationships grow when fed with the right mix of effort, sunlight, and (let’s be real) occasional emotional fertilizer. Here’s what worked for me:

  1. Say Yes to “Maybe”
    I can’t tell you how many times I misjudged a potential friend because I was hung up on superficial details—their taste in music (fine, hate my jazz) or the fact that they didn’t know what “mouthfeel” meant. Newsflash: nobody has to be exactly like you. Some of the best friendships start when you're open to differences—and you might even pick up an unexpected skill, like how to lose graciously at trivia.

  2. Show Up Authentically—Mess and All
    Vulnerability is magnetic. People are drawn to realness like a moth to flame—or, in Napa, like influencers to vineyard selfies. Share your passions, even the quirky ones. (Example: I once bonded with someone after admitting I cried during an artisanal mustard tasting. Don’t ask.) Common ground doesn’t have to be obvious; sometimes, it’s found in your shared weirdness.

  3. Quality Over Quantity, Always
    Let’s stop glamorizing the idea of a million “friends.” A tribe isn’t about ticking boxes on a popularity spreadsheet. It’s about showing up for the select few who make life better. They’re the ones who remember your big presentation, send a “you okay, love?” text after a breakup, and know your favorite crying-in-the-car playlist. Celebrate depth, not breadth.

When to Toast and When to Let Go

Not every friendship—or Instagram-perfect friend group—is meant to go the distance. Say cheers to the lovely lunch dates and quirky comedy nights that served their purpose, then gracefully let them go if the spark fizzles. Letting go doesn’t have to be dramatic or awkward; sometimes, it’s as gentle as two wine glasses clinking before parting ways. Some people are seasonals—they enrich your life for a short time and make you better in the process.

Remember: You’re the Sommelier of Your Own Life

Over the years, I’ve learned this much: Your people are out there, waiting to meet you. They’ll show up not when you’re trying too hard or giving up hope but when you’re simply being yourself—unfiltered, imperfect, and ready to connect. Don’t rush the process. Like all good things, it’s worth waiting for, savoring, and celebrating when it finally arrives.

So here’s to you, your tribe, and the beautiful mess of finding them. Fill your glass, darling. The best is yet to come.