“Where are your people?”
That question came from my Aunt Clara at a family barbecue many years ago, just as I was stuffing my face with a brisket sandwich. My face froze mid-chew.
“Your people,” she repeated, waving her cane toward the folding lawn chairs scattered around the backyard. “Ain’t nobody out here got your… flair. So, where do you go when you can’t deal with this noise?”
I knew what she meant. She wasn’t asking about my hobbies or where I hung out in my free time. No, Aunt Clara, in her typical no-nonsense way, was getting at something deeper: Where are the people who see you? Who get you?
At the time, I didn’t have an answer. I was 22, fresh out of college, back in Texas, and still figuring out who I even was. But Aunt Clara’s question stayed with me, echoing every time I felt like an outsider—at work, in my relationships, or scrolling through Instagram wondering if everyone else had some magical “tribe” I’d somehow been denied.
Today, I do have an answer: I found my people. Or maybe they found me. Either way, the journey was slow, messy, and honestly, kinda beautiful. Here’s how it all went down and what I learned along the way.
Step 1: The Myth of “Instant Belonging”
Let’s start with a harsh truth: Finding your people is not like reenacting a scene from a Disney movie. You don’t just stumble into a room, exchange a knowing glance with someone wearing the same vintage Beyoncé concert tee, and instantly feel like family.
For a long time, I believed this myth: that your community would appear the moment you hit “adulthood” like it was a preordered Amazon package. When that didn’t happen, I assumed there was something wrong with me. Was I too awkward? Too different? Too… too?
The reality is, true connection takes time. It’s like slow-cooked gumbo—you can’t rush the process without ruining the flavor. In my case, it wasn’t until I moved to Houston—a city with people as diverse as its taco trucks—that I even started meeting folks who didn’t feel like “workplace acquaintances” or “the friend of someone I went to high school with.” But even then, meaningful connections didn’t just fall into my lap.
Step 2: Put Yourself Where the People You Want to Meet Are
Here’s a plot twist no one tells you: Finding your people requires effort. You might meet your future ride-or-dies at church, at a book club, or volunteering at a nonprofit. Or (and this was my case) maybe they’re sweating it out alongside you at a drag brunch dance-off in Montrose.
For years, I’d hoped that simply existing as my authentic, glitter-loving, Luther Vandross-humming self was enough. Spoiler: It wasn’t. Taking that energy outside my living room was step one.
The first time I attended a creative writing workshop at a local LGBTQ+ center, I was terrified. The internal dialogue in my head was loud: “You don’t belong here. What if no one talks to you? What if you say something weird and they think you’re That Guy?” But here’s the thing—I went. And by the end of the day, I wasn’t just another gay Black man who liked E. Lynn Harris novels; I was Marc, someone who genuinely connected with people over storytelling, shared experiences, and a shared desire to make some noise in this world.
So, go where your “what ifs” are. Your people might be waiting for you there.
Step 3: Embrace the Awkward
Let’s talk about the cringe-worthy middle stage of making new connections. You know, the part where you’re the odd one out at gatherings, showing up solo while everyone else seems to have known each other for years. Yeah, that part sucks.
But here’s what I learned as the perpetual “new guy” in social circles: Awkwardness is a feature, not a bug. It’s proof you’re putting yourself out there. The good news? It doesn’t last forever.
One of my most humbling lessons came at a friend’s game night when I casually announced that Monopoly was my favorite board game. (Side note: Apparently, nobody in their thirties has the patience for Monopoly anymore. Who knew?) Everybody laughed, teasing me good-naturedly about my “old man energy.” I was mortified—until someone else chimed in, saying, “Actually, I’m kind of a chess nerd. We’re both boring.” That night, we bonded over being the two resident “grandpas” in our crew, and to this day, they’re one of my closest friends.
So, lean into the awkward moments. Embarrassment can be the origin story for lifelong connections.
Step 4: Know When to Let Go
Not every group is going to be your group. Some friendships fizzle out. Sometimes you’ll realize a community you thought was “the one” isn’t quite the Cinderella slipper you envisioned. And that’s okay. Releasing the need for every connection to work freed me to find the ones that did.
For example, I once joined a club in Chicago that revolved around “networking for creatives.” I went three times. Each time, I left feeling like I’d just endured a corporate PowerPoint seminar on “how to schmooze like a pro” (spoiler: not my vibe). Eventually, I stopped going. Did I feel bad? Yes. But did it open up time for me to focus on spaces that better nurtured my soul? Also yes.
Knowing when to let something go is just as important as knowing what to pursue.
Step 5: Don’t Underestimate the Small Wins
It’s easy to romanticize the idea of finding some grand, movie-like friend group—a quirky, diverse ensemble cast of besties who show up at your door with cupcakes during your breakups and theme-coordinated outfits for road trips. But the truth is, “finding your people” doesn’t always look like a sitcom. Sometimes, it’s finding one person who truly sees you or landing in a space where you no longer feel the need to play small.
For me, it’s the small wins that count. It’s my book club that debates whether Jane Austen was shady in her portrayal of love. It’s the ex-co-worker who invites me for homemade gumbo whenever I’m in town. It’s my sister—who told me after years of quiet acceptance, “I don’t understand everything about this LGBTQ+ stuff, but I don’t need to. I just love you.”
All those little moments? They’re more than enough.
Closing Thoughts: Go Find Them—They’re Waiting for You
Here’s the thing about finding your people: It’s not always pretty. You’ll try, fail, try again. You’ll wonder if you’re “too much” or “not enough” for some spaces. But through it all, one day, you’ll look up and realize you’re surrounded by folks who make you feel seen.
Aunt Clara’s question has a new answer for me these days. Where are my people? Everywhere I’ve dared to be myself.
So, if you’re still searching, take comfort in knowing they’re out there—cooking slow-simmered gumbo, wearing concert tees, sipping margaritas at that book club you’ve been too nervous to crash. They’re waiting for you to show up. Go to them.
You’ve got this.
