Taking Life with Chances

While continuing to stay curious about what makes me feel good at the end of the day, I’ve started to notice that beyond routine — the routine that allows the day to feel less stressful — I was starting to notice how much I was missing the social part of my life.

The challenge, of course, is meeting people in a new place while working from home.

Maybe there are a few folks who have had this same experience. Pre-pandemic, I was out most weekends. My office was the one coworkers would come to on Fridays asking, “Where are we going?” Many weekends started on Friday and didn’t really end until Sunday. I enjoyed my alone time back then, but during the pandemic I learned to love it in a completely different way.

At the beginning of the pandemic, though, I struggled. I couldn’t figure out how to build a routine. There were days I’d roll out of bed, log on in pajamas, and honestly, days I didn’t even shower. I had been so used to constant interaction — quick conversations, shared laughter, even something as simple as eight hugs in a single workday. Losing that rhythm felt disorienting in ways I didn’t expect.

When I think about my closest friendships, most of them started through work. Somewhere along the way, co-workers became friends. One of the things I value most in a friendship is the ability to just exist together — hanging out without needing to go anywhere or do anything. Watching TV. Vegging out. Not feeling like we have to entertain each other or keep the energy up.

Quality time falls second in my love language, and those kinds of friendships take time to grow.

I’ve realized that while I’m good at meeting people — I genuinely love hearing others share their stories — meeting friends is something different. I’m far more comfortable asking questions and listening than I am talking about myself. That makes casual connection easy, but deeper connection harder to build.

In the beginning, figuring out how to meet people felt awkward. There were regulars at the dog park — we’d walk while our dogs played. A few familiar faces at the gym, exchanging the occasional nod. I even took a Zumba class for a bit… a senior one, as it turned out (I didn’t realize that when I signed up). I’ve been a lifetime WW member, so I found an in-person meeting and started going weekly.

But the jump from seeing people in shared spaces to actually building friendships never quite crossed over. And honestly, I’m not even sure how that transition is supposed to happen.

What I did know was that I needed some kind of community.

At some point, I started wondering about going to church.

It wasn’t something I grew up with. Most of my friends are very spiritual. I’ve always joked that I believe in the trees — never really connecting to the idea of a traditional God. Religion has often felt complicated to me — a mix of “love thy neighbor,” but sometimes only if that neighbor fits a certain mold.

Still, curiosity won out.

After a bit of a Yelp search, I found a non-denominational church. The first Sunday I went, I pulled into the parking lot fifteen minutes late… and left. It took two more Sundays before I actually walked through the doors.

The first service I attended was impactful. I found myself moved by what I was hearing from that Sunday’s speaker — the shared values centered around simply being a kind human. It felt comfortable in a way I hadn’t expected. I stayed for coffee hour afterward and talked with just a handful of folks. There was a newcomer meeting, which led to a dinner hosted at someone’s home, which eventually led me to join a small monthly group — a space meant for conversation, vulnerability, and simply being human together.

Somewhere along the way, I started volunteering too — helping in the garden, assisting at the farmers market, greeting, ushering, and now even helping with the tech team.

My first Thanksgiving in Washington, I stayed home.
My second one, I spent at church, sharing a beautiful meal with people who felt unexpectedly familiar.

I’ve thrown myself out there in ways that feel uncomfortable — maybe even a little unnatural at times. But slowly, this community has started to fill a part of the void I didn’t fully know how to name. It is teaching me how to be vulnerable, how to make the deeper connections that I seek — and for that, I am beyond grateful. And it’s even allowed me to revisit my love of baking, bringing little goodies to share on Sundays during coffee hour.

And I’m still curious about what this means for me — not in terms of answers or beliefs, but in how connection continues to show up in unexpected ways.