The Crossover Episode: On Finding Community in Unique Places

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The third post in this series focuses on the nuances of building community and what to do when it is not easily found.

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In the first two posts within this series, we spent a lot of time analyzing my internal relationship with queerness.  For this post, I want to shift into something more external—community. This may come as a bit of a shock however, I struggled with finding community for a really long time (I still do). Finding people that I felt kinship with was never the issue, it was that it occurred in silos and I had a hard time bringing folks together to form a collective. I had a friend that I could vent to incessantly about my relationship drama, another that I could discuss career goals with, and the classic “go out” friend. I have built and deepened bonds with some of these people over the span of multiple decades. I say this to reiterate that I know how to make a friend however, friendship does not automatically translate to community.

Community, as defined by Merriam Webster, is “a state or feeling of caring about and wanting to interact with others in a group.” When we think of community in this way, a few themes may pop up in one’s mind—feeling a sense of community with individuals who share the same religion, interests, and/or values as you; belonging to the same sports fandom; individuals interested in the same media. No matter the area of interest, I think we all can call to mind a time where we have felt euphoric due to the heightened sense that comes along with finding likeness in a group of individuals.

During my college years, I really struggled with this. I had a few good friends, but none shared the same interests or even seemed like people who would remotely get along. I found that spaces designated for LGBTQ+ identifying individuals oftentimes felt anti-Black and spaces designated for Black individuals frequently felt invalidating of my identity as a lesbian.  These experiences regularly left me feeling like I was on the periphery when it came to being included in the larger community of my school. It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t find the silver lining.

The lack of community forced me to go inward. I started taking classes on topics that interested me and informed my day-to-day experiences. I also found my voice as a poet. Being uncomfortable served as a catalyst to pick up fascinating skills and emboldened me to try new things. On the quest for a group of individuals as multifaceted and open minded, I unlocked new discoveries within which sharpened my discernment when it came to selecting spaces that felt safe for me to be in. The truth was that community did not arrive all at once for me, it compounded over the years and came through my ability to be picky.

Today, I have a loving partner, friends, family, and a host of other dear humans that make me laugh on a regular basis. I am an aunt, godmother, and mentor, titles that I wear proudly. If you have been here since the beginning, you know that I am always looking for what’s next. This year, we hosted a barbecue at our home in honor of Juneteenth. It was the first time our varying worlds collided, and the mix of siloed friend groups and family members came together. In the days that led up to the event, I felt the anxiety kick in. Would everyone get along? What if someone has a bad time? Should I assign tables or let people sit where they want?

Thankfully, I could not ponder those questions for long because I was forced to focus on the actual execution of said event. By the end of the night, I looked around and heard loud laughter, saw people engrossed in deep conversation, playing games with people they had never met and I released the breath I had been holding. It was a success. With little interference from me and my partner, people took a step towards building a larger community. We joked that our crossover episode went viral.

What I took away from that night is that while I developed these connections in silos, the thread remained the same across all the relationships—I invested in connections with genuinely good humans. That was it. Being selective with who I invited into my life almost ensured that they would benefit from having each other. 

If you need a takeaway, here it is—community is not always found in the designated space, the obvious group, or affinity group with your identity in the name. At times, it is the coworkers who show up to Pride, excited to celebrate you. Sometimes it is the friend you met on your first day at an internship who is now your chosen family. Sometimes it is the only other person at an event willing to play Jenga with you. After years spent feeling like I was on the periphery, I see the payoff in being selective with the people I allow to enter my life.

Practice being discerning about who you let in, invest wholly in the ones who invest in you, and trust that good people always have a way of finding each other. Don’t force it, let good things find you.