We talk a lot these days about the word community. But what does that actually mean? Every brand now has a slogan, join the community!  As if signing up for a newsletter for a shoe brand makes us all connected. As someone whose entire mission is to create and foster real community, I get annoyed by these faux collectives that capitalize on a buzzword. When community becomes marketing language, it does not feel genuine. Because it’s not. 

The other day my therapist gave me a task: to spend more time in togetherness, wherever I could find it. The instructions were vague, which somehow made it worse. I was both vocally uninterested and quietly hopeful that something, a good feeling maybe, might come from it. 

So first, I cried for half a day…just let myself feel lonely and separate from the world. Then after I moved through that feeling, I knew I needed to seek out togetherness. On purpose. I had community, technically: friends, group chats, my mom on speed dial. But what would it mean to find small moments of unity with other people outside of my small circle? I asked my friends, because I truly didn’t know where to start. They delivered.

First, I bought tickets to the Museum of Us, a local museum in my area I’d been meaning to visit for years. I loved the name for its poetic pull, but didn’t know what to expect. Still, I figured that seeking “togetherness” inside a place literally called the Museum of Us was a good start and I wasn’t wrong. It ended up being one of the softest, most emotional experiences I’ve had recently. I took my time to read people’s stories. I nodded along. I laughed with strangers’ secrets at the PostSecret exhibit. I mourned lives lost to unjust immigration laws and racist policies. I learned that there are a lot of people that want to believe in each other, in a God, in our shared existence on this planet. I walked home swimming in strangers’ handwriting and heartbreak, feeling more connected to humanity than I had in months.

A few days later, I joined a friend to help canvass a nearby neighborhood. I was really nervous and was planning on bailing. In this climate, small talk with strangers about politics was not going to spark the togetherness I was seeking. But when I arrived, I was struck by the sight of so many people that showed up on a Sunday afternoon, unpaid, to canvass together. I got paired with a seasoned canvasser and we took to the streets. I felt like I’d stepped into an eighties TV show, idealistic, a little uncomfortable, and unexpectedly wholesome.

By the end of the day, the canvassers and I hung around to get to know each other over a couple of beers. While we were united over a common goal, we took this down time to laugh about our childhoods, swap stories about moments that changed us, and imagine the kind of world we want to build. There was so much empathy in that space. We cared, even when the issue didn’t touch us directly. I left feeling full. I cannot remember the last time I actually wanted to hang around with a bunch of men in a bar…but these guys were something else. 

Now in reference to the title, someone once said that to be in community is to be inconvenienced. And that line keeps echoing.

My team and I talk often about how to get people to show up, to really participate in building these spaces that they so openly crave. At saymore, we don’t shy away from social pressure or accountability to make it happen. That’s part of the work. It’s taking your friend to the airport at 7 a.m. It’s walking around your neighborhood hanging flyers. It’s sending that text in the group chat, “Can we get together soon?”

I grew up in a religious, fear-based household where shame and guilt were the main motivators. They work incredibly well when you are threatening eternal hell. But I realized that beyond my fear, there was an actual world out there. I could be afraid, angry, and disconnected my whole life. But I wanted to live in my reality and show up because I genuinely cared, without the promise of some arbitrary ledger sheet telling me if I was a good person or not. Caring is inconvenient. Showing up at the gathering is inconvenient. Building your community is inconvenient. But that’s the point.

At saymore, what I’ve always wanted is for people to take these conversations offline -  to build real community, not just digital connection. The internet is just the starting point, the bridge. What matters is what we do after: showing up, reaching out, organizing, gathering. And I know that's the hardest part...but we have to try. 

Let me know about a moment of unexpected togetherness you encountered this week - would love to hear more uplifting stories!