Feeling a little more than comfortable in my black sheep’s clothing, I’ve been wondering lately where I fit in.
Having lived in my desert city now for nearly 4 years, I haven’t made that many friends and spend most Saturday nights on my couch all cozy with my man and Hulu Plus. Trust me, add some dark chocolate and it’s a good situation with very little to complain about.
Getting the writing the bug and working on my first book, though, I’ve found myself longing for a sense of community. Deciding that I needed to remedy this, I took an ad out on Craigslist (oh, yes, I did) and invited a one to two other women who enjoyed writing to join me a couple of times a month to discuss our writing. Nervous, yet excited, I posted my ad and waited in anticipation for someone to respond with a “yes, Woz, let’s use our juicy pens!”
Days passed and I finally got a text from a gal who, though much younger than me, declared her love for the craft and said she’d love to meet up. On a writer’s high, I happily headed to my local coffee house with my trusty MacBook, Arielle, and sat with an iced soy latte as I waited for my new friend to join me. After a half hour of waiting and my smile now turned into a fret, I realized I was the only one at this party and no one else was coming.
Taking the last few sips of my coffee, I packed up my writing gear and headed home and lamented to my husband that this is why I don’t try to make friends. I was ready to throw in the the proverbial towel.
Yet, something wouldn’t let this particular bug be. Having just returned from a writer’s retreat in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, the longing for community was strong and kept pushing me forward. Feeling burned by Craigslist and “internet dating” I decided to ask around instead and got set up on a good old fashioned “blind date” by a friend who let me know about a group called Southwest Writers who had been meeting in the area for years. And as luck would have it, they were having a meeting that very weekend.
Nervous, yet excited (again), I packed up my writer’s satchel and headed to the Heights to meet up with a group of people I’d never met and hoped that I’d have something in common with them. Good God, let’s hope someone shows.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw dozens of other cars and an array of people getting out of their vehicles. Laptops, books, messenger bags, and coffees in hand, this was my group of people. These were the writers I’d been looking for — I floated inside with a smile on my face and happily wrote my name on a name tag and found a seat among the sea of others just like me.
For the next hour we talked about the literary world, noshed on treats, and even heard from those who brought copies of their books to sell. I felt at home.
I drove home that day with a smile, a name tag, and a sense of community. I finally fit in.
