Our Need For Community

Our Need for Community

I'll be transparent — I keep a running list of blog topics I want to write about. Ideas that often intersect with my own reflection.These are topics I hope will resonate with you too.

This week, I pivoted from my planned post because sometimes life hands you exactly the reminder you need, and you write about that instead.

This week's reminder? Community.

It started with a sermon.

Last Sunday, I heard a message rooted in Genesis 2 — a familiar story, but one that landed differently this time. The reminder was simple and profound: from the very beginning, isolation was never the plan. We were created for connection and interdependence. We are wired to belong to each other.

Then came a conversation with my college graduate.

We have been talking a lot lately about transitions and change. For four years, his sense of belonging was woven into the fabric of college life — friends coming and going from his apartment, meals shared in the dining hall, a constant rhythm of camaraderie and shared experience. This was his unwavering community. 

Now he is navigating something many young adults encounter after graduation — the quiet realization that community doesn't always happen naturally. Sometimes we have to intentionally rebuild it.

Side note: While I was trying to find a picture to attach to this post, I was reminded that this “college community” also had graduation pictures (professionally taken) and not one of these guys got an individual picture. I have 20 high resolution images of the his college community! 

Then came an unexpected conversation at work.

It brought me right back to a pivotal season of my own life some fourteen years ago. A significant career transition landed me in a school where nearly 75% of the faculty and staff were brand new to the school — including me. A recent conversation with the person who is now the principal of that same school instantly reminded me how life-giving that community was during a season full of uncertainty, growth, and change. I am still so grateful for that community.

And then there's right now.

I find myself in a professionally challenging/demanding season. Deadlines, systems work, personnel shifts, and my own well-worn tendency toward self-criticality have all shown up at once. Challenging seasons often carry the seeds of opportunity and growth — but that doesn't make them any less tiring. I am in my “sowing” season at work. 

Once again, my community came to the rescue.

Affirmations. Pep talks. Listening to understand, (not just to respond.) Holding space. Gentle reminders of what matters. Daily after work car calls. And some truly great text threads.

These seemingly small acts have become the remedy for what ails me. My community.

What the research tells us.

Research consistently supports what many of us already know intuitively: belonging is essential to our mental health and well-being. Studies show that people who experience meaningful social connections report lower rates of anxiety and depression, greater resilience during stressful times, and higher overall life satisfaction. Loneliness, on the other hand, has been associated with significant negative health outcomes — physically and emotionally.

Belonging is not a luxury. It is a human need.

So — find your people.

For parents: If your child is entering a new school, transitioning to middle or high school, or moving into a new environment, help them find their people. Research shows that students with a strong sense of school belonging demonstrate better academic outcomes, improved attendance, and stronger social-emotional well-being. Encourage your child to join a club, try an activity, attend a school event, or simply sit with the same group at lunch. Belonging often begins with repeated, small moments of connection. Ask your kids what they're genuinely interested in — and if it's K-Pop, start listening. 

For adults navigating transitions: Whether you're starting a new job, moving to a new city, or simply entering a new season of life, building community takes intention. It can feel awkward. It can feel uncomfortable. It takes time. That's normal.

Some simple ways to begin:

• Attend the same coffee shop, gym, church, or community event consistently.

• Join a volunteer organization.

• Reach out to someone you've been meaning to call or text.

• Say yes to an invitation, even when staying home sounds easier.

• Be the one who initiates — the lunch, the walk, the coffee date.

• Practice curiosity. Ask questions. "Tell me more." "You mentioned you liked..." In counseling, we call this being WEG — warm, empathetic, and genuine.

For young adults heading into college or career:  This is a year of firsts — for everyone. You are not alone in feeling wobbly. Your familiar foundation is shifting. 

Go to the club fair. Study or eat in the same place at the same time each week — familiar faces appear, and conversations follow naturally. Introduce yourself. Invite someone for coffee. Put yourself out there. Will it always be comfortable? No. Will every attempt lead to a lasting friendship? Probably not. But meaningful relationships are built one small act of courage at a time. You may not “feel” like putting yourself out there, but intentionality is not a feeling, but rather an action. (If I had a dime for everytime I said this to my boys…)

You can do hard things. 

Our community. Our safe place. Our people.

There is no greater gift than knowing you belong somewhere.

We are not meant to do life alone. Build your community. Reconnect with it. Nurture it. Invest in it.

Seasons will change. Circumstances will shift. People will come and go.

But having a soft place to land — a place where you are known, welcomed, and valued — will always contribute to a happier, healthier life. (They knew it in the Cheers theme back in the '80s. It still rings true.) 

My rising senior recently moved into a new apartment in a new part of town. For the first time, he's living alone. He stopped home for a quick visit recently, and as I watched him get back in his car, I was reminded that another transition was underway. His foundation was shifting once again, just as it does for all of us throughout life.

As he closed the car door, I told him that no matter where life takes him, he always has a soft place to land. His people are here. The people who know him, love him, cheer for him, and will always welcome him home.

Maybe that's what community really is—not just the people we spend time with, but the people who remind us that we belong.

Who are your people?

And just as importantly—whose person are you?