When I first moved to Livermore, I poured my whole self into trying to build community around myself. I joined mom groups. Went to church. Hung out at the library. Led a workout class.
Over time, there were a few "mom friends" that I saw regularly. We weren't terribly close and it wasn't really the community I was craving but it was something.
With time, more babies and more work came and I had to cut out a lot of the "extras" in life. Community was one of them.
I still went to church. But I didn't have time or energy to do the "extra" things that make you part of the church community. So, I sat in the pew and watched community around me.
My kids went to school. I volunteered in the classroom when I could, but between therapy and work, we never had playdates. And honestly, my kids weren't ready for friends. Most attempts of having them play with other kids failed miserably.
And so. I gave in to isolation. Accepting it as part of the season I was in.
As my world begins to open up, I find myself ever so slowly connecting. It awakens in me that yearning for friendship that I've quieted for a long time. But it also makes me feel like I'm back in school. I feel shy, nervous and unequipped for connection building. My path the last few years has been deep and hard and unusual. Not really the best material for small talk.
The last time I started a workout group, I was a little plugged in. I had a mom's group. I knew some people. I could at least get a small core group together to get started with. It made the whole process of getting off the ground less intimidating. They invited friends and it grew organically.
This time, it was a little more daunting.
Inviting someone can feel hard. Directly inviting someone to something feels like I've created an obligation for them. A decision they have now have to make. They have to consider the activity, the time, the date, location and the value...is this worth doing. They might have to check their calendar and figure out if it would work. I've complicated life for them. I know how busy and overwhelmed people generally are and it feels hard to add to this overload.
So, I prefer a more passive invitation -- hey, here's an opportunity for anyone interested. No one feel obligated to consider or even pay attention. If the activity is something they've been thinking about doing, they will self select to pay attention to the invite and consider the invitation.
But... invitation...personal invitation can be powerful. When someone thinks of me specifically, it feels for a moment that I've been seen. That my world, my passions, my existence has been considered and an invitation opens the possibility of relationship in a way that responding to a bulletin board flyer does not.
Today, I was brave enough to reach out.
During kindergarten drop off, I ran into a mom with her adorable 2 year old that I've developed a small hallway relationship with. Peek-a-boo with the toddler. Comments exchanged about kindergarten. The typical. I knew that she was home with the little one, so I felt less intimidated about extending an invitation to join me at workout.
She texted me a bit later asking for more details and showed up to my very first class.
She was the only one.
To be fair, most of the general announcements that I shared at the church preschool and to email lists didn't actually go out until monday night or even this morning. So, while there were several people interested in the workout group, it was too short notice for them to join this week.
So..
it was the two of us.
Actually the three of us.
Me, my kindergarten mom friend and her toddler.
We had an awesome workout. She was approximately the same fitness level as I was and like me, used to workout a lot more and loved exercise. Her toddler ran around, driving cars on us, dive bombing her during floor exercises and occasionally mimicking our awesome moves.
It was just right. I was able to test out my playlist, my imagined list of exercises and shake the dust off my "workout leader voice." She was able to workout with someone else without any worry that her little guy was disturbing anyone.
Reflecting on this made me really take home how much power lies in the simple act of inviting.
It's incredibly vulnerable.
It creates opportunity to be rejected.
It opens the possibility that I could disappoint someone.
It disrupts someone's potential plans.
It may be inconvenient.
It may offend someone, somehow.
So many things could happen when we have courage to take a step, see someone and extend an invitation. And while my lizard brain tends to focus on the negative ones, there are a host of beautiful outcomes.
An invitation could tell someone they've been seen. It opens the possibility of connection. It could give someone something they really need or have been waiting for, or hoping for. Or, it could just be a great afternoon together that would otherwise be spent alone.
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