Week 16…

And although socialization and building connections is at the heart of what I do, the majority of my day to day tasks are completed in isolation, with very few folks seeing that proverbial sausage-making.

“Aw, but you’re a part of everyone’s team!” one of my software engineers recently remarked. Although that is a very nice idea, and although my executives often express how much they appreciate me, it doesn’t alter my perception that, by belonging everywhere, I also belong nowhere.

“Belonging” is a strange concept any way. Our belongings are things that we own, but when I seek belonging from other people, it is not because I want to be owned by them, but instead wish to share in the same lived experience, sense of place, or even to be transformed in some way. No, not transformed — enriched. I seek out the company of others most often because they challenge me to grow (or show me sides of myself that I cannot see). Maybe, then, belonging is a celebration of what we owe to each other as friends, as colleagues, or even just members of the same species (although I know many who find belonging among flora, fauna, and the fictional).

“… Connection in an isolating age.” Last week I quoted Sondheim, and today it’s Jonathan Larson‘s turn. What I find fascinating about revisiting his work is how prescient some of Larson’s ideas were about the ease with which we can make ourselves numb to feeling until we inevitably reach a crisis point. I would argue that point is now, and that’s why more people are looking for even a digital shoulder on which to cry — bots rarely challenge, and they give the illusion of support that humans so often withhold.

People be difficult — although, are they really?

I’ve had several interactions this weekend that made me appreciate how easy it can be to exchange kindnesses with strangers: the incredible staff recommendations at Green Apple Books that led me to a new favorite author; complimenting someone’s big beautiful black lab at the park; shopping local and seeing the owner’s eyes light-up when I tell them how excited I was to come back after visiting last year; saying “thank you!” when I get off the bus, and hearing the driver shout it back; or just chatting up artists at the farmers market, asking about their work, and taking a little bit of their passion home in the form of (what else?) a new pair of earrings.

Let me tell you another story about how joy is contagious: I ordered a Thai tea from a mom-and-pop shop yesterday. The girl at the counter was probably a student from the high school across the street, and her sister was working in the kitchen — I know because she told me. In fact, this girl told me a LOT of things: how they made their tea fresh; how the boba was nice and chewy; how she always forgets to ask about the boba, but gave me a little extra to make up for it; and how she probably filled the cup up too much (but wasn’t that better than her not filling it up enough?) — and all this she did at the volume of someone riding the BART (iykyk, but if you don’t, it’s not quiet). And, tea in hand, I departed that shop with the biggest grin on my face, because that young lady cared SO MUCH about making a good impression (and the best Thai tea in SF).

So now let’s return to my job, and how I was a bit burnt-out last week. Although it is true that I am not part of This team or That team, I realize when I focus on what I have in common with my colleagues rather than what separates us — an appreciation of film; /sarcasm; being confused when learning the rules of a new card game; boba tea — I feel a spark light up my brain and warm my heart again.

In my darker moments, I think that I am “apart from” others rather than “a part of” things. This is, of course, horse-feathers. Belonging is in beholding — and I feel most like I belong when I am being held in the same moment with those around me; as the song says: “I’m not alone.”

SF Neighborhoods/Places Explored: The Richmond; Balboa Park; Cherry Blossom Festival 2026

Soundtrack: tick, tick… Boom! (but only because I listened to RENT all the way through already)

Bus + Bench Book: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

Lesson-Learned: My hips don’t lie… but they do ache a bit