Belonging . . .

The Long Work of Belonging

"Norm!" the other patrons called out every time the unemployed accountant slouched into his favorite spot at the bar on Cheers. It was a place, the TV theme song promised, "where everybody knows your name." Somewhere you could belong.

I've never known anyone in real life who gets that kind of welcome in public-someone who can pull up a barstool or settle into a restaurant booth and tell a surly-but-sweet waitress, "The usual." If you could, would that feel like belonging?

Where do we find that sense of fitting somewhere in our busy, mobile, online lives? Or perhaps more to the point: is it up to us to create it-and if so, how?

The distance between us

Researchers largely agree that a sense of belonging-a deep connection to others-is a fundamental human need. It's baked into our biology. And yet, many of us live with social isolation and persistent loneliness.

A 2023 U.S. Surgeon General Advisory named loneliness a public health concern. Previous advisories had pointed to smoking, HIV/AIDS, obesity, and drunk driving. This time, we learned the impact of loneliness on mortality is comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.

Suddenly, we weren't just lonely. We were alarmed.

Self-inflicted wounds

In some ways, we make ourselves lonelier-tromping over our best chances for belonging the way a hippo tiptoes through a field of wildflowers. We join fewer civic groups, attend religious services less often, and put up fences (literal or figurative) between ourselves and our neighbors. More of us live alone. Fewer marry. Families are smaller.

We choose remote or hybrid work, order takeout instead of going out, lean into JOMO (the joy of missing out) when plans fall through, and get everything from groceries to drywall screws delivered to our doorsteps. The only person likely to see your welcome mat is an Amazon driver.

But larger forces are at work, too. Technology makes our lives more convenient-and more solitary. It can connect us, but it can also displace in-person interaction, monopolize our attention, and erode the quality of our relationships. Even in-person jobs often require hours of solitary screen time. Communities are more car-centric, built around single-family homes, and public spaces like parks and libraries are often underfunded.

We also pack up and move, on average about a dozen times over the course of our lives. Each move can mean starting over, disrupting not just relationships but our sense of place.

Finding your people (and places)

Belonging is about deep connection with people, shared experiences, and even physical places. Whether we feel it depends on our opportunities to connect, how we perceive those connections, and our willingness to step into a group.

It's worth the effort. People who feel they belong tend to have stronger relationships, perform better at work and in school, and experience better physical and mental health. But how do we create that sense of belonging within our digital, often transient lives?

Toronto native Cynthia Yeung moved frequently within Canada for university, medical school and a residency in oncology. This past year, she moved to Houston, Texas for a fellowship in gastrointestinal oncology. A competitive ballroom dancer, Cynthia decided to spend her first months in Houston focused strictly on work. That lasted two days.

"Work colleagues were great, but I needed friends," she says. She wanted to feel something. Six weeks later, dancing with a university ballroom team (she's completing a master's in her "spare" time), she found it: cheering for teammates and being cheered on in return. Belonging.

Her experience resonates with me. We moved to four different states while my children were growing up. I assumed I'd connect easily with other moms. Sometimes I did. I even made a friend once in a McDonald's ball pit. But opportunities to spend real time together were often limited.

Some moms already had full social circles. Others didn't have kids whose ages overlapped with mine. Many were too busy driving from one activity to the next to invest in someone new.

Tennis was different. More like Cynthia's experience with ballroom dancing. Few clubs or rec centers have so many players at your level that they can't use one more. And the game itself guarantees time together. Hours on the court, shared wins and losses, long drives to away matches, maybe a post-match margarita. The first person I met when I moved to Dallas, Texas in 2014 is still my doubles partner. And now, a friend.

Over these past 12 years, I've found belonging on the Katy Trail with my dear friend Shannon. Volunteering in my neighborhood. Small groups at my Unitarian church. A book club. Beginner ballroom classes.

It doesn't work every time. Sometimes you still feel lonely in a crowd. I've learned it helps to push through that feeling-to try again, make a slightly bolder, more vulnerable attempt to connect.

That's the route I chose with Jennifer after six days sitting side by side in a jury deliberation room. I asked for her contact information. Followed up. Now we meet for dinner regularly, and I was part of the text chain when she recently had surgery. I'm looking forward to meeting her dog next.

Relocating so often has left me with friends scattered across states-a mixed blessing that feels more like a gift as the years go on. New friends help us belong in new places. Old friends provide a throughline that anchors us where we've already belonged. Cynthia intentionally schedules time with friends in other cities and countries, some going back to elementary school. Before logging off from a video visit, she puts the next one on her calendar.

Like Cynthia, I've come to believe belonging is something we create-over time, in small, sometimes awkward, often intentional ways. The work is ongoing. So is the reward.