I wasn’t entirely sure…whether I would feel a sense of belonging and safety in this group.
But sixteen grownups in socks…has a way of stripping you down to the basics. Craig called it a pajama party for adults. Looking down at the circle of padded feet: gray sturdy woolens reminiscent of dad’s gold-toes, blue snoopy surprises, black see-through-silkies, coral checkered dandies… or were they houndstooth? Perhaps socks were softer revelations. I don’t think it’s easy to lie when you’re stripped to your socks.
It's hard to overstate the value of… meeting humans in the flesh. Looking at them from less than two feet away. Elbowing around them into a cupboard for a drinking glass. Following their turn from the bathroom.
They didn’t know I noticed, but…I could tell they were working extra hard to make sure I felt included. That my decision to fly from down Chicago had been “worth it.”
I hadn’t fully realized…how much I needed the experience of entering a circle I was explicitly invited into, without having to do any of the work.
For the first time in months, I think I rested.