How to Make Suburban Events More Social
I can’t stand this feeling
I worked so hard today, and I just want to connect.
Who can I talk to tonight? Do I call my friend who lives halfway across the world again? Another night on Zoom? Ughhh. I want something physical – up close and personal.
But everything happening locally tonight is the same formulaic event that might lead to a conversation or more than likely the anonymity of being alone in the crowd.
Something isn’t right about all this. I know I’m cool. I’m interesting! My friends back home would laugh and laugh when I opened my funny mouth. We’d walk together arm over shoulder, reassuringly squeezing each other to emphasize how much we meant to each other. But this new town is different.
I’ve gone to my yoga studio religiously for 3 months, and I haven't made a single friend. It’s the same with my local coffee shop. The only people I’ve connected with there are the polite baristas and the clients on my work calls.
Most days, it’s no big deal to be in solitude... I do my work, walk the dog, watch a little Netflix in my studio… but today I’m feeling a heavy kind of sadness. Is this what depression is? I’m not that guy. I can’t be. I’m functional – good job, nice apartment, good family, and long-distance friends.
But something’s missing.
I know for sure that if I were to design my life from scratch, every day would be optimized for a great conversation, a few deep hugs, and the overarching sense that I’m a valuable part of something.
But for financial, family, and logistical reasons – I live in the cold, manufactured middle-class plastic veneer of the suburbs. Where chain restaurants rule, live music suffers, and the mindsets, values, and innovative gatherings lag five years behind hubs like New York and LA.
In the not-so-distant past, I’d self-medicate this feeling away with a few drinks and a joint. But I’ve given up those vices – it’s just me and my feelings tonight. This is a hole that another episode of that true crime drama just isn’t going to fill...
You know what? That’s it! I’m going out tonight.
So where can I go to find my people? And if I spot some promising people from across the room, will I even be brave enough to talk to them?
In New York, there’s a newsletter chock-full of events that all feature a moment of facilitated connection. Why is something so amazing like that exclusive to a mega-city that already has a ton of niche communities and alternative events?
I can’t be the only intellectual yet spiritual badass music-lover in this town... there’s bound to be other people nearby seeking the same type of connection — and yet, they’re siloed in their home and I’m siloed in my mine... and if by some magical circumstance I and some friend-in-potential were to end up at the same lame lounge, bar or event space tonight, there’s no guarantee we would speak at all!
It’s almost as if the whole event scene is conspiring for us not to speak!
The old event templates need an update
At the local comedy night, I’ll be alone in the crowd watching a comedian share stories. Maybe I’ll laugh along with the strangers… that’s something. And if I’m extremely brave, I might chat up one of the comedians and say, “Nice set,” hoping for a deeper conversation to emerge. To which they’ll graciously thank me, send me on my way, and return to a conversation with their peers. No shade.
I could go to a restaurant to feel the warmth of the crowd. At least the server will look in my eyes and laugh politely at my jokes. And if I’m lucky enough to be seated with a server with tattoos or some other subcultural marking, we can both admire each other as brethren of that shared little secret. I might even tell her a story, but no wait… oh, you need to go… you have other tables to wait on… no, I understand, go ahead. I don’t want to be that guy. Thanks for humoring me. I’ll leave you a nice tip. Connection cup filled up 15%... better than nothing, I guess.
I guess I could go to a local show... if I’m lucky some kids will be decked out in a similar kind of vibe as me. Wait. Actually, that might be worse… to wander anonymously into a crowd of my people and still feel so alone. To casually look out of the corner of my eye, hoping someone will be brave enough to start a conversation with me. I’m not here to see and be seen, I’m here to feel alive, damnit! I want to feel the sizzling chemical electricity of a truly authentic conversation with someone interesting. But it’s kind of loud in here… oh, the band’s starting... they’re not bad... either way – the music could be a fucking 11, but today it’s just not enough. God bless the musicians, but I’m lost in the loneliness tonight. The only thing that can pull me out is to connect with someone on an eye contact and deep listening level.
This could be so much better.
I’ve felt the magic of community spaces. Rooms of passionate people with open hearts and minds, coming together under an implicit social contract of friendliness, openness, and mutual trust. Smiling faces offering kind eye contact and hugs hello.
I’ve seen it at Burning Man, cacao ceremonies, authentic relating nights, and ecstatic dance parties. And while those scenes all have their own particular vibe. I think there’s something deeper and broader that these movements are touching.
They’re all rooted in connection.
Many people won’t identify with the hippie vibes at a cacao ceremony or the techno-futuristic aesthetic at Burning Man – but I’ve yet to see someone from the local punk, nerdcore, hip-hop, or heavy metal scene turned off by kind eyes and conscious listening.
Some containers are built with friendliness at the center, and the ways to create that vibe are devilishly simple. An event doesn’t need to be branded as a human connection experience to be a profoundly human and connective experience.
Your open mic night can be an open mic night, but lead a human connection game in the beginning to glue the crowd together a bit. Twist the basic format.
You can host a badass dance party and in a moment, ask everyone to high five 5 strangers. Or take it further and make it a hug quota.
You can leave a water pitcher and a bowl of orange slices out after your yoga classes along with a sign encouraging conversation and community.
Connect your attendees in order to heal them
Our fear of strangers is a biological response programmed by hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. Homo Sapiens evolved to survive in small groups of hunter-gatherers sharing resources. We intuitively form an in-group and out-group, and for most of our evolutionary history, wandering into a room of strangers meant you were probably about to die soon. Approach anxiety is a self-protective instinct leftover from our evolutionary past.
Some extroverts and well-trained salespeople don’t deal with approach anxiety. Much power and respect to them! But the average schmo is an anxious cucumber who would rather brine themself in white vinegar than chat up an interesting stranger at night.
For everyone’s sake, event hosts ought to be the ones to break the ice.
Something tremendous happens when gatherers sprinkle a little pepper of connection on their events. It can be a brief facilitated moment: “Look at the people around you... make eye contact to acknowledge your shared humanity.” It can be signage encouraging a culture of friendly conversation. It can be a smorgasbord of participatory activities laid out in your space. Even a friendly and engaging dance floor can spark spontaneous new connections.
Connecting people is not complicated, but it does take courage.
With a little ingenuity, we can start to design nightlife spaces where people don’t fall through the cracks. If you’re a gatherer, ask yourself: How can I connect my people with one another? And as you start to implement the solutions, you’ll realize that you’ve begun to solve one of the central problems of our time.
