The year of intentional community

How connecting meaningfully in 2025 changed everything—and why I’m going all in this year

When I leapt into last year intending to solidify my writing practice, I did so with a lot of ideas around consistency, learning, goal-setting, and showing up every day. Even as those changes started to work, though, something felt a little off.

Writing is a lonely endeavor—and one where you’re operating in your own head. Which means if you’re prone to self-doubt and hypercritical self-mortification, it can sometimes become a dark and scary space, even when the writer is having the time of her life. It’s also impossible to see the forest for the trees, when you’re so close to your story you can no longer experience it the way other people do.

I set out at the beginning of 2025 to find the right mix of partner feedback and accountability to overcome all these challenges. I tried many different models: online message boards, one-to-one swaps with other authors, small group meetings over Zoom, and local write-ins. Some were better fits than others, but my two surprise discoveries were:

1. I was more motivated and accountable when I had a more personal connection with the other writers—when we met face-to-face or in person, or talked on the phone, rather than only emailing and Google Doc commenting.

2. I was more emotionally fulfilled by, and connected to, people who were invested in building a relationship for the future. We celebrated each other as we showed up week after week, or saw each other through multiple projects with encouragement and guidance, and this felt so satisfying.

This reminded me I personally need more than transactional exchanges. While it’s always beneficial to get critique on my work, what I’ve genuinely been craving is:

• Camaraderie with writers going through the same things I am

• Belonging within a respectful, open, and accepting pack

• Trust built by showing up dependably again and again for each other, equally carrying our weight, and investing in ourselves and each other

Debunking my hermitude

I’ve identified as an introvert most of my life, and trust me when I say that glorious, quiet time alone is something I hope I never have to give up. But as it turns out, I need community. And though a crowd can zap every ounce of my energy, the right kind of in-person connection gets my heart overflowing with happiness.

The past several years—between Covid isolation, the days alone in a room meeting with co-workers who live all over the world, and the poor substitution of social media for real human connection—have left so many of us feeling disconnected and lonely. I found that I didn’t even realize how much I’d been longing for real connection until I experienced it.

Just before the holidays this year, my leadership team at work held an in-person offsite at company headquarters. People flew in from around the world. We sat in rooms together for four days, dined together, volunteered outdoors, and found each other in the evenings in the hotel bar. We were exhausted and depleted from the year, but that time together rejuvenated us. For the first time since taking the job a year ago, my cup was filled in a way I hadn’t realized I’d needed. I trusted my coworkers more. I felt respected and included.

Because of this time together, I’m entering 2026 with a whole new mindset: excited to move forward with these people I care more deeply about, to tackle our problems together.

Similarly, I accomplished a lot last year in my writing life with the support of my little crit writing group, a few individual partners, and a local writing community of women who never fail to show up week after week. I honestly wouldn’t be where I am today without them all—and knowing they’re all committed to continuing what we’ve built together fills me with excitement for what’s to come in 2026.

Creating community, for and with others

I’m seeking ways to build even more opportunities for community this year. I’ve already had several conversations with friends about ideas for meetups, small groups, and interest-based gatherings—hosting more meetings of already established but languishing groups, scheduling game and art nights with friends, or showing up to more events. Nothing formal, just intentional time and space where people can come, feel included, and be known.

This past year taught me that balance matters. Solitude fuels the work. Community sustains it. Writing and creativity are journeys. And they’re more interesting, fulfilling, and exciting when other people are along for the ride.