Every group has at least one person who does the inviting, and when that person, for whatever reason, stops extending invitations, if no one steps in to take their place, the group tends to dissolve. This happens among friends, when someone moves to another city, and suddenly the people who used to meet every week go months without seeing each other. It also happens in work and study groups, when the responsibility of organizing meetings is suddenly shared among several people.
In this text, I will refer to the person who does the inviting as the host and share some stories to explain why I consider it important that someone takes on this role.
One day, I was talking with Robert, a man who organizes weekly board game meetings here in Tokyo. He has been hosting these gatherings at least once a week for about eight years now, having only missed two occasions during that period (one of them was the birth of his child). We were talking about how each meeting brings together anywhere from 20 to 40 people in a friendly atmosphere.
Robert then said something that made me think: āThere are people I've known for eight years, whom I meet almost every week, but I know nothing about their personal lives. I know what games they like, what kind of players they are, but I don't know if they have partners, kids, or what they do for work. And that's okay because that's the relationship we have.ā
Robert brings people together to play games. The community he has built is not a community of friends ā which doesn't mean friendships canāt form as a result of these meetings. In fact, from what I've observed, people do become friends and hang out outside of the weekly meetings, even if thatās not the goal.
This idea of seeking and gathering people rather than friends only made sense to me recently, when I read the article How to build a village by
.
At one point in the article, she says:
Every person I make an effort to get to know doesnāt have to tick every friendship box of my twenties: cool job, nice style, listens to the same podcasts, shares the same politics etc. I already have those friends. Itās okay if the only thing I have in common with a new person is the proximity of where we live, and the age of our child, and the fact that we both donāt work on Fridays. Iām looking for people, not friends. If they turn into the latter, then great.
In her text, Rosie talks about being the person who invites, along with other valuable tips on sustaining that role as a host. She suggests that we should build our own village, finding and treasuring the people who will become part of our lives.
In 2014, I created the Ninho de Escritores (on a direct translation, āWriters' Nestā, although it might work much better if called āwriterās homeā or āwriterās villageā, in the context we just talked), a project which mission was to provide a welcoming and inspiring space for those who want to write. I created the Ninho because I couldnāt find a place for myself in other courses and groups that gathered writers.
Over time, I shifted from the role of being a āteacherā to more of a host, maintaining a time and space for these meetings to happen.
When I moved to Japan for the first time, I had been holding weekly meetings at the Ninho. Due to the changes in time zone and my priorities, I informed the group that I would no longer be able to organize the meetings, but encouraged them to continue. After a month, the group stopped altogether.
In the years before the pandemic, the Ninho meetings were held in person in SĆ£o Paulo. The participants wanted to meet more than once a week, but I didnāt want the responsibility of coordinating those gatherings. They then created a separate group to meet on weekends and write together. This group operated in a simple way: whenever one of them wanted company to write, they would invite the others and schedule a time.
Eventually, I began attending some of these meetings, and today it has become a circle of dear people who meet occasionally because we like each other.
One of my projects at Ninho de Escritores was the Writersā Map. Taking advantage of the fact that I had a reasonably popular newsletter, I asked who would like support to form local writing groups. Many people signed up. I wrote an email for each city/group suggesting how to take the next steps: select a location and schedule a time suitable for everyone, and I shared an example of how to conduct a writersā meeting (with writing themes, discussion topics, etc.).
To my surprise, only one group met once before dissolving.
This was the first time I understood the need for a host to invite people and sustain the meetings.
I could have done many things differently with that project. One would have been to bring together people interested in being hosts and support them in the process of creating and conducting the meetings ā something I had been doing for a few years and had therefore forgotten how difficult it can be the first few times. Another would have been to offer a better structure than email for people to communicate, but I must say that back in 2016, my familiarity with connection technologies was much lower...
During the pandemic, I created a weekly gathering for gay men to talk about masculinity. Just like with Ninho, I was looking for something I hadnāt yet found, so I decided to create a space myself where questions of masculinity could be thought about and discussed from a homosexual perspective. The group lasted for a year, and I am very proud not only of our conversations but also of the friendships I deepened during that time.
Living in Tokyo for the second time, I decided I didnāt want to rely on luck to make friends, so I created a group to gather queer people interested in nerdy things. Basically, a group for board games, museums, movies, and other activities.
Since the groupās creation in February this year, we are now a few dozen humans gathered in a messaging group on Instagram, from which we share invitations for various activities. The frequency of meetings increases or decreases depending on how often I extend invitations, reinforcing the importance of a host.
Not everyone feels inclined to take on this role, and I fear that the group will succumb to silence when my time to leave Japan comes.
This year, during a party, I talked with someone about my experience leading writing workshops. I donāt remember how we got to that topic, but I was determined to share this side of my life. As a result, we decided to hold a writing workshop here in Japan.
Iām excited about this prospect, as itās been nearly two years since I last held in-person writing meetings. The workshop will take place on October 2nd in Shinjuku (more details here, please come if you can, or share with friends living in Tokyo), and I hope to have some good stories to share soon.
Iāve been thinking a lot about how to foster more connections around the things that matter to me. Or, in Rosie Spinksā words, how to build a village. Creating and sustaining communities is a theme I intend to delve into more actively in the future, and if this is something youād like to talk about, please say hello, either in the comments or on Instagram.
With love,
Tales
This is a really important post highlighting a class of people that, to an extent, keep society running. Thank you!