Belonging Redefined

I belong to a family of three brothers, five sisters, and all that comes with them. So, as you might guess, feeling a sense of belonging wasn’t something I had to look for growing up. I was lucky to have it ready-made—where everybody knows your name, your birthday, and all the little things that make you feel you’re a part of something.

As life marched on, I always found a good fit for myself in different groups at different stages. But the longest was from my job. I am one of those throwbacks who worked for the same employer for my entire 40-year career. Feeling like I belonged there came naturally, too—people appreciated me, and I appreciated them. And I worked at it, syncing myself with the expectations that shaped how we worked together. As life happened and that started to fade, I knew it was time to move on. Then, after retiring, belonging became harder to find.

Maybe because I was searching for belonging the way it used to look—expecting it to come from being part of a familiar group, seeking connection through the people, feedback, and a shared experience—feeling like you’ve been accepted by your ‘tribe.’ But recently, I’ve learned that belonging is something deeper than just being acknowledged; it’s about recognizing your place within something, even when no one is there to confirm it for you, except you.

If you know me, you know I like vegetables. In fact, I’ve always been a big fan of Alice Waters, the pioneer of Farm to Table cuisine. Lately, I’ve been trying to grow them (although not very well), but I especially love cooking and eating them. Nothing fancy, mind you; I just let the distinct flavors of each come through. So, finally finding my way to try volunteering at a food warehouse where I inspect and package fresh produce was an easy choice, even if I took my time getting there.

I felt a bit like a school kid as I packed my lunch to prepare to report, recalling my first days working summer jobs in high school and that unsettling feeling of being the new kid and not yet knowing what I was doing. I didn’t expect this try-out to be earth-shattering; truthfully, I worried the work might feel monotonous. But I reminded myself of why I was drawn to this work—the mission, the enthusiasm of the people I’d met on the tour, not to mention the vegetables—and that anything can be engaging if you approach it the right way. I even thought of some organizational contests I’d make for myself to make the work challenging.

Perhaps a sign of good karma, a woman about my age and also named Judi welcomed me and got me started. After showing me the sink, the disposable gloves, and the packing boxes, we discussed the best way to inspect and right-size a package and where to toss the culled food and recyclables. Then I was on my own.

Boxes of collards, potatoes, onions, herbs, bok choy, anise—it felt like heaven! Seriously, I really was impressed by the variety and quality of the donations, not to mention the volume they wanted the volunteers to get through. (Judi commented to wait and see what it’s like at Thanksgiving time!) Then, as lite music came on, everyone was off to the races.

My first choice was a box of bell peppers. Soon enough, I came up with ways to make my bags appealing for customers, rather than just a sea of the same green peppers: some a combination of fajita fixings, another mixing different color peppers. Later, I started thinking about recipes I might bring next time to use the spectacularly fresh parsley in ways other than a garnish. Across from me, Judi was finishing up with a box filled with whole pineapples and bags of nectarines, plums, and lemons. What a great bounty! I was excited thinking about what those who needed it were going to receive.

When it came time to clean up my station, it felt a bit odd not to keep going, but it was time for our shift to end; you didn’t work late here. In fact, as I drove home, other comparisons to how I used to work came to mind.

The warehouse was a far cry from Wall Street; my ON sneakers, jeans, and no makeup were a sharp contrast from what I used to wear. I wasn’t brainstorming solutions and developing project plans. But I wasn’t weighing the worth of those things (though I probably once did). None of it seemed greater or lesser–it was just different, stripped down. And it was satisfying. I also thought about how I’ve been ‘working’ now in my retirement—the endless strategizing and evaluating, the weight of expectation to find the ‘right’ fits, the constant self-monitoring and adjusting.

Except that day when I felt three glorious hours of engagement, making the best packages I could. I simply let the momentum carry me—and I didn’t need to push myself one step. Yet I felt more belonging than I have since retiring—not because I had planned it perfectly or because others made me feel welcome. But because I felt like what I was doing mattered, and that was the right fit. And for the first time, belonging came from me—no affirmations required.