Community, Belonging & Who You Are

My themes for February are community and self-care. I’ve been reflecting on community as a value for a long time. I’m now also thinking about a sense of belonging and friendship, and about that quietly unsettling question that seems to arrive at this stage of life, whether we invite it in or not.

Especially in my semi-peni, cutting down on work stage - Who am I if I’m not working? Who am I if I work less and work differently? I’ve been really sitting with the idea of who I am when work is no longer the main thing structuring my days, my diary and, if I’m honest, my sense of self.

Because I’m 61 now, and I’ve worked for as long as I can remember.

I started at 14, a Saturday job in a butcher’s shop, plus after-school shifts Tuesdays and Thursdays. I got 50p an hour and that never increased over the 5 years I did it! Then, when I was old enough, I did bar work through A levels and university. I remember at one point I was working in three different pubs at the same time. Long hours, late nights, hard graft as standard alongside my studies.

Working hard equalled being good. It meant you were reliable, worthy, respectable. Rest was something you earned once the work was done, if there was any energy left. And even then, it came with a bit of guilt attached. As though stopping, slowing down or simply enjoying yourself without producing anything was somehow indulgent.

Those beliefs run deep. Deeper than I realised until recently when I figured out that not everyone is an ‘active relaxer’ eg I can’t just watch telly – I have to be doing something with my hands at the same time. Hence the constant knitting hats for charity, crocheting or sketching.

What nobody really prepares you for is the strange disorientation that comes with having more space. Not a neat full stop retirement moment with balloons, speeches and a gold watch, but this slower, subtler shift where work loosens its grip and time opens up in unfamiliar ways.

Your diary isn’t packed 8 hours a day (or more) by default. You’re not constantly responding to other people’s needs, deadlines or expectations. There’s room to breathe. And while that sounds idyllic, it can also feel oddly unsettling if you’ve spent decades equating busyness with purpose.

When work has been the backbone of your identity, any change to that rhythm can make everything wobble. You start noticing the questions like:

·Who am I doing all this for?

·What actually matters now?

·How do I want to spend my time if nobody is telling me what’s required?

Alongside this, I’ve been thinking about friendship and community in later life. How do you make new friends at 61? Not business acquaintances or networking contacts, but real, easy, proper friendships where you can be yourself without effort.

When we’re younger, friendships tend to grow out of shared structures. Schools, workplaces, kids, the school gates, PTA meetings etc - busy lives colliding in predictable ways. Later on, those structures fall away and friendship becomes more intentional. You have to choose it. Seek it out and allow yourself to be seen. You have ‘yoga friends’ who you see the same time every week and have a little chat with. You think about joining a book club but prefer Audible and don’t know if that counts so you don’t bother. All of this can make you feel surprisingly vulnerable, slightly awkward. Almost like dating again – remember those days? Even second time round for me, it’s still over 11 years.

There’s no automatic belonging anymore. You can’t assume your place in the way you once might have. And when you’ve spent years being the organiser, the doer, the one who holds everything together like I have, stepping into spaces where you don’t have a defined role can feel uncomfortable and a bit weird.

I’m realising that community at this stage isn’t about filling the diary for the sake of it. It’s not about being busy, useful or worthy. And it’s definitely not about volunteering my time by default just because I don’t quite know what else to do with yourself.

That might be right for some people, but I know it definitely isn’t right for me at the moment. I don’t want this phase of my life to be about replacing paid work with unpaid obligation as a way of justifying my existence. I’m not interested in filling my time to prove that I’m still contributing.

What I actually want is a sense of belonging. Real connection and shared energy rather than responsibility. People I feel relaxed around, who get my humour, my values, my pace and a community that feels nourishing rather than draining because I can’t be myself.

There’s another tension that keeps surfacing for me too, and I know some of you (especially the creatives) will recognise it. The pull between creating for the sheer joy of it and the deeply ingrained habit of turning everything into something that needs to earn its keep.

When you’ve worked all your life, especially as a business owner, monetisation becomes second nature. Every idea is quietly assessed for its potential usefulness. Could this become something? Should this lead somewhere? Is it worth the time? What’s the ROI?

As I learned last year - even joy gets put to work. Hello, Funky Divas, lol.

I’m having to actively unlearn that and accept that some things are allowed to exist simply because they feel good to do. Creativity doesn’t always need a business model. It doesn’t need to be productive, strategic or shareable. Some things can just be made, enjoyed and left alone.

That’s a bigger mindset shift than I expected and I’m not sure I’m quite ready for. It’s hard! Especially when working hard has been part of your moral code since childhood.

There’s also a subtler trap I’m becoming more aware of. It’s very easy to fill newly available time with activity that looks like work but doesn’t necessarily generate income. Planning, tweaking, refining, pottering around the edges of projects that feel safe and familiar. Busy, but not particularly effective.

If I’m honest, busyness can feel more comfortable than spaciousness. Free time still feels slightly edgy. It asks me questions I don’t always feel ready to answer.

This phase is requiring a different kind of discernment. Not defaulting to activity but choosing deliberately what I give my energy to. Letting some things go (as you know if you’ve been following me for a while), allowing pauses and accepting that not every moment needs to be accounted for.

At the heart of all this is belonging, not just with others but with myself. Allowing myself to be where I am without rushing to define it or force it into old patterns. Letting friendships form slowly and naturally, moving on from others that are outgrown. Letting community grow organically and letting creativity breathe without immediately turning it into output.

And perhaps most challenging of all, letting go of the belief that rest has to be earned.

As you know, this isn’t about me stopping work altogether. I still love what I do. But it is about adjusting to a new rhythm that includes space, curiosity, play and connection alongside meaningful work, rather than work crowding everything else out.

I’m learning that community, at this stage of life, isn’t about finding somewhere to belong. It’s about giving myself permission to belong as I am, not as the productive, useful, busy version of me.

And maybe that’s the real work of this chapter. Not filling the time but learning how to live in it.