Humans are puzzling creatures. We are inconsistent, unpredictable, and sometimes downright contradictory. I am no exception: I’m an introvert who loves to host parties. When applications for our community’s annual “porch crawl” opened, Peter and I immediately threw our hats into the ring. We’d been living in the area for a few years and knew some neighbors and small businesses well, but we liked the idea of crossing paths with people we hadn’t met yet.
Even better than a party is a themed party. Since Peter and I are both Anglophiles and we were approaching the end of summer, my event concept was casual English garden party crossed with beach vibes and techno dance tunes. The Secret Garden x Ibiza. Think teacups, finger foods, and a background of house trance. I worked on the menu; Peter worked on the playlist.
We invited friends and acquaintances, and Peter hand-delivered paper invitations to the houses closest to us. We stocked our fridge. We re-arranged furniture on the porch. We set up a sleepover for our pup, Wilson, who is fun-loving and friendly but can find constant activity overwhelming.
Then we waited. We had no way of knowing who would show up. Would we have 40 people or four? Accordingly, I prepped food that could be served in batches and easily replenished.
The menu broke down like this:
- Cucumber Sandwiches
- Black Bean and Vegetables Summer Salad
- Vanilla-Cornmeal Pound Cake with Berry Compote
- Assorted Cookies
- Pimms Cup Cocktail
- Soft drinks, craft beer, wine
Our friends came in from the suburbs, bless them, bringing their kids in tow. With half a dozen children aged 0 to almost 3, our porch soon resembled a daycare class picnic. Then a young dad arrived with his toddler daughter. A couple from the street behind ours came with their baby. A mom with her adult daughter who’d moved into the block a few months’ prior. The wine aficionado who regaled me with tales of his tastings and travels. Retirement-age transplants from Texas and a game-loving couple with an elderly cat. A few guests brought their dogs.
Small talk is a skill I built in DC before moving to Pittsburgh over countless receptions and press events and client meetings. I often associate small talk with work because…for me it literally was work. But not on the night of Porchmont. I small-talked for hours. I was pleasantly surprised to find it was pretty darn fun. I even reached a sort of flow state where conversation became easy. I was relying on muscle memory, not effort, to carry me through.
I’m a classic overthinker, which in some situations is a helpful trait to have. But I wonder if my porch crawl epiphany happened because I stopped thinking so much. I was just there. And I let what was going to happen, happen.
A few days later we found a note and a bottle of wine on our porch. One of our guests had dropped it off as a thank you for making them feel so welcome. I was floored. With hospitality, I expect to give something. I wasn’t expecting to get something. But I did, and not just a bottle of wine. I was reminded that we’re all in this together. And sometimes all it takes is just showing up.