Intro Part 1: The Problem

I haven't always been this bad at making friends. Used to be, my daily routines plunged me in with a teeming mass of acquaintances, and out of the swarm I always managed to find a few great people to connect with. Then ambition and wanderlust and dreams of self-fulfillment would send us spiraling away from each other again, ties stretched across time zones, "close friend" a figure of speech.

Melodramatic photo by monkeyc.net on flickr.com

This was sad but also natural in a way, the typical pattern of the educated children of the modern middle class. Each community was like a deep breath: essential and invigorating, but replaceable too, something you had to let go to move forward. There'd always be another one out there.

Except this time there wasn't. This time, when I took the plunge, it was into a very lonely pool.

It's my own fault, of course. In August 2008, I quit my job at a natural history museum in Utah, moved to California with my boyfriend, and decided to become a writer. I enrolled in an MFA program that operates long-distance, meeting in person only twice a year. Now I spend most days at home alone, researching and writing and occasionally doing interviews. It's a great life, but it doesn't provide automatic ways to meet people.

For the first year, I made a casual effort to make some friends. I got in touch with everyone I already knew in the Bay Area. I joined an ultimate frisbee team and a writing group and went to my boyfriend's law-school social events. But on the one year anniversary of my move to this lively town, I had to face the facts: my strategy wasn't working. I'd met some great people, and had some good times, but I didn't feel part of a network, a community. I was happy to spend my birthday backpacking in the Sierras; I could sidestep the fact that I wouldn't have been able to scratch up even a small celebration.

It's time for Plan B. It's time for The Encantada Project.