We swim together: The weekend that reminded me how communities are built

This weekend didn't change my life. But it reminded me why I work so hard to build one. Over the course of three days, I found myself moving through a series of ordinary community spaces.

Friday and Saturday, I volunteered backstage for our local production of Finding Nemo Jr. Community theatre is one of those magical places where everyone has a role to play. Parents. Board members. Teen volunteers. Kids. Directors. Audience members.

As the cast sings, "We swim together." That lyric stayed with me all weekend.

Saturday morning, my son went to a birthday party. I ended up chatting with one other parent while the kids played. As often happens in a small community, we started connecting dots.

"Oh—you know so-and-so?" By the end of the conversation, we'd discovered another unexpected connection.

Back at the theatre later that day, it happened again. One parent realized another volunteer knew her sister's fiancé—not just casually, but since he was a baby. Two parent volunteers who have become good friends discovered that their dads had worked together for years.

It's funny how often that happens. You think you're meeting someone new, only to discover you've been connected all along.

After Saturday's performance, a few of us went out for drinks. Nothing formal. Just people extending the evening because no one was quite ready for it to end.

On Sunday, I drove about half an hour to attend an open house for a friend who's creating a community space in her own neighborhood. It was beautiful to see what had gathered around her dream—not just family and friends, but local vendors, supporters and neighbors who believe in what she's hopes to create.

They weren't just celebrating a business.

They were celebrating the possibility of a stronger community.

I went to see the last performance of the musical. Then later, I stopped by the local marching band’s Thank You Show and recognized many of the same theatre parents and kids I'd spent the weekend with.

Even after I got home, the community kept showing up. Friends posted photos from the event. I found myself commenting on their posts, reliving moments we'd experienced separately but together.

It struck me that none of these moments were extraordinary on their own. Most of them lasted only a few minutes. But together, they created something much bigger.

I've been reading and thinking a lot about "third places"—the spaces outside of home and work where community happens. This weekend reminded me that it's not actually the buildings that matter most.

It's the repeated collisions.

Seeing the same faces in different places.

Finding out your families have been connected for decades.

Realizing your theatre friend knows your neighbor, who knows your coworker, who grew up with someone else's cousin.

Communities aren't built through one deep conversation. They're built through hundreds of little ones.

By Sunday night, I was exhausted. But it wasn't the kind of tired that leaves you drained.

It was the kind that comes after spending a weekend fully immersed in the people around you.

My cup wasn't empty.

It was overflowing.

I left the weekend even more convinced that we need more places where these kinds of connections can happen. Places where people can linger after the event is over. Places where strangers become familiar faces, and familiar faces slowly become friends.

Maybe that's why Finding Nemo got it right.

We really do swim together.