Reclaiming Real Connection

There is something magical about opening your home to others. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be Pinterest or Instagram Perfect. You don’t need matching dishware, elaborate decorations, or a five-course catered meal. What you do need is heart - and the willingness to take a leap of faith. Hosting a gathering is not just about filling a room with people; it’s about planting seeds for connection, for community, for something that might just change your life - and theirs.

When I was younger, hosting Felt like a double-edged sword. I threw parties in my teens that were full of drama, chaos, and regret (because I invited the “cool kids” instead of investing in real friendships). In me early adulthood, I hosted events where barely anyone showed up, leaving me crushed and wondering if I’d ever feel like I belonged. At times, even family gatherings fell flat. The disappointment felt personal, as if my worth was tied to the success of these events. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized something profound: hosting isn’t about impressing others or chasing validation. It’s about creating a space where people can feel welcome, valued, and loved - if only for the length of the party.

The digital invite to our event.

This past weekend, I hosted a “Very Merry Open House.” My hubby and I moved to a new city earlier this year, and we were craving connection. New neighbors, new faces, new opportunities to build relationships. We sent out invitations with our hearts in our throats, bracing ourselves for the possibility that only a handful of people might show up. But we were determined to create that space, no matter how small the turnout.

And then it happened. Almost 30 people came. Thirty. They walked into our home, mingled, ate the food I’d lovingly prepared, and most importantly, they connected. At one point, someone told me how loved and welcome they felt in our home. Another thanked us for organizing an event that allowed them to meet others. Hearing those words was everything.

Our open house wasn’t just a party - it was an offering, a way of planting the seeds for connection and belonging.

That’s the best way I can think to sum up the party. It captures exactly what I wanted the event to be. A gesture of kindness. An invitation to community. A reminder that, in a world where meaningful connection often feels out of reach, we have the power to create it ourselves.

Somewhere along the way, we lost the simplicity and joy of true gatherings. Blame social media, reality TV, or our collective obsession with aesthetics, but events have become less about connection and more about performance. Baby showers, weddings, even casual get-togethers are now judged by their theme, decor, and price tag. It’s as if we’ve decided that unless an event is Instagram-worthy, it’s not worth having.

Let me tell you: that’s utter nonsense.

We’ve let the pressure of wow overshadow the real purpose of gatherings: to connect. To create a moment where people feel seen and valued. To build the kind of relationships that remind us we’re not alone in this world. And here’s the truth - you don’t need anything fancy to do that. You don’t need a band or a caterer. You don’t need perfectly curated centerpieces or a gift bag for every guest. What you need is a warm heart, some good snacks, and a willingness to open your door.

When I hosted my open house, I kept it simple. I made homemade hors d’œuvres and baked goods, put out snacks, and offered fun drinks. That’s it. No theme, no bells and whistles. And you know what? People loved it. Not because it was extravagant (it wasn’t) but because it was real.

That’s the key. Hosting isn’t about perfection - it’s about authenticity. It’s about saying, “I value you enough to open my home to you, to feed you, and to spend time with you.” People don’t need perfection. They need kindness. They need community.

In today’s world, community feels like a relic of the past. We’re all so busy, so overwhelmed, so caught up in our individual lives that we forget how much we need one another. The saying “It takes a village” is about more than raising children. It’s about survival. None of us can do this alone. We need support systems. We need neighbors we can count on. We need people who remind us we’re not alone.

But here’s the thing: community doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. It’s built, little by little, with small acts of connection. A cup of coffee shared with a neighbor. A potluck dinner with friends. A simple open house where people can gather and talk and laugh. These moments matter. They’re the foundation of something bigger - a village, a tribe, a sense of belonging.

If you’ve ever wanted to host but felt intimidated, let me tell you:  you can do this. You don’t need a big budget. You don’t need to be a gourmet chef. You just need to care. Start small. Invite a few friends over for coffee and cookies. Host a game night with snacks from the grocery store. Or, life I did, organize an open house with finger foods and drinks.

Don’t worry about everything being perfect. It won’t be - and that’s okay. People won’t remember whether your napkins matched your plates. They’ll remember how they felt. They’ll remember the laughter, the conversation, the warmth of your hospitality.

The world needs more spaces for connection. It needs more people willing to open their hearts and homes. Hosting isn’t just about entertaining; it’s about creating a sense of belonging. And we all have the power to do that.

So, let’s bring back the art of gathering. Let’s stop worrying about impressing people and focus on connecting with them. Let’s build the villages, the tribes, the communities we so desperately need.

Because here’s the truth: hosting a gathering isn’t just a party. It’s an offering. An act of love. A seed planted for something greater. And in a world that often feels disconnected, what could be more important than that?

Now, go forth and host. You’ve got this.

Of course, hosting a party is only one side of the equation. The other side? Being invited to one - and actually attending. Let’s face it: over the last several years (if not decades), RSVPing and committing to events seem to have fallen out of fashion. Too often, we hesitate to commit, holding out for better options or simply leaving the door open to staying home. But here’s why that’s an issue: when you don’t RSVP, or when you back out at the last minute, you’re not just skipping a party - you’re missing out on a chance to connect.

In this age of instant gratification and endless scrolling, the art of RSVP-ing- and following through - has become a rarity. Let’s face it: committing to an event feels like a chore for many of us. There’s always the temptation to keep your options open, to hedge your bets in case something better comes along, or to decide at the last minute that staying in your pyjamas sounds infinitely more appealing than mingling with a crowd. But here’s the thing - when you receive an invitation, you’re being offered something sacred: someone’s time, effort, and a chance to connect. Ignoring that, or flaking without notice, isn’t just rude - it’s a missed opportunity to strengthen the bonds that make life richer and more meaningful.

First, let’s tackle the obvious: RSVP, dang it! If a host has asked for an RSVP, it’s because they’re trying to plan an experience for you (and others) to enjoy. Knowing how many people to expect helps them prepare enough food, arrange seating, and ensure everyone feels welcome. Ghosting an invitation or giving a non-committal “maybe” sense a subtle but clear message: I’m not sure your event is worth my time. That may not be what you intend, but it’s how it can feel to the host who has put effort into creating something special. And here’s the kicker: when you don’t RSVP, you’re more likely to skip out entirely, and that’s where the real problem begins.

Our brains are notoriously tricky when it comes to convincing us to avoid things that are good for us. Exercising, eating healthy, tackling a big project - we’ve all experienced that internal struggle. Socializing is no different. Your brain might whisper excuses: “You’ll be too tired,” “It might be awkward,” or “It’s easier to just stay home.” But the truth is, showing up and engaging with others isn’t just polite - it’s good for you. Social connections are a cornerstone of mental and emotional health. They provide a sense of belonging, improve resilience, and even extend your lifespan. By RSVPing - and sticking to your commitment - you’re giving yourself the gift of connection.

When you attend an event, you’re not just supporting the host (though that’s important too). You’re investing in your own well-being and in the relationships that sustain you. Community isn’t built by accident; it’s built by showing up, over and over again, even when it feels easier to stay at home. So the next time you get an invite, say yes - and mean it. RSVP, put it on your calendar, and follow through. You might just find that what seemed like a small commitment becomes the start of something much bigger: friendships, opportunities, a sense of belonging. And isn’t that worth stepping out of your comfort zone for?

At the heart of it all, hosting and attending events isn’t just about parties, food, or perfectly curated spaces - it’s about people. It’s about creating and participating in moments that remind us we’re not alone, that we’re valued, and that we belong. Whether you’re the host opening your home with love or the guest taking a leap and showing up, you’re contributing to something much larger than yourself. You’re nurturing the connections that sustain us, the community we all need to thrive. So let’s embrace the beauty of imperfection, the warmth of genuine effort, and the power of simply being there for one another. Together, we can reclaim the joy of real connection - one gathering, one RSVP, one shared moment at a time. Open your heart, open your home, and see what magic unfolds.

Ⓒ December 2024. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.