I could spend the rest of my life living in front of screens and wrapped in layers of blankets. I instinctively seek comfort and avoid the hard parts of living life. But I’ve been trying to, ever so slowly, push myself out of my comfort zone and into a more externalized existence.

As part of this initiative, I’ve been writing more both here and elsewhere. I’ve also been getting out more and pushing myself to sign up for anything around me that looked both affordable and vaguely interesting. As I was signing up for things, writing groups in my area then became an obvious choice. They allow me to do something I was doing anyway, but they rip me out of my sad stale apartment and put me out into the larger world. And there is a glut of them where I live, most being completely free to attend.

I’ve been to three different writing groups in my city within just a little over a week. The first one I went to was in a coffee shop in the city center. They had killer matcha – probably some of the best I’ve ever had. The space itself was dimly lit and behind an industrial looking door covered in stickers and graffiti. It was a really cool space, maybe a bit self-consciously cool, but still interesting and inspiring in its own way. I met an eclectic but friendly group of people here, a therapist who records his dreams, a scientist turned aspiring novelist, and a memoirist battling the pull of digital distraction. It was a energizing and supportive atmosphere that genuinely felt accepting of all levels.

Someone in this group recommended another writing event that would take place the next day. This one was in a historic hotel. The vibes this time were dark wood, grand staircases, and eavesdropping on tourists. This group proved just as interesting and even more diverse than the first, however this event was more tightly proctored. The host was friendly and welcoming in a way that was almost aggressive. He instructed us to all sit in a circle and to go around and, “share AA style” (yes, these were his precise instructions). After we went around the circle, where I slipped that I was writing a rant about a stressful situation at work, he honed in on me. He moved close and told me that I had too good of an energy to be weighed down by anger. Then he went onto some kind of tangent about his conversion to Buddhism and how anger was a no-no because it brings everyone down (or something).

He asked for my number so that he could send me a link to a virtual writing group. I did so naively, thinking that that would be a one and done, but after the link came through he continued to text me cryptic messages about Buddhist philosophy and energies. After the weirdness of the text exchange, I decided that, while the hotel was cool, I might skip out on this group’s next meeting.

The final group I attended was at a tea house. This was a softer and more intimate space. I went with a friend and we were sitting elbow to elbow with strangers. We were given a prompt, time to write, and space to discuss. I found myself slipping into introspection and philosophical ramblings when writing. Afterwards I found myself discussing childhood video game memories with people I had just met. This one felt like a nice, cozy hangout.

I think I want to continue this path of putting myself into these new situations. I’ve found the journey funny, inspiring, and even a bit eye-opening so far.