I spent eight years in LA searching for my people — then found them under my nose

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There’s an entire industry devoted to selling community to Millennials and Gen Z: social clubs, friendship apps, curated dinners with strangers.

But perhaps the best place to find it is not another organized event, but the ordinary places where our lives already overlap.

I’ve lived in Los Angeles for nine years; it took me eight to figure this out.

It started three years ago, when I was looking for my first solo apartment and fell in love with a building. A Spanish Art Deco masterpiece built in 1927. He was just my type: older, handsome and haunted by an Old Hollywood past he couldn’t quite escape.

My building is steps from Hollywood Boulevard, where the street is a spectacle, the sidewalks are an obstacle course and the smells are best left unidentified. 

I love it here.

But it took me two years (such a fast learner) to see how special it was.

Early on, my neighbor Shawn introduced himself. A charismatic guy with a penchant for bold prints and Panama hats, he always said hello. I kept it to that because forgetting names is one of my special talents.

Two years later, I saw him at Trader Joe’s with another neighbor, Colin. I expected a wave or quick hello. Instead they greeted me like we were college students in the same dorm on the first day of classes. We walked home chatting.

After that, things were different.

I discovered that our courtyard, a little oasis of tables and a fountain tucked away from Hollywood’s commotion, was the center of a thriving social world.

I met Shawn’s wife Alicia. I met Joe and Glenna, the “old-timers” who have lived here 20 years. I met a set designer, a painter, a fashion photographer, a local bartender. I realized I had better step up my artistic game.

Shawn and Colin are two people who would never meet out in the world. Shawn is a former nightlife entrepreneur who threw parties for thousands of people. Colin gets uneasy when there are more than four people in a room.

Every Thursday, they go for a walk together.

As for me, I’m single by choice (because, as Mae West put it, dating is my hobby, and if I ever got married I’d have to give it up). I’ve never wanted children, and I love living alone. 

I have a rich social life and wonderful friends, but I usually see them in the evenings. Before I met my neighbors, working remotely meant I could go all day without speaking to anyone in person.

Now a trip to the mailboxes might turn into a good laugh; a walk into an impromptu catch-up. I’ve even discovered that children can be all right, provided I don’t have to give birth to them. (Shawn’s son Finn remains the only child on earth who has hugged me without being ordered to do so. This has changed my life.)

Of course, sometimes I miss the anonymity. There are evenings I’d prefer to slink home without any chance of small talk.

But I can’t believe how much these little encounters have lifted my mood. Turns out there is research that explains why.  

A 2022 study by Harvard Business School researchers found that people who interacted with a wider variety of people throughout the day reported greater happiness. Not just spouses and close friends, but acquaintances, strangers and neighbors.

Sociologists call these more casual relationships “weak ties.” We need strong ties too, but the weak ones give us something our closest friendships cannot — a sense of belonging to the world around us.

In Los Angeles, that feeling can be hard to come by. Car culture conspires against serendipity; you know your destination, and any unexpected encounters along the way are generally cause for an insurance claim.

Angelenos get so used to scheduling their social lives that an unplanned conversation feels like an interruption. We sign up for events to meet strangers while barely knowing the people across the hall.

The irony of friendship as big business: We’re paying to reintroduce the very encounters we have designed out of our lives.

And it’s these chance encounters that give ordinary life its color.

Recently, Shawn and I were sitting in the courtyard when a guy who looked about 23 shuffled past. He’d just moved in.

Shawn stood up and introduced himself, because that’s what he does. I cringed inwardly at the flicker of Gen Z surprise on the kid’s face. Suddenly I felt ancient, a boomer ethos coursing through my Millennial body.

Then I remembered I’d once felt exactly the same way.

Maybe he’ll prefer to keep to himself. Fair enough. But if he ever craves community, I hope he’ll figure out that it’s right under his nose.

(Just don’t sniff too hard. This is Hollywood, after all.)

Mary Dahm is a writer and medical technology publicist based in Los Angeles. 

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