I have been wrestling with myself for a long time about whether I’m an introvert or an extrovert because I was raised to be extroverted. I was raised with great communication skills and great people skills. I know how to work a room. I can talk to almost anyone. But I always leave exhausted and need approximately 2–3 business days to recover.

Although it isn’t always comfortable for me, I’m almost always glad when I push myself to connect with people because introverts and extroverts both need community. We need help. We need people.

My biggest dream for years was to build a sanctuary. A home where I loved being, where my family could gather, where I could feel completely comfortable. And now that I have it, it has been everything I hoped it would be. Maybe a little too comfortable, because I never want to leave.

I could feel myself slowly becoming a little hermit, so this year I decided to do something a little crazy. Instead of making myself leave my sanctuary, I started inviting strangers into it.

I speak to tens of thousands of women online every day. Who are they? I go to church every Sunday and sit next to people I barely know. Who are these people? I wanted to open my circle just a little wider. I wanted to know more of the people I share this life with. And with my online community specifically, I wanted some small way to treat them and thank them for being here.

So this year, I started inviting strangers over.

First, I Invited the Internet Over

The first time I did this, I asked my audience who would like to come to lunch and then picked people randomly. Well, kind of randomly. I did a little digging first because no serial killers for me, please.

Each woman got to bring a plus one, which meant even more strangers. I did my best to make yummy food, set the tone, serve them and mostly just connect with them. We sat around the table and got to know each other, and some of the women even shared their talents with us, which was such a treat.

Amy Harmon came and read from one of her books. We had an amazing duo sing for us. Some people brought gifts for everyone. These women had walked into my house as strangers, and suddenly we were eating together, listening to someone read and someone else sing, and exchanging little gifts.

It was so dang fun. I loved it so much that I think I need to make one of these lunches an annual tradition.

Later, some friends and I hosted a mahjong event for our followers, and at the event I decided at the last minute to give away a mahjong night at my house. The winner was a complete stranger to me, and I was a complete stranger to her. She didn’t even follow me. She had just somehow ended up at this event.

So naturally, I invited her and twelve of her friends to my house for dinner and mahjong.

I also invited an entire group of people I had taught mahjong to over for dinner another night. Again: strangers. Again: so dang fun.

At this point I was starting to realize something about myself that finally settled my lifelong introvert/extrovert debate. I am 100000% an introvert.

I don’t think being an introvert means I don’t like people. I LOVE people. Apparently, I even love strangers. I just need them in small doses. A dinner every couple of months followed by 2–3 business days of recovery? Perfect.

Then a Sign-Up Sheet Came Around at Church

The experiment got even more interesting when my ward, my church congregation, decided to start doing quarterly dinner groups. The idea was incredibly simple. They passed around a sign-up sheet at church. You could sign up to attend or volunteer to host, and once everyone had signed up, the women organizing it randomly assigned people into groups of about eight to ten.

You had absolutely no idea who was coming to your house.

When that piece of paper reached me, my heart skipped a beat. This aligned so completely with what I had been trying to do that it felt remarkable.

It was also terrifying.

I signed up. And I signed up to host.

Since then, I’ve hosted three of these dinners. The host makes the main course and assigns sides and desserts to everyone else, and then this completely random collection of people shows up at your house carrying food.

The ages across these groups have ranged from young adults to people in their nineties. These are people in completely different stages of life who might see each other every Sunday but would probably never otherwise end up sitting around the same dinner table.

And these nights have been beautiful.

The biggest surprise to me has been that I don’t want them to end. I don’t want the people to leave.

One night, a new friend stayed late talking to me about her daughter who had died in a car accident. I was hearing about her daughter for the first time. I imagine most of the people closest to her know the story. They know her daughter’s name. They know what happened. They’ve heard these memories before. But I hadn’t.

There was something beautiful about getting to listen as a first-time person. I didn’t know what came next. I got to hear about her daughter and remember her with this woman in a completely new way.

Another woman at my table talked about her late husband and how difficult life had been after losing him. At another dinner, a 24-year-old man and a 95-year-old woman somehow discovered that they both knew the same family in Idaho. She knew the grandmother. He knew the great-grandson.

What are the chances?

That’s what I love about talking to strangers. Every conversation is brand spanking new. You haven’t heard their stories. You don’t know where they’re going. You don’t know the characters yet. You can sit across from someone you’ve seen dozens of times and discover an entire life you knew absolutely nothing about.

The conversations we’ve had have been extraordinary and random and connecting. Again and again, I’ve walked away realizing how much more alike we are than we are different.

Here is a cute little sign up sheet. Print it off, pass it around, and really get to know these new friends.

I Think I Was Missing My Neighbors

This whole experiment has made me think a lot about community. I think back to my parents and how they knew the names of all their neighbors. People helped each other. If you needed something, you might actually have to knock on someone’s door and ask.

We don’t have to do that nearly as much anymore. If I have a question, I can ask AI. If I need something, I can have it delivered to my front door. There are a thousand ways I can solve a problem without ever needing another human being.

I don’t think any of those things are necessarily bad. But I wonder if somewhere along the way, we’ve gotten very good at not needing each other.

I feel this contradiction in my own life all the time. I have 169,000 people in my online community. I speak to tens of thousands of women every day. That’s an enormous circle. And yet, there were people sitting near me at church every Sunday whose stories I didn’t know.

People living around me. My neighbors.

These dinners have brought back a piece of the puzzle my heart was missing. I thought I was opening my home to other people. I didn’t realize how much they would bring into it.

You Do Not Have to Invite Random People From the Internet

Now, I realize inviting strangers from Instagram into your home may not be where you want to begin. Fair. You also don’t have to invite twelve strangers over to play mahjong.

There are a hundred less terrifying ways to do this.

Invite two friends who don’t know each other and ask each of them to bring someone you don’t know. Invite a friend and have her invite a friend, then have THAT friend invite another friend. Suddenly you have a table full of people who are connected, but nobody really knows everybody.

Invite someone from a completely different decade of life than you. Or make up ridiculous rules. Everyone has to have red hair. Everyone has to have been born in March. Everyone has to bring someone the host has never met. I don’t know. Make it weird.

You could start a dinner group with your neighborhood, church, coworkers or school community and randomly assign the groups like my ward did. You could also build the night around something to do. Teach everyone mahjong. Make something together. Have people share talents. Give everyone something to focus on while they get over those first few minutes of Hello, stranger, welcome to my house.

The point isn’t to copy exactly what I did. The point is to open your circle just a little bit.

You could easily send this exact text right now to a friend: 

“Ok random thought. I really want to meet people outside my little circle lately. What if we had dinner together? you bring a couple people I don’t know, I’ll do the same, with some yummy food. honestly might be awkward but I kind of want to find out 😂 you in?”

Even the Introverts Want a Seat at the Table

After all of this, I have finally stopped wrestling with the question. I am an introvert. Absolutely. Please allow 2–3 business days for recovery.

But I’ve also learned that my desire to be alone and my need for other people are not opposites. I can love my sanctuary and still open the door. I can have a small social battery and still be deeply curious about other people. I can need solitude and community.

And I can tell you after all these dinners: even the introverts want a seat at the table.

I built a home that I never want to leave. Maybe the answer wasn’t forcing myself out of it all the time.

Maybe I just needed to start letting a few more people in.