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The Crowded Table

Friday morning I got up at 4:30 in the morning and started driving east. I watched the sun rise over the rice fields. I smiled at the Memphis pyramid, a landmark of my childhood drives to visit grandparents. I got gas in Mississippi. I clutched the steering wheel as I navigated Birmingham (my least favorite city I've ever driven in, and I've driven in NYC). And mid afternoon I rolled into Atlanta.

My first stop was the Georgia Aquarium. They added the mini ocean with whale sharks less than a year after I went to Atlanta as a kid with my dad on a business trip, and I've been salty about it since. I appeased my inner child and also commended myself for planning a two hour walking activity to follow a seven and a half hour drive. After the aquarium I visited a little metaphysical shop I'd heard of through their podcast and expanded my tarot and crystal collections.

But the real reason I drove to Atlanta was for a Crowded Table gathering. I've shared somewhat about my spiritual journey on here, but not everything. I picked apart everything I had been taught and told and shown and sorted everything into keep and trash piles (more in the latter than the former), but then I was at a bit of a loss because while I found podcasts to listen to and some books to read and social media accounts to follow, I didn't have any accessible humans to interact with about it. And six months ago I found Kevin Garcia's podcast A Tiny Revolution, and joined their online community, the Crowded Table (named after the Highwomen song). The closest equivalent I've ever experienced to this was my beloved knitting community.

So, as with my knitters, I cheerfully agreed to share an AirBnB with five other people who I'd only met online when Kevin announced the event a month ago. About fifty people, community members and people who were local to Atlanta and people who heard about it from Instagram or podcast mentions, gathered to share space and meals and practice. We meditated, walked around a park in pairs to discuss our experience, listened to someone speak on trauma, heard a panel on life after deconstruction, a live podcast recording, and ended with a beautiful liturgy of poetry, parable, candles, and singing.


I went back to the church we met in for the service next morning, along with one of the people I had stayed with, and heard a message filled with love and peace. I listened to the shared playlist the six of us had created on the drive back, in absolute awe of what I had just experienced.

Much of my life, I've been isolated. When I have tried to make friends or join communities, they have either been short of what was advertised or imploded (looking at you, Ravelry). I have found individuals who I connected with, but haven't been able to walk into a full room as my whole self without some  (often reasonable) anxiety. For the first time in my life, I did not once mask, code switch, or second guess anything I said. I felt loved and accepted and included, heard and seen and celebrated -- and my impression is that everyone else there felt the same way. It was absolutely amazing.


I'm home now, heart and head full, trying to hang onto what I learned and felt and apply it to the everyday life I have. I feel less alone than I have in a long time, as well as more hopeful about the future. I'm grateful for voices and hugs to match with the faces in my online interactions, and have a renewed determination to add more chairs to the table near me.

If you are also looking for a "spiritual community for all heretics and doubt-filled believers" that is absolutely packed with lovely people, I highly recommend joining The Crowded Table.
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