This week, I have been reading Unreasonable Hospitality, and I keep wanting to put the book down and call somebody.
Girl. Listen to this.
You ever read something that gives language to a feeling you have been carrying for years? That is what this book has been doing for me. Somewhere between the pages, I started recognizing myself.
The woman who wants everybody to come over.
The woman thinking about what song should be playing when you walk through the door.
The woman who has already imagined how you will feel sitting at the table before she has figured out where all the chairs are coming from.
Yes. Her. Me.
I was listening to John Coltrane, thinking about everything I wanted to create, and I felt so full I wanted to jump up and down. At 41 years old, I was sitting with a thought that felt both new and very familiar:
I want to be of service.
Especially to Black women.
I want to create places where we can arrive and feel considered. Where somebody has thought about our comfort. Where we can eat something good, laugh from our stomachs, finish a story, and stay a little longer because we feel welcome.
There is so much joy for me in imagining that room.
And lately, I have been experiencing what it feels like when someone makes room for me, too.
I recently became part of a social circle filled with women who look like me. And when I tell you this is the safest I have felt in friendship in a hell of a long time, I mean that.
I posted something this week that helped me understand what is happening:
“My friend circle is creating work/life balance for me and it’s scary but so satisfying in the same breath.”
Both feelings are real. I am excited to have these women in my life, and I am getting used to making space for friendship alongside everything I am building.
There is always something that needs my attention. But I want to say yes to an invitation without spending the whole evening thinking about what I should be finishing. I want to laugh, be present, and let myself enjoy being included.
These women are helping me practice that.
As I read about hospitality and prepare to welcome women into my home, I am also experiencing the care of being welcomed myself. That has given this conversation a deeper meaning for me.
Being hospitable to myself means considering my own need for connection when I plan my week. It means giving friendship actual time on my calendar. It means remembering that I need places where I feel safe and cared for, too.
I love being a gatherer. And I am discovering how good it feels to be gathered.
I need friendship. I need laughter. I need time to sit somewhere and enjoy what somebody else prepared. I need evenings that do not have to turn into content or contribute to the next thing I am building.
Sometimes, I need to go be with my girls.
That belongs in the life I am working so hard to create.
Work-life balance has become a much more personal conversation for me lately. There is work that pays the bills, work that feeds my purpose, and the everyday work of keeping my life moving. Even the things I love require energy.
And because I love this work, I can always find one more thing to do.
One more email. One more idea. One more detail that would make the experience feel special.
I am learning to ask whether I have made any room for myself in all that planning.
Have I eaten? Have I rested? Have I spent time with people whose presence feels good? Can I put the work down long enough to enjoy the life happening around it?
Those questions belong in my conversation about hospitality, too.
I want to be hospitable to myself. I want to give my own needs the kind of consideration I so willingly give a guest.
I am still learning what that looks like in practice. Some days, it may mean closing the laptop. Other days, it may mean accepting an invitation, asking for help, or letting something wait until tomorrow.
This week, it means writing ahead so I can give Sunday Supper my attention without trying to squeeze everything into Sunday.
And as I prepare for this supper, I keep thinking about my grandmother’s good linen.
You knew something was happening when that linen came out. Somebody was coming, and their arrival deserved preparation.
I carry that with me.
When I think about setting this table, I think about the women who will sit around it. They have had a whole week before they ever get to my door. Responsibilities. Conversations. Things that went well. Things they are still trying to make sense of.
I cannot know everything they are carrying. But I can prepare a place where they can set some of it down for an evening.
I can remember what they told me they cannot eat. I can welcome them by name. I can pay attention when somebody is trying to join the conversation.
And because I have recently felt that safety in friendship, I have a deeper appreciation for what a welcoming room can offer.
Of course, I am still thinking about the food. Please know that. There are groceries to buy, dishes to wash, and several conversations happening in my head about timing.
There is also the work of creating systems that support me. Writing things down. Preparing ahead. Being honest about what I can manage and where I need help.
I want enough breathing room to enjoy the women I invited. To hear the whole story. To laugh with them. To be present at my own table.
Reading this book has made me feel less alone in caring so much about how people experience a room. Finding this circle of women has reminded me how good it feels to be welcomed into one.
Both experiences are teaching me something about the life I want.
I want to serve. I want to build. I want to gather women and create beautiful experiences.
I also want friendship, rest, and time to enjoy being Ronisha.
At 41, I am making room for all of her.
So this Sunday, I get to put out the good linen. I get to cook from my heart. I get to open the door and say:
Come in, girl. There’s a place for you here.
And I am learning to save a place for myself, too.
With love,
Ronisha Arlene