The community I found in Berlin that I could never find in America
And how I discovered it on my 30th birthday
Introduction
Though my 30th birthday fell on Easter Sunday, I didn’t plan anything ahead of time apart from a small breakfast with a few friends to celebrate. I just moved to Berlin, I don’t know that many people, I’ll enjoy time alone to reflect, I told myself.
The morning of, I walked into my favorite breakfast spot and was surprised to see my friends already coming towards me, arms outstretched, carrying a small pile of gifts. For two hours, we joked and chatted until we were full of breakfast and dessert.
On my way out, a neighbor called to ask if he could treat me to a birthday coffee. “Tell me where you are and I’ll drive over!” he said cheerfully, so 10 minutes later, we sat back down at the same restaurant as he told me stories of his hitchhiking adventures through Turkey.
As we paid for our coffee, my phone buzzed as a friend informed me she was heading to pick Bärlauch (wild garlic) to make pesto and asked if I wanted to join. Thirty minutes later, we were together in the sprint sunshine picking fresh, glossy garlic leaves among dozens of German families. As I headed back home with a bag full of garlic to join a family birthday zoom call, I found a vase of beautiful flowers and a card from my housemate and his children sitting in our kitchen.
And as I signed into Zoom, there was my family, calling in from three cities and all smiles looking back at me.
As I enjoyed a cozy dinner after, my phone buzzed with new friends and neighbors writing birthday messages, checking in on me, and sending love. At 11:50 pm as I lay down to bed, one called to offer the final “happy birthday” of my day.
In the end, the day I intended to spend alone instead became one continuous, emotional hug in which new friends, neighbors, and housemates in Berlin collectively made sure there wasn’t a single moment in which I didn’t know I was cared about.
Lying in bed just before falling asleep, I realized I was not just overwhelmed by love, but by a feeling I had never felt in America: a sense of belonging to a community.
Disconnected in America
During my first 29 years growing up in Connecticut and living in New York City and San Francisco, a sense of belonging always eluded me. Despite living in some of the biggest and most exciting cities in America and having friends by my side, I felt… disconnected.
That’s not to say there weren’t communities in those places or that I wasn’t part of them.
In my hometown in Connecticut, I grew up volunteering, playing sports and music, and getting involved in the community whenever I could. In New York, I considered myself part of the community of “New Yorkers,” who pride themselves on overcoming any challenge with grit and determination. In San Francisco, I was part of the startup and beach volleyball communities.
Yet no matter what I did to be part of the community, I didn’t feel connected to the people I passed by every day on the street. Even in my own hometown, I felt like an outsider.
It wasn’t until I moved to Berlin that I discovered a different meaning of community. A type so fundamental that describing it feels like a fish putting words to water.
In Berlin, community means belonging.
Belonging has nothing to do with identity, social status, or activities. It is simply taken for granted that you belong and because you belong, you look out for others and they look out for you.
It means when I go out for coffee in the morning, squealing toddlers run around the cafe with their parents and people smile rather than complain, because children belong in the community.
It means I have friends in their 40s, 50s, and 60s because we’re all interested in learning from and connecting with each other regardless of age or stage of life.
It means even though I work hard to pursue my dreams, my net worth doesn’t affect how people around me treat me.
It means, as a Russian friend of mine put it, “caring and making a place for those around you, even those you may not personally like.”
What Kills Community
This type of community isn’t unique to Berlin - I’m sure it has existed around the world throughout history. The bigger question for me after I experienced it is why doesn’t it exist in many American cities? Why is San Francisco filled with startup founders discussing ideas for world-changing payment apps as homeless men rifle through the trash behind them and shoot up drugs?
In my experience, this type of community is rare in America because it can’t thrive in a culture of competition and rugged individualism. In America, your place in society has to be earned.
In my hometown, despite attempts to create and support community, students were under pressure from a young age to compete academically and athletically for spots in top colleges. In college, my classmates competed for top grades to get into Med School while a handful of students committed suicide each year. In New York, I wanted community but was too exhausted from my demanding work life to look out for anyone else. By the time I reached San Francisco, the word community felt empty. Banners for “love is love” hung from the windows of colorful Victorian houses while homeless men and women yelled in the streets until the police came and moved them somewhere else.
After all, a community is based on the idea that “we’re all in this together,” but people aren’t in it together when they are constantly competing on the basis of money, looks, and achievement. How can such a community exist in a place where people are either struggling to survive or struggling to prove they’re better than everyone else?
In Germany, I still have my American dreams. I still work, create, and make big plans. But I don’t do those things anymore to prove myself or to be accepted. I do them because I want to and because I know that even if I fail, I’ll still belong. I belong to a neighborhood and a city where people greet me by name and check in on me.
That general caring is possibly the most incredible, wonderful thing I’ve found so far in Germany.
