On Community
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If you’ve read these periodic notes from me, you could probably sum up my themes as legacy, the Jewish world, philanthropy, and community. That’s how I tend to think about the world.
Today, I want to linger for a moment on community.
I often write about the different ones to which I belong — Detroit, the Peloton world, the Jewish community. I create my own, too: women gathering to learn about AI, book club, canasta, and more. I seem to be constantly collecting people and places where connection can take root.
But for more than thirteen years now — a baker’s dozen — I’ve also belonged to the celiac community.
Right after my 40th birthday, I was diagnosed with Celiac disease, an autoimmune condition that is thankfully controlled entirely by diet. Still, my entire way of being had to be rewritten. My brain and my kitchen were rewired. Eating out, traveling, hosting — all of it changed.
And I embraced it.
Those of you who’ve eaten at my house or dined out with me know what I mean. I love the gluten-free community. It’s resourceful, generous, and surprisingly joyful.
Recently, flying home from Los Angeles, I mentioned to my husband that I had a “Modern bagel” in my bag to eat on the plane. The woman in front of me turned around and said, “Excuse me — did you mean a bagel from Modern Bread and Bagel?”
And just like that, a conversation began.
The woman was Jill Bommarito, founder of Ethel’s, a Detroit-based, nationally distributed, delicious gluten-free bakery. My friends laughed when I told them — only me, they said, would strike up a conversation, share a bagel, take a selfie, and walk away with a new friend who happens to be a celebrity in my niche world.
But this isn’t really about being gluten-free.
It’s about belonging.
Belonging, for me, is less about formal membership and more about posture. It’s about being open — to conversation, to connection, to the possibility that the person in front of you might speak your language. Sometimes that language is Jewish. Sometimes philanthropic. Sometimes it’s as simple as gluten-free.
Community isn’t only built in boardrooms or sanctuaries or structured gatherings. Sometimes it’s built in airport jetways at 5:30 in the morning.
In that same way, legacy isn’t only shaped through institutions and endowed funds. Sometimes it’s shaped through friendliness. Through curiosity. Through the willingness to look up and say hello.
And maybe that’s the quiet work of community: not just finding your people, but being ready to recognize them — and letting yourself be recognized in return.
And so I ask, where in your life have you unexpectedly found belonging? Are you living with your eyes up — ready for conversation — or mostly down? And, how might openness itself be part of your legacy?
Let me know your thoughts.
Fondly,
Kari
