The first Sunday I lived in Maine I went to church. It was just something I googled, a community that sounded intriguing to me but how would I know without experiencing the people. I sat at the end of a pew in the back. I knew everyone saw me come in, that was okay. I knew what they were thinking: “new girl, who’s this"?” I was prepared for that. The pastor came up to me during their meet and greet time—in which I desperately tried not to look awkward—and asked me if this was my first time here. Yes, it was. I moved to the town over just a couple days ago. He went on to invite me over to his place to have dinner with him and his wife. I hoped my expression-full face didn’t give me away but this boiled my heart to the surface of my chest, up to my eyes, which quickly grew full of tears. That would be wonderful.

The thing about living by yourself in a strange place is you have to put yourself out there. And then the smallest of kindnesses become the most profound.