About ten days ago I returned from one of my very favorites places: the Squaw Valley Community of Writers, an annual writers conference that takes place near Lake Tahoe in California. The physical locale is one of unparalleled beauty—snow-dappled mountains, crisp dry air, everything redolent of sage and evergreen—but it is the strong sense of community which binds me there and takes me back again and again. A community of writers, some published, some close to being published, some just starting out, all of whom are bound by the singular purpose of finding a way to use words to express the ineffable about being alive. For most writers, whose daily lives are relatively hermetic, membership in a community of like-minded people for one intense week is stimulating beyond belief.

I came back inspired as a writer—and also thinking a lot about community. I’ve often mourned aloud the absence of community in contemporary American life. I was keenly aware of this after returning from Zimbabwe where most of the people I met seemed to be cognizant of the rewards of community and ready to make personal sacrifices to strengthen group ties. In the U.S. we move often, we’re perennially busy, we’re constantly distracted, and much of our socializing is not conducted face-to-face; all these things legislate against the slow build of deep community.

But I’ve been thinking, too, about how easy it is to romanticize that which is hard to come by. Participating in groups where everyone holds the same beliefs and values can be restrictive, even oppressive. Religious groups, work groups, family groups. Don’t we all reach a point in adolescence where the family “community” begins to feel intolerable? We cannot bear any more to move in lockstep with parents and siblings; we need to assert our differences, branch out, move on independently.

For me this pattern of joining a group, surviving happily for a while, then feeling a need to resist, branch out, move on, has played itself out throughout my adulthood. Perhaps I was not born to be a joiner. Perhaps it is the nature of most writers to be hesitant to align with others—and more, perhaps it is necessary for writers to remain independent and non-partisan, in order to preserve the stance of the observer.

This makes me all the more grateful to have a place to go where, at least for a week I can revel unreservedly in the vibrant community I find there.