Community (and What Bees Can Teach Us About It)

Honeybees form a backyard hive in San Anselmo, CA in 2017.

I’ve heavily underestimated the importance of community over the past five years.

For a long time, I thought I could do everything myself. Solo. Tucked away in a cozy corner of my house, relying on just a few people: my family, some friends, and the professionals I worked with. Minimal interaction. Maximum self-reliance.

Even before Covid, I secretly loved canceling plans. The moment I saw a group event on my calendar, a checklist of self-doubt would show up right behind it:
Is my hair okay? Will I look too tired? What even fits right now?
The spiral was real. So I convinced myself that I just didn’t need much.
(And by “much,” let’s be honest — I meant people.)

But lately, I’ve realized that story just isn’t true anymore.

Last week, I got word that a co-working space I used to thrive in — pre-pandemic, of course — was reopening after years of being closed. It was more than just a shared office; it was a space where I met writers, athletes, photographers, recruiters, coaches — incredible women with big ideas and open hearts.

Now, almost four years later, the founder, Grace, has found a new space. And more impressively? She’s found the courage to begin again after such a disheartening end to what had become a lifeline for so many of us seeking connection.

She named it The Hivery, and from day one, the imagery has always centered around bees — working together in community.

And it hit me: bees don’t thrive alone.  Grace knew that and as much time as I spent around the Hivery you think I would have internalized it as well.

Bees give life.  They build, forage, and fly as one. It’s not about one standout star — it’s about the whole hive humming in harmony. And suddenly, I started to see myself in that story.

When the original Hivery closed, we tried to stay connected. Zoom meetups filled our calendars at first. Grace did an amazing job of keeping the community alive online -and for so many people it was great.  For me it was an excuse to hide.  

She would organize pop-ups and meetups at other co-working spaces. But it wasn’t the same for me. The magic was missing.

Then, in what felt like divine timing, I stepped back into the new Hivery just as my own heart was starting to reopen to people again.

A week before the announcement, I found myself involved in a group of women working on a cause. (What we were meeting about doesn’t even matter — the magic was in the gathering itself.) For the first time in a long while, I felt that hum of belonging again.

One event led to another.
And then another.
At first, I was getting pulled in.
Then I was the one reaching out.

Before I knew it, I was texting girlfriends and colleagues to grab brunch. Golf. Coffee. Spontaneous little adventures that reminded me how vital it is to build the hive, not just hide in it.

The crescendo of these connections — new and renewed — peaked when I walked into the newest version of The Hivery.

And it all made sense.

The bee imagery is more than cute branding — it is a blueprint. A reminder. Bees work. They build. They buzz with purpose. But more than anything? They do it together. It’s the women in the hive who make the whole thing happen.

I’m happy to have my hive again. 
We thrive in community.
We communicate through movement and intuition.
We multi-task like it’s a competitive sport.
We show up — not for the credit, but for the collective.

And when we do it right, something golden gets made.

P.S. Don’t be surprised if you get a call from me. And if you have been hiding out the last few years, like me, I won’t be upset if you aren’t ready. But I will keep trying and hope you will, too.

Honey bees coming home in the evening to their backyard hive.