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I like a good party, especially at this time of year. I enjoy dressing up, meeting new people, throwing on a sequinned something, and escaping the work-from-home bubble. As a middling extrovert who lives alone, that means I need to get out every now and again to be around people, and big gatherings offer a dose of energy and fun.
But I’ve started to really value smaller, more intentional gatherings—focused on connection, simplicity, alignment with my core values and leveraging my social connections to support others. For someone balancing a full work schedule and a single life, finding ways to connect and support meaningfully is increasingly important. Over time, I’ve found that social gatherings have also become more than just fun—they've become a way to give back, not unlike charity, as they can be spaces for offering support and fostering meaningful connections with people and projects I care about.
While charity typically involves giving financial or material resources, investing your social currency is about using your connections, time, and presence to support others in more intentional, personal ways.
Investing in intentional, low-key gatherings
While charity typically involves giving financial or material resources, investing your social currency is about using your connections, time, and presence to support others in more intentional, personal ways. Whether it’s connecting people, sharing insight or just being a sounding board, small, intentional acts of generosity not only strengthen our relationships but also offer a deep sense of purpose.
I love having people over, and recently I invited a few close friends over to hang out. The theme was, ‘Sweatpants welcome.’ We sat, ate, and talked. We asked each other questions about what was really going on, and made space for everyone to share. At the end of the get-together, I felt like I had deepened these friendships, something that doesn’t often happen at large parties, where conversations are often just surface-level.
At every turn, I see the power of social currency, how all the little ways we show up for each other can make a big difference.
The power of showing up
I’ve also put more effort into meeting people face-to-face and one-on-one. While it definitely satisfies my extrovertedness, a lot of it is about connecting with people in my industry to catch up and to help them in whatever ways I can. That might be an introduction to people I know, connection with a trusted colleague, or passing on someone’s name to a fantastic recruiter. At every turn, I see the power of social currency, how all the little ways we show up for each other can make a big difference.
“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian
Change of environment
I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead.
New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes.
This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious: What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.
Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.
This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.
Letting change flow
Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.
My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.
Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though.
Chrono-diversity
It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes,
“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”
I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone.
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.”
When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.
During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes,
“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.”
I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.
As the holidays approach, I’ve been focusing on ways to deepen friendships and family connections while embracing the season as a happily single person. That means saying yes to the right invitations while balancing my need for solitude so I can recharge. It means helping where I can while protecting my own peace, especially at a time when low-key hostility and a lack of empathy seem to be seeping into every part of society. It’s about saying the right amount of yes without feeling guilty for each important no - usually to those who focus on taking whatever they can get instead of developing a relationship.
I’ve found myself prioritizing these smaller, more intimate settings as a way to reconnect with people in a way that aligns with my core values. Embracing the season with a focus on connection, simplicity, and shared moments has been deeply fulfilling—and serves as proof that a single life can be both full and enriching during the holidays and beyond.
Creating a mix that works
The right mix of people is important. You could always just invite your nearest and dearest, but I’d argue that will keep you in a rut because you’ll see the same people, and have the same conversations over and over again. If you’re going to grow and leverage your social capital to support others, you have to connect and experiment with adding new people to the mix.
When planning gatherings, I like to invite one or two new people who I think share the same energy, industry or interests to the mix. I usually start by inviting them to low-key events so there’s minimal pressure. Then I like to match them with a buddy, even if that buddy is me. That way, they have something to talk about and feel comfortable in the group.
Why add new people to your friend or acquaintance group? One, it’s hard to make friends as an adult, and two, you never know what could happen when two strangers meet. Now, I am terrible at match-making but I’m good at connecting people for work, so I lean into my strengths.
I’m in a good rhythm now of big and small gatherings that feels sustainable and aligned with what matters most. With both parties and purpose-driven gatherings, I get to enjoy my social time in ways that reflect my values and that emphasize genuine connection over just keeping busy.
As the holidays approach, consider leaning into what really connects us — sharing our time, support, and kindness.
I still love the rush of a big event—the conversations, dressing up, and the chance to step outside my routine. But balancing these events with smaller, more intentional gatherings has been grounding. Now, when I’m at a party, I actually feel more present, knowing I’ll get my fill of deeper connection later, when it’s just a few of us in a more intimate setting.
As the holidays approach, consider leaning into what really connects us — sharing our time, support, and kindness. A little generosity can go a long way in making the season brighter and more meaningful for everyone, including ourselves.
