Dr. B was at a conference recently chatting with some faculty from other schools. It was late in the day and no one seemed ready to leave. No one was taking any initiative either to move the group along to drinks or dinner. Dr. B didn’t think this should be him because of one little detail—everyone else was senior faculty. It might be presumptuous for the young guy to take charge.

Then he realized how much he had enjoyed separate conversations with every person in that little circle, using curiosity to manage his awe and intimidation. Maybe he could be the hub, the one holding the invitation. It took a step of courage to suggest they all go for dinner. Everyone eagerly agreed, probably relieved someone took charge. They didn’t care that it was the young guy—maybe they actually enjoyed it. Hey, I’m with that cool guy from Columbia. You know how this goes, a memorable dinner and more networking.

Dr. B is a brainy, easygoing, stylish computer engineer. He’s cool too, so that gets its own sentence. He has an ongoing, profound conversation with himself on belonging, as in Where and how do I belong? This wasn’t explicitly running in his head that evening; however these deep stories are usually running in the background, creating or coloring our experiences.

The other day I walked the labyrinth at Mavens’ Haven. I brought a question about how to find more inner alignment and confidence. Almost immediately, I began thinking—or the labyrinth began telling me, if you prefer—about belonging.

How when we build something, like this labyrinth itself, we belong there. When we work somewhere or on something, we belong. When we share something, when we teach it to others, we then belong to that lineage, history, or field. Essentially, when we tend to or care for something, we belong.

Sometimes in the labyrinth a rock sticks out, so the path isn’t smooth or straight. No big deal, just move around it.

Sometimes there’s something beautiful or whimsical inviting us to pause, admire, or wonder. This geode was empty for years, and recently someone tucked a rubber ducky inside.

So maneuvering, honoring, and seeing things reinforces belonging. Eventually, the idea of Do I belong here? becomes irrelevant. I’ve already arrived.

When I got to the middle of the labyrinth, I hoped for a final epiphany. Instead, there in the exact center of the spiral was a dried-up croissant. Yeah, we cannot take this stuff too seriously. Belonging means we get to clean up too, remove what doesn’t need to stay. I gently picked it up, not the croissant’s fault it’s there, and carried it all the way out. I felt the humor of it all, even my inquiry about getting more aligned and confident. As in, maybe it’s already there, just own it. Epiphany.

After my walk, I got to talk with Dr. B again. He had a new story about a conference, just last week. Who could make up this stuff? This time another scientist, who Dr. B had actually cited in an academic paper, was organizing an excursion to a national park nearby. Dr. B had a car and knew how to get into the park. So he offered to help. They exchanged numbers, coordinated the excursion, and got to personally know each other.

While considering his two stories, we noticed a similarity. He not only took one step into the field of belonging, he took additional steps in both cases. He read and used the research of these colleagues, initiated warm-up conversations, then engaged more actively, building personal relationships.

While the first step might be interesting and helpful, keep going. It might be the second, third, or more steps where the spark and meaningful change happens. Yes, of course there is often resistance and fear—we are healing something on the way to deeper acceptance and joy.

Tell me about some steps in belonging, alignment, or confidence you’ve taken. We could use some more examples like the inspiring Dr. B.