In her beautiful book, Wabi-Sabi Welcome, Julie Pointer Adams captures the heart of gathering as a practice rooted in authenticity, connection, and imperfection.
Her reflections transform the act of hosting into an opportunity to foster intimacy—whether by inviting friends into a cozy nook, embracing candid conversations, or congregating in the kitchen despite its messiness. She celebrates gatherings as moments that prioritize human connection over perfection, where shared experiences become more meaningful in their spontaneity and sincerity. Her approach encourages us to cultivate spaces and interactions that feel warm, relaxed, and real.
Adams’ words remind us that the beauty of coming together lies in the bonds we create, not the details we try to control.
Being Close Brings Comfort
Growing up on the central coast of California has convinced me that warm, Mediterranean climates help us get close and let loose–sharing a blanket at the beach or lounging in a backyard hammock with a friend is the kind of situation that enables me to be myself and open up. Likewise, when we gather with just a few people, tucking in around a small table, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a bench, or eating picnic-style, we feel more connected to one another.
These intimate wabi-sabi spaces, which are by nature small and private, encourage us to sit close and interact more naturally. When we let comfort and closeness be our guides to hosting, all of our decisions become simpler and more carefree.
Whether it’s a party of two or twenty-five, experience has shown me that people become comfortable when they are relaxed, welcome, and content, and being in for more interesting memories and, I believe, more lasting connections.
Here are some elements of California living that have shown me how to encourage a spirit of openness and a sense of belonging among my guests on any occasion. I’m certain they can do the same for you.
The Intimate Host
We’ve all crafted a way of portraying ourselves in public, filtering our words so we don’t reveal too much about ourselves, and trying to say the perfect thing to leave the right impression. But I’ve found that being candid, as hard as it is, is much more rewarding. It’s about being vulnerable and letting people into your life even when it feels inconvenient or messy. Those days when you’re exhausted, furious at your boss, or feeling let down by your spouse are the ones when you most need a friend. Not a text, not even a phone call, but a real-life friend to commiserate with and to console you.
Being candid also goes hand in hand with being kind. Kindness is listening more than talking, acting gently, and being considerate of others’ feelings. Showing hospitality lets us practice empathy in super-practical ways, like inviting a friend who’s lost someone to come over for a big pot of soup, and sending him home with leftovers. Or making time to see a loved one for breakfast before work when you know she’s having a tough week. The joy of no-strings-attached kindness can be just as gratifying for you as it is for your guests, and it makes hosting feel more like a privilege than a chore.
Interacting so openly and directly can seem a little overwhelming at first, but I think the best way to begin is to ask questions and not be afraid to share yourself. How are your parents doing? What was challenging at work (or with your kids) this week? What’s something you’re looking forward to this month? How are you adjusting to being married/being single/being a parent/having a new job? Simple, heartfelt questions can go a long way, and you’ll be surprised at how much closer you’ll feel to the people around you when you ask them–and answer them yourself.
Congregate in the Kitchen
In most cultures, the kitchen was once a part of the house that guests wouldn’t enter, let alone flock to while food was being prepared. In some parts of the world, like China and regions of South America, it’s still off-limits for company that isn’t family. For many of us, however, the kitchen is one of the coziest spaces in our home, a place we gravitate to because it’s where the action is. The vibrant smells, tastes, sounds, and colors of the kitchen draw us together. Standing over the stove or sink inspires casual conversation, and letting guests share in the preparation–even if they’re just the designated taste-testers–makes the enjoyment of the food that much richer.
I learned to cook in various California homes by observation and then through trial and error, so for me the kitchen conjures up memories of fresh, fragrant rosemary and cilantro; the scent of citrus; open windows; a place to chat and gather; stacks of cookbooks; and something roasting or baking in the oven. In contrast, for many years I lived in a studio apartment with a kitchen the size of a small walk-in closet. It was not an easy space to make meals in, let alone leave room for others to join me. Even so, during parties, book club meetings, or casual dinners, it was inevitably where people wanted to hang out. I didn’t understand why they’d want to cram into this tiny space with me while I banged cupboards and clanged pots, but the proportions actually created the perfect-size space for close, comfortable encounters.
Beyond just providing a low-key place to gather, welcoming guests into the kitchen forces you to be okay with letting people see your mess. This means your company might see piles of eggshells in the sink, potato skins on the counter, or dried red lentils spilled all over the floor. Allowing friends, family, or even new acquaintances to enter this space in spite of minor chaos encourages a sense of immediate transparency. The intimacy of wabi-sabi requires relatability. There’s relief in knowing that the people we spend time with have cooking disasters once in a while, too. It’s by allowing familiarity in these ordinary moments that we feel most closely tied to our company.
Don't Sweat the Small Stuff
Coastal Californians excel at hanging loose. I think it’s a combination of the weather, the water, and the warmth that instills this knack for slowed-down, chilled-out living. While we can’t all enjoy year-round beach-lounging weather, there is something of this spirit that I think anyone can learn to embody. At its heart is the belief that everything is going to work out in the end–there’s no point in getting hung up on details that are inconsequential to the big picture.
In wabi-sabi terms, this mode of living is what might be called acceptance of the inevitable. This describes a world perspective that accepts that people and things have flaws and will fade. It not only allows for imperfection but actually embraces it. It means saying to yourself, Whatever will be, will be. Calm down and mellow out.
“Moments shared in unconventional places make for more interesting memories and, I believe, more lasting connections.”
Having a laid-back spirit doesn’t merely help you to enjoy yourself more fully, it lets your guests relax, too. More often than not when guests appear at my door, I am still sweating in the kitchen, buzzing around in a minor panic trying to pull everything together. The simpler, more wabi-sabi approach would be to Zen out, so to speak, and to let things unfold naturally. But what if the cake is inedible and the toilet is overflowing? Zenning out at this moment is extremely difficult. The only reasonable thing to do is to give yourself some grace and remember that these things happen. Maybe this means eating half an hour later than you planned to or picking up Thai food to replace the chicken you accidentally burned to a crisp. In the long run, these kinds of trivial setbacks or changes in plans amount to very little indeed. Laugh when you want to cry and soon others will be laughing, too.
"Wabi-Sabi Welcome” Copyright © 2017 by Julie Pointer Adams. Photographs copyright © 2017 by Julie Pointer Adams and Ryan J. Adams. All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Artisan, an imprint of Workman Publishing Co., Inc., a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
