Good Things, Shared

A New Year Reflection from Tribe Porty

Last year marked ten years of Tribe. Ten years of lovely people, events, gatherings and celebrations. It has also been ten years of conversations overheard, lunches shared, ideas tested, friendships formed, losses held, and lives lived alongside one another. If anything became clear during our 10-year celebration, it’s this: Tribe has never only been about the space. It’s about what happens between people.

That’s why it felt exactly right to end the year by launching our first community cookbook. An idea that has been brewing in Alice and was ignited by Beverley, and ended up being shaped by the whole team and community. It was fun, generous, and deeply reflective of what makes Tribe what it is. Not a glossy, performative thing, but a handcrafted (original prints by Beverley), cook-once-eat-twice collection shaped by many hands. Recipes that feed bodies, yes, but also speak to a deeper rhythm, which is, sharing is what sustains us.

More Than a Transaction

People often describe Tribe as “more than a desk,” and that’s true, but it’s also harder than it sounds.

Community is not transactional. It’s not something you buy and receive fully formed. It asks something of us in return. It asks for presence, patience, and a willingness to be in relationship with people who are not just like us.

At Tribe, you’re a member, yes, but you’re also a guest (me included) in a shared space. And lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it really means to be a good guest.

A good guest arrives with curiosity.
Treats the space , and the people in it, with care.
Understands that comfort and belonging are co-created.
Knows when to speak, when to listen, and when to lend a hand.

Being a good guest doesn’t mean being perfect, extroverted, or endlessly available. It means showing up with intention. With awareness. With a sense that this place exists because of the collective, not in spite of it.

And we also know this: we don’t all operate at 100% all of the time. Sometimes you can give more than you receive. Sometimes you need more than you can give. Community works when we understand that ebb and flow. When reciprocity is allowed to be human, not measured. And don’t get me wrong, I am not perfect. I get annoyed, I roll my eyes sometimes, but I always take a moment, lean in and remember it feels better to get to know the person.

The gentle challenge of real community

Real community is beautiful. And often awkward.

It asks us to navigate difference. To tolerate discomfort. To practice kindness when we’re tired, stressed, or focused inward. It asks us to remember that we are not alone in the room.

It also asks us to sit with a harder truth: authenticity is demanding. Much harder than aesthetics. Harder than branding. Harder, even, then logistics.

Every person who comes into a shared space brings their own gifts and their own edges. Their energy, their fears, their sensitivities, their expectations. And as a community grows, those layers don’t disappear. They multiply.

It is impossible to get it right for everyone, all of the time.

At a certain point, decisions have to be made not for the one, but for the many. And that can feel uncomfortable, even painful, especially when you care deeply. I wrestle with this constantly. Is it fair? Is it kind? Is it necessary?

In many ways, I think this is the same frustration we feel with councils, systems, and institutions. We blame “them” for outcomes that are often shaped by people, by competing needs, by sheer numbers. Participatory democracy is challenging for the same reason community is challenging: the more voices in the room, the more complex the harmony becomes.

Once a group reaches a certain size, it becomes its own living thing. Not because anyone has failed, but because scale changes responsibility. What works beautifully for ten people cannot simply be stretched to a hundred without tension. Community isn’t broken when this happens. It’s revealing itself.

At Tribe Porty, we want to keep inviting connection without forcing it, and without compromising authenticity.

We also want to gently challenge the idea that community happens passively

Sometimes that challenge looks like:

– Saying hello, even when it would be easier not to
– Sharing the table
– Cleaning up after yourself,  and even occasionally after someone else
– Remembering that this is a living, breathing ecosystem, not a service counter

These small acts are not insignificant. They are the rituals that make a place feel human.

Doubling Down on What Matters

As we begin this new year, we’re doubling down on what community looks and feels like at Tribe Porty.

That means creating spaces that encourage gathering, not just productivity.
Continuing to centre conversation, food, and shared experience.
Holding our values gently, but clearly.
Asking all of us, staff, members, visitors, to be active participants in the culture we’re building.

Community isn’t something we provide to people.
It’s something we make with them.

An Invitation

So here’s our New Year’s invitation:

Bring your work, yes, but also bring your presence.
Bring your ideas and your listening.
Bring what nourishes you, and be open to sharing it.

Good things grow when they’re shared. Community, like a good meal, is always better when everyone plays a part.

Here’s to another year of this special place, together.

Yours,

Dani

As always we’d love to connect and hear your thoughts. As we look ahead to the next 10 years, we’d love to know: What would you love to see more of in the future of Tribe Porty?

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