I Sought Community and Found It in Austin.

Two months shy of my 30th birthday, I landed my first full-time position: working with Deaf children at a K–8 school in Seattle. Before that, I had bounced between freelance writing and short-term teaching contracts, often as the only Deaf individual in the room. ASL interpreters in classrooms and Zoom meetings communicated solely with me, and I yearned to feel more at home. This new role marked the first time I could engage with my native language and connect with fellow Deaf individuals united by a shared purpose.

When my parents invited me to visit during midwinter break, I felt a flutter of impatience. They resided in Sherman, Texas, a small town an hour north of Dallas, where it had become a tradition for my sister and me to spend holidays. However, I craved new experiences beyond the familiar.

I struck a compromise. I would spend a few days in Austin before catching a train to meet my family in Dallas.

I had long been eager to explore Austin’s vibrant Deaf community firsthand, especially since I had been grappling with feelings of isolation. While I worked with Deaf children, I hadn’t made connections with Deaf adults. Many of my friends had moved away, and when I attended Deaf events, I recognized very few familiar faces. I felt disconnected from the Deaf community, and without those ties, I was uncertain of my place in this new landscape.

I also had a friend in Austin: Adam, a fourth-grade math and science teacher at the Texas School for the Deaf (TSD). Visiting him would break me out of my usual routine while allowing me to explore a fully established network that was entirely new to me.

I reserved a hotel in the East Cesar Chavez neighborhood, right in the city's core, a choice Adam wholeheartedly endorsed. "There’s plenty of great coffee around, and the breakfast tacos are amazing," he mentioned. "If you want to discover the city, you made a fantastic decision."

As Adam picked me up from the airport, I instantly felt at ease. The sunny weather was a refreshing change from Seattle’s relentless winter rain. While we drove along Highway 71, my eyes flitted between the windshield and Adam’s hands. I was eager to absorb my surroundings while also gathering all the information about what lay ahead.

Having lived in Austin for 12 years, Adam attributed his roots here to the Deaf community. Deaf individuals tend to stay in Austin because of TSD, established in 1857 and the oldest continuously operating public school in Texas: Graduates of TSD are embraced by the city’s Deaf adults. It represented the kind of upbringing I had always envisioned. In third grade, I transitioned from a Deaf day school near Seattle to local middle and high schools where I was the sole Deaf student. I didn't discover my Deaf identity until my mid-twenties.

The following morning, I was on my own. I entered the name of a café recommended by Adam into my phone and stared at the six-minute walking route provided by Google Maps. I felt apprehensive about the accessibility of public spaces and how I, as a Deaf person, would be perceived.

At Cosmic Coffee, the barista acknowledged me with a nod, and I quickly approached, showing him my order on my phone. I requested drip coffee, and he responded with a thumbs-up. My anxiety began to fade.

I found a table with a clear view of the baristas and prepared to lip-read for my order. However, my stomach dropped as the barista approached me instead, holding a cup of drip coffee. I signed “Thank you” with my hands, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

I enthusiastically shared the experience with Adam during lunch hours later. I was accustomed to people simply placing the cup on the counter rather than walking over to me. I was used to being treated like everyone else, which meant I often had to put in extra effort to access the information that hearing individuals received so effortlessly.

“One wonderful aspect of Austin,” Adam responded, “is that people here are very familiar with the Deaf community. From my experience, service staff generally understand how to interact with Deaf individuals.”

On my second day, Adam took me on a tour of the school. As we passed through iron gates and navigated a winding road, I noticed signs indicating boys’ and girls’ dormitories, administrative buildings, and even tennis courts. When we exited the car, I realized that the typical noise of hearing activities was absent beyond those gates. The societal pressure to fit in felt distant. Adam and I communicated in sign language, free from curious stares. There was no sense of being an outsider. Our signing took place in an environment where Deaf individuals and American Sign Language were celebrated. I didn’t feel like a curiosity or an afterthought; I belonged.

Beyond the school grounds, Austin's Deaf community flourishes. The entertainment scene is vibrant, featuring Deaf actors like Lauren Ridloff (Eternals) and Russell Harvard (Fargo) leading the way. In 2016, Harvard founded the Deaf Austin Theatre, which has staged productions such as The Laramie Project, Cinderella, and Next to Normal using ASL. In addition to entertainment, the Deaf community also cultivates connections through nonprofits and social venues like the Greater Austin Foundation for the Deaf and the Austin Deaf Club.

The sense of belonging I experienced at TSD lingered with me in the days that followed. I frequented the same coffee shop for two mornings in a row. Adam often texted me suggestions, aware of my travel tradition of visiting bookstores. Together, we explored BookPeople, a celebrated local bookstore. A thrill coursed through me as I ascended to the second and third floors, where I discovered the New York Times best-selling novel True Biz by Deaf author Sara Nović. We also enjoyed an afternoon at Barton Springs, a public swimming spot where we observed swimmers of all ages. Following the oasis of TSD, these locations served as vantage points into the hearing world surrounding us.

On my final evening, as I shared dinner with Adam, his wife, and their two daughters, a genuine smile graced my face. Before this trip, I had lost touch with what it felt like to be embraced by the broader world.

Austin taught me that community involves not only creating space but also ensuring that it is inclusive. Amid the whirlwind of emotions that the city stirred within me, it also provided a sense of refuge. As I reflected on my flight home, I wondered how I could keep the door open for those who come after me while preventing too much wind from blowing in.

While it may seem unlikely, I am eager to give it a shot. As I landed in Seattle, my mind was already racing with ideas on how to foster community among my students.