I arrived at this year’s Oxford Convergence utterly exhausted. After a long stretch of work and commitments, I had hoped the weekend would be a chance to take in the fruit of our collective efforts — a moment to finally see, celebrate, and be renewed by what we had all contributed to building.

To my surprise, I barely got a glimpse of the exhibitions, talks, or performances. As a volunteer, my Saturday began early at the main entrance, where I was tasked with welcoming guests, answering questions, and directing people around the venue. I shared the job with my friend Laura, who had come all the way from Lancaster not to participate in the event itself, but simply to help however she could.

Her presence was quietly astonishing. Laura was not there for any personal gain or to enjoy the event — she just wanted to be of service. Watching her offer her time and energy so freely made me pause. It made me reconsider how I was approaching this experience.

We decided to stay at the entrance all day as we notice a lot of people were coming in. We jokingly called ourselves the “car park team,” a nod to the unsung volunteers at the Meeting in Rimini. And what we discovered at those doors was something deeply moving: many of the people arriving did not know exactly what Convergence was. They came in curious, hesitant, open. And because we were there, we got to be the first to meet them. We welcomed them, spoke with them, sometimes walked them inside, and encouraged them to explore.

What happened next was unexpected. A number of those visitors came back the next day — some attended every talk, every exhibition tour. Their enthusiasm, their joy, their discovery — it was contagious. It reminded me of something I have come to know, but often forget: the beauty we share here is the gift everyone is waiting for.

And here is what struck me most — this beauty, this richness, was not simply the sum of our best efforts (though there were many exceptional talents on display). Nor was it diminished by our flaws or fatigue. I, for one, was far from at my best this year. But somehow, this beauty still moved through us. It transcended us. It used even our limitations to reach others.

This judgment — the one I first encountered during last year’s Convergence — has stayed with me: that what we do matters not because it is perfect, but because it is true. And in seeing others encounter that truth, I was able to look at all our efforts with a new tenderness. Even from the doorway, I saw something radiant unfold.

And is that not the most extraordinary thing? That the beauty we long to receive is often the beauty we are already being asked to give.

Miriam, Oxford