Being human a little less alone
Living in a culture where face-to-face community sometimes feels as accessible and ready-made as homemade bread, my feelers are up high for where to find it. Having spent the majority of my life in the church, I entered the out-of-church world wondering (wandering), genuinely, how people out here find it. Who brings you casseroles when you have a baby, for example? Who fills in as surrogate family when your own lives miles away? And how do you have meaningful conversation, about politics or spirituality or ethics or the mysteries of quantum physics, for that matter, if the most informal conversation you have in a week happens in line at the grocery store?
The main thing I’ve learned in recent years is there are as many answers to such questions as there are people.
For the last two months I have been going with Elijah to a neighborhood park each morning. We spend about an hour there, eating sand, testing the doneness of bark chips, drying the slides with our butts. What has happened, though, in spite of or because of these things, is community has formed around a little crew of us who gather there each day. There’s the Swedish nanny whose family is mostly scattered across Europe, and who misses them dearly. There’s the Chinese caregiver who is teaching me, laughingly, her language, while I teach her mine. There’s the granddad who is full-time watcher of grandbaby, Ben, and who loves ham radios and biking and Nova. Yvette, who loves to travel, and whose Liam has the best manners of any 20-month-old I know. John, whose Sarah eats only humus and guacamole and who serenades us constantly (Sarah–not John). We talk together, almost daily, in the relaxed, come-and-go way that can only happen in a place that’s built for play.
We like each other. We look forward to being there. In a world of so much anonymity, it feels great to be greeted warmly by name, to have a place, to be missed when illness keeps us away.
Here’s four of the little guys who are forming friendships of their own, at our feet. Elijah is on the far right, next to Sarah, Liam, and Ben. I think he might be receiving some kind of revelation about Sarah’s elbow.
This is one of the ways that I’ve found connection and conversation in a life season and occupation that aren’t particularly people full. But how about you? How have you done it? Any stories of unlikely groups or connections?
November 7th, 2006 at 10:47 pm
Besides our Meeting, the best urban community we have found is through our co-op nursery school. There we have found people who bring casseroles when you have a baby, who take up a collection and bring you stuff when you have a house fire, who can’t wait to hold your second (or third baby), or invite your older child for extended playdates when you’re expecting or dealing with the new baby, who share their leads on new jobs or hire you if they can when you need work, who you see almost daily for two or three years, and then on and off for as long as you live in town. My older son still considers a friend from preschool his “best friend” despite being four years out of preschool. And I hear the same thing from other families.
Recently my younger son, now in his last year of preschool, and I were at a classmate’s birthday party in Golden Gate Park. I got him to agree to leave the bouncy house and eat some food, and we got him a plate from the overflowing potluck table, then I looked around at the multiple picnic blankets and said, “pick any blanket you want, you just have to sit down while you’re eating. I’m going to go get myself a plate.” It felt like a moment of safety and community that is rare in the modern world.
It requires more effort than a regular preschool, but it has been worth every minute - and every penny saved.
November 8th, 2006 at 7:01 am
Wow, Robin! Rare indeed! That sounds so wonderful.
November 8th, 2006 at 10:10 am
To be honest, that’s one of the reasons I returned to church. When we had a stillborn son, the church that we’d only showed up at sporadically, wrapped their arms around us and gave us a soft place to land. They’ve been our safety blanket for many other life challenges since, and I couldn’t imagine getting through all of this without them. When my dad died, I was overwhelmed by how many of them drove 2 hours to his funeral, even though they didn’t know him. One of my friends is an agnostic, but she’s still an active part of our church community because she can show up, be unjudged and loved, and still find the relationships she needs. I think it’s fairly rare, though, to find a meaningful, non-judgemental, safe place to hang out while you explore spiritual issues and questions deeper than the ocean. Especially in a church.
November 8th, 2006 at 9:08 pm
no stories, but i so love your photo…keep us posted on Elijah’s pending revelations…is that why you named him so?
November 8th, 2006 at 9:49 pm
Heather, what a beautiful thing. Church communities like yours do seem rare, though yours is a good example to keep at least hope of such things alive. Thank you for sharing.
Atticus, we just liked the name. I first fell in love with it while watching Paradise for the first time, because Elijah Wood was the cutest little boy ever. I really, really liked that movie. It has to be 15 years now since I saw it.
November 13th, 2006 at 2:18 pm
I love the picture of the four little ones sitting together. Makes me realize how early and important friendships are in shaping our sense of being in the world.
I’ve found a surprising level of community through my workplace, a neighborhood vegetarian restaurant that has been around since the 60’s. They’ve survived gentrification, and many of the families who lived in the same area have since moved out to more affordable hoods. Yet people keep coming back to eat at our restaurant, knowing its a place where image isn’t everything. I work weekdays, and many of my customers are regulars who I now know by name. Lynn who likes her coffee with milk instead of cream, Phil and John who are both servers in another restaurant but who come to hang out at ours, Betty who likes a double americano with a side of steamed milk, and many others. As I remember their faces, names, and food preferences, they also ask about my life. Most of them know I’m in the gruelling process of applying to PhD programs, and I’m touched by how regularly they ask how I’m doing. I’m surprised by how simple it is: say hi, be nice, remember what people like, and most of the time its offered back to you. I like that. It makes me feel like the world is a good place to be, a lot of the time. Hard, but good too.
November 13th, 2006 at 8:59 pm
Lori, what a simple and profound thing: say hi, be nice, remember what people like, and most of the time it’s offered back to you. I was in the car a couple weeks ago, listening to one of those “This I believe” essays being read on NPR. Your words really reminded me of it. It’s here, and I think really worth listening to, rather than reading (there’s a “listen” button at the top of the screen). I was really moved by it, as I am by what you’ve written here.
November 21st, 2006 at 11:30 am
[…] Since about the middle of September, Elijah and I have been part of a play group (beyond the impromtu one we have each day at the park). This group meets every Monday afternoon at various parks in the area (there–I’ve already said “park” now twice–okay thrice–in one paragraph, so you can only imagine how much more it gets said in our household these days). Elijah seems to enjoy the other kids, and I’m enjoying getting to know the moms. They’re easy to connect with, friendly, good conversationalists–and this despite the challenges posed to our talks by wobbling toddlers and play structures. […]
November 16th, 2007 at 12:34 am
Phenomenal review discussing Being human a little less alone. Always love this interesting posts!