What comes to mind for you when you think about your community? Lately, I’ve been thinking of my community and how I would describe its essential characteristics. My community has never been a specific location. For the most part, I’ve loved most all of
the places I have called home, sometimes for a limited stay. What’s not to love about great skiing just a short drive from Denver; the wine and weather in Napa, California; the magnificent mountains and scenery of Alaska; and now, the village of Putney in the State of Vermont that Steve and I call home?
Location is one type of community. In Putney, we know and watch out for many of our neighbors and friends. Our treasured friends live across the street and, years ago we lost count of the number of meals we have shared and continue to share with them. We trust and rely on the good will of our neighbors, and provide the same in return.
It was different in California. In Napa, we would drive into the attached garage and enter our open and welcoming home and beautiful fenced-in gardens. In Napa, our community mostly came to us, and it mostly came through connections from my husband’s work or mine.
In Alaska, we had a circle of friends who frequently called at the last minute for a freshly caught salmon backyard barbecue. In the Alaska winters, we hunkered down and found ways to pass the long and dark winters, together.
In Denver, we lived a mile from good friends and often walked with dogs and kids to share time and catch up on the days activities.
And yet, my community extends beyond square footage, beyond a location. When I think of the community, I think of my friend and former colleague and the work we did together in the Kingdom of Jordan. Our synergy developed through good intentions, laughter, food, and overall interest in each other’s lives, family, and future. I have seen my Jordanian friend two times when she has visited the US. I trust we will gab and laugh again.
My friend Deb and I met in 1982, and although we roomed together for a short period, our friendship continues to feel like a predictable collection of comforting activities. Whether through walking, yoga, Pilates, cooking, or just hanging together, we fit with ease. Every time we are together I am reminded of the effortlessness of our friendship.
Our friends in the great cold north have (we hope) forgiven us for leaving them in Alaska and moving to the Napa Valley. Wendy and I take road trips (as much off the freeway as possible), and I treasure our time together. In May, the youngest of her three boys will turn 21. I will forever cherish meeting him the day he entered this world, and being with him this year as he passes another milestone.
I could go on and on about important relationships dotted throughout the world – You know who you are, and how you imprinted my heart. That’s not the point here.
What compels me to think about community is my work as a volunteer with Hospice. When I signed on to volunteer with Hospice, I had no idea what I was signing on for, and no idea if I had the right stuff to be part of someone’s journey through illness and ultimately death. What I learned is the unanticipated and unexpected expansion of the meaning of community by holding sacred the final months, and days of someone’s life.
My truth is that I am a better person for the privilege of entering someone’s very private space. I have found a way to open myself to the experience – I’m all in. I have mourned the losses, and will continue to do so. And yet, as I think of my community, my time serving others, and being present in moments of friendship, illness, and death, knits together my wildly diverse, fun, exciting, eclectic, and beautiful community.
When you think of your community, what comes up for you?
