Community
Growing up, I lived in a second floor apartment on Route 1, just outside the city of Philadelphia. The pungent smell of alcohol wafted through the air whenever I walked by the two bars (one on the corner with a Ladies Entrance) on our street. Mrs. Ball, the owner of the hobby shop, seemed ancient, but she always welcomed me to ogle at the trinkets in her little store. The beer place across the street, where a fork lift moved beer kegs day in and day out, was off limits. So, too, was the Ice & Coal skating rink across the little highway where the music of the winter skaters lulled me to sleep at night.
The alley behind the storefronts was my playground where Theresa and Franny, both a few years older than me, played. Dandelions that grew out of cracks in the sidewalk were ripe for the picking, especially when they turned to grey feathery seed that we could blow in the wind. When it rained, we watched gushes of water gurgle around the corner gutter.
This was my community growing up. Two friends, a city street, and nature that grew as it could out of concrete slabs. There was, of course, my family, but that’s another story. As I grew, my community grew to embrace my isolated teen years, my fairy-tale-turned-failed-marriage, higher education, new places to live, new things to learn, new jobs to do. I always remained the same person(s) but I discovered more of who I was when I found communities that fit my needs.
Today, as an old woman living in the high desert of New Mexico where dandelions don’t grow, I have several communities. One is my family that includes some significant-other Mexican family members here in the southwest and other family members spread across the country and connected by Zoom. Another is my church community that preaches the love of the gospel, speaks truth to power, and lifts me up when all evidence should keep me pinned to the floor. Still another is Dissociative Writers (DW) that I carried with me when I moved from one side of the country to the other. Watching DW grow is like witnessing community on gentle steroids, a field of blossoms waiting to open, living water redirected from the gutter and flowing from a beautiful fountain.
Introvert that I am, I still need community. I need people in my life who love me and understand me, at least to the extent that I understand myself. I’m grateful for all of my communities that are rooted in a small, myopic, blue-collar urban neighborhood yet have morphed into a diverse, expansive, loving, worldwide sisterhood and brotherhood. Those of you who read this blog are a part of my community, too; some of you are also subscribers to DW but some of you exist in a community with me all of our own. I’m especially grateful for you because, I think, you understand me, at least to the extent that you understand yourselves. Thank you.
I wish all of you community for this new year. May you deepen the good community you already have, loosen and let go of any toxic community, and be open to new community that loves you and understands you. Learn and grow and heal. You’re worth it!
Happy New Year!
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The greatness of a community is most accurately measured
by the compassionate actions of its members.
~ Coretta Scott King
Lyn