I feel vulnerable right now, sensitive. In part it’s because rain has come to the Bay Area (along with a flood warning) and I have seasonal affective disorder. However, I feel vulnerable and sensitive right now also because I’m in a weird liminal space. An in-between space. The pandemic is raging on, but many people have returned to life as normal, or something like it. They’re going out to eat, they’re hanging out with friends indoors, they’re going to parties, they’ve returned to the office, or will soon. Life looks pretty much like it did before the pandemic except for wearing a mask certain places and perhaps flashing a vaccination card here and there.
For me though, there’s not really a normal to return to, at least when it comes to certain things, like community. The community I had pre-pandemic has been decimated. Not because anyone died, but rather because so many people have moved away. Not everyone — I still have local friends — but enough to be noticeable. The things I did in community — meditating as a group or attending a 12-step meeting — take place solely online now. And it’s possible they’ll stay that way. I can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t really matter because in the moment, what I want doesn’t exist: in-person community.
Slot me in there! Photo by Vonecia Carswell on Unsplash
I have lots of online community (Zoom calls out the wahzoo), but the kind where I can bump elbows with someone? Where I can see more than their head and shoulders? Nope. As the world opens up and people are getting together again, they’re reaching out to friends and community members. I’m noticing that’s not an option for me. I have numerous individual friends, but they aren’t friends with each other. They don’t know or hang out with each other and have no reason to unless I corral them together. Frankly, I miss that — people united around a common interest and developing comradery because of it.
My spiritual teacher says, “You should have more and more contact with people, contact with whom will be helpful in your development.” And elsewhere he says, “Even a good person or a sádhaka [spiritual aspirant] needs proper maintenance, for in a world of constant change, care must be taken that the change be always toward the better or the higher. Keeping good company is essential for this positive development.”
Good company is crucial and there’s something to be said for the kind that you can touch. I have a need for presence that is very much not getting met. I don’t write this to seek solutions. I’m writing it to express myself and also put into words something other people are likely feeling. Somebody out there must be going through what I’m going through. If so, you’re not alone. I’m over here too, wishing for the same thing.
I dream of a world where we each have a strong, in-person community, or even more than one! A world where we spend time together in large groups because we recognize how important it is. A world where we understand good company is crucial for our mental health. A world where we understand we aren’t alone and we connect with people who are like us.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I spent this weekend with dear friends of mine and all I could think was, “Thank God.” When the world feels like too much, when I recoil in horror after reading the news, good company lifts my spirits. In Sanskrit, the word for that is satsaunga. What follows is a post I wrote about the subject nearly six years ago.
This weekend I had the good fortune of being surrounded by folks who practice the same yoga and meditation I do. We are all close in age with only 10 years between the eldest and the youngest. It was a delicious weekend because we had excellent food, but also because it was one of the rare times I was surrounded by a large group of people who are similar to me. Sure, I’ve been to tons of yoga and meditation retreats, but it’s not as if I’m friends with everyone there like at the gathering this weekend.
Pictured is a flock of starlings.
Experiences like these give me hope for the future. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know I had a rough childhood socially. I had friends, but most of them lived far away. I suffered from a lot of peer rejection and self-defined as the “weird” kid. Not because I ate paste or anything, but because I’m extremely sensitive to energy and cared about things like vegetarianism as an 8 year old. “Weird” is a title I’ve carried with me for much of my life. Inherent in “weird” is not fitting in or being an outsider. I’ve been shifting my focus away from that because I see how viewing myself as “weird” has been harmful. This weekend was a prime example because I didn’t feel out of place – I realized it just took me a while to find my flock; as in “Birds of a feather flock together.”
Speaking of birds flocking together, I’m reminded of this video by Sophie Windsor Clive who filmed a flock of starlings. It’s awesome in the truest sense of the word and captures the power and the beauty of belonging.
I know there’s a lot of talk about the necessity of cross pollination, of mixing different classes, races, and mindsets, which I completely agree with, but there’s also something to be said for being with people who get you. People who already have a shared understanding of where you’re coming from so there’s no need to explain things to them. People who love and support you and just want to see you happy. It’s a beautiful and touching thing, that sort of community. That’s what inspires me most: Someone like me who constantly defined herself as “different” found herself around other “different” people. Like those starlings who created new shapes by flying together, when people join in groups, beautiful things can happen. Because ultimately even the “loners” and “freaks” will find others like them. It may just take a while. In essence, no one is as alone as they think they are. And when a bird finds its flock, there’s great power in that.
I dream of a world where everyone feels a sense of community and belonging. A world where every person has a support network. A world where no one has to fend for themselves because we are all taking care of each other. A world where we can all live happy, joyous, and free. A world where we all fly with a flock that fits us.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.