Zero degrees of separation

Me in my Green & Black's community development t-shirt that arrived in the mail today

It is almost midnight, and is raining. The past three weeks it has been raining more often than not raining, and the sound of water falling has become a part of my internal rhythm as I move through my days. I have been thinking a lot about community this week. What got me started was the group of women that are sharing the amazing journey that our collective, round the world journal is currently on. Listening to Pascale's experiences over the past few weeks since the earthquake in Christchurch, New Zealand destroyed her family home (and many other homes and buildings in her community), and watching as she struggles to find ways to contribute to re-building her community, has moved me deeply. Life has been incredibly difficult for her, but instead of isolating herself from the suffering that is happening all around her, she has reached out, recognizing that a single person or family cannot achieve happiness and prosperity alone. It requires teamwork. So she has been out making meals for volunteers, baking for her friends and family, returning to her family home, that she and her parents had to abandon when the earthquake damaged it beyond repair, to feed the resident ducks, and wandering around Christchurch filming positive quotes and poetry that some amazing human being had been writing on rubber hearts and posting in random places all over the city to help improve morale. The following is a short video of Pascale's latest community adventures:

Another thing that has me thinking about community is this quote: "Do you not see that we are one? You cultivate your purity in me; I feed my mud in you. You support me; I support you-- and together, we flower love and joy." (From Rapport with Thich Nhat Hanh on Interrelationship). The quote is on the front of a card that my close friend Ahava left on my desk before I took her to the train station. I have it standing on the corner of my desk still, and I look up at it often. It reminds me that even though I feel incredibly alone a lot of the time right now, that I am in reality part of a very strong, closely knit community that stretches all the way around the globe, and for which I am incredibly grateful.

One way that I have decided to nurture my writing is to create writing time with friends. I do not have any close friends here that write, so while my friend and fellow poet Ahava was visiting, the two of us went out on a writing date. We sat in a coffee shop, set our timer, wrote for short periods of time on different subjects, and then shared what we had written and gave each other feedback. It was such a positive experience for me that I asked her if we could continue to do this even once she was back on Saltspring Island, in BC, and she agreed. So today was our first writing date. It was shorter than planned, but with the aide of Skype, we could see each other and hear each other, and we could sit writing with each other. It was an incredible experience, and I am really looking forward to our next writing date. One of the amazing things about technology is that it enables us to see the context that a person exists in. I have not yet visited Ahava on the organic farm she lives on, but within a few minutes, she had given me a panoramic view of her writing and yoga studio, the creek bubbling past outside and the forest behind it, and the hand-made gate right outside her window. I could see the light that she is surrounded by, and I even got to meet her partner via webcam, which was a first! I give technology a hard time, but today it provided me with a gift. At one point during our writing session my neighbour blew his car horn, startling both me and my friend in British Columbia. We had to laugh at that one. To be able to be so present with each other across such an enormous distance on so many levels totally transforms human relationships, and our definition of community.

Another thing that made me think of community today was another Skype conversation I had with a friend in Cyprus. I miss my friends from back home tremendously, and I rarely get to talk to them, so our conversation today was like a drink of fresh spring water after a long hike. Deeply refreshing. There are words that I grew up using to communicate affection that I do not use in my everyday conversations in North America. Speaking with Helen back in Cyprus, I notice our common language and understanding come bubbling back up, and I realize that no matter how far apart we are, she, and my other childhood friends, will always be a very real, very present part of my community. Having strong friendships with people who I have known for so many years keeps me grounded and strong in my beliefs and values.

I received a big box in the mail today. It was from Raleigh -- the organization leading my upcoming expedition to the Dominican Republic, and contained a first aid kit, water bottles, a mess tin, sleeping mat, and a number of Green & Black's community development t-shirts. Receiving this box made me reflect on the fact that in two weeks I will be expanding my community yet again -- this time to include my fellow expedition colleagues from all over the US and the UK; our expedition leaders and medic; and the organic cocoa farmers from the Dominican Republic that we will be working with and living with for two weeks. Community is fluid. Always changing, growing, and becoming more diverse. 

Every time I get into the car to drive anywhere I hear more about what is happening in Japan. Disaster after disaster in Japan. It is heartbreaking. But amidst all the heartbreak, there is story after story of people risking their lives to save other people. Those who are working to prevent further disasters at the nuclear plants even though they know that by doing so they are jeopardizing their own lives. Those who are going into the areas destroyed by the tsunami to help distribute food or search for survivors. Individuals who, while most are fleeing to the south of Japan, are heading to the worst-hit areas to lend a hand in any way they can...the list is endless. Today I read an article by Ed West, about how unlike pretty much every other country that has experienced a major natural disaster of any kind recently, Japan has reported no looting. The reason given is that the Japanese feel it is wrong to steal even when you are destitute. That values still matter even when things are tough...perhaps especially when things are tough. Obviously the Japanese have a thing of two to teach the rest of the world about community ethics and mutual support and collaboration. Being thrown into collapse and chaos has a way of peeling back the layers and exposing what is at the heart of a culture or peoples. The heart of the Japanese people leaves me silent with awe and respect for their courage and integrity.

Tonight I had seven friends over for supper. We are currently on day 14 of the Baha'i 19 day fast, and so we are not eating or drinking from sunrise 'til sunset. My friends and I broke our fast with healthy servings of tomato artichoke pesto pasta with mushrooms and turkey sausage, parmesan cheese and fresh basil. We were gathering to study the Kitab-i-Aqdas, which is our Most Holy Book. After filling our bellies with pasta, and making hot cups of tea, we settled down to a couple of hours worth of study and deepening on our holy writings. It was an evening of deep spiritual conversation and connection, and we all went away from it feeling rejuvenated and inspired. I did not know any of the people in this group this time last year. And now we are a community. It is amazing to me how quickly community develops when I am willing to open my heart and be present with it.

All of these thoughts are reminding me that in reality there is no separation. My separateness from those in Japan, BC, Cyprus, and New Zealand is nothing but an illusion. In reality we are one. Any shift in the earth on one side of the planet necessarily means a shift in the planet on the other side of the world. A loss in New Zealand or Japan is a loss here. Tiny acts of kindness, compassion or courage in Japan are a reflection of the capacity of humankind to show kindness and compassion; to act with courage.  

And now it is almost 1am, and it is time to rest so that I can get up again before the sun rises to eat breakfast and drink before another full day of fasting.

As you move through your Wednesday, maybe you could reflect on what community means to you. Where do you find community? How do you create it? What communities are you a part of? I would love to hear your experiences within community. Have a great Wednesday. See you soon!

The blessings of sacrifice

Day 1 of the Baha'i fast ended tonight at sunset, and although I had an amazing prayer time at dawn this morning and an extremely productive day, I was, nevertheless, very ready to eat come sunset. I find that the first few days of the 19 day fast are really tough, and today was no exception. By late morning I already had a headache despite having a good breakfast and four large glasses of water before sunrise (which, come to think of it, may be why I had a headache...)

Tonight we had a devotional gathering at our home. The topic was the blessings of sacrifice. I recall that when the woman in our group who came up with that theme suggested it when we were coming up with monthly themes many months ago, I felt myself physically recoil for some reason. So I have to admit that I was not sure how tonight was going to go.

As it turned out, there were only four of us at the devotional tonight (which meant we were left with most of a pie and almost an entire quiche in the fridge, in a household with three people who are not eating during daylight hours for the next 18 days....someone please come raid our fridge!) and my mom came up with a wonderful program with readings that approached sacrifice from many different perspectives. She then led a discussion about instances that we could recall in which we sacrificed something in the short term that ended up resulting in unforeseen blessings further down the road. The discussion was an interesting one, and the other two participants said that they probably do make sacrifices on a regular basis, but that they do not feel that they are making sacrifices at the time that they are making the decision to either do or not do something. 

Given that what is most present in my mind and heart at the moment is the decision of whether moving back to PEI, whether it be for a year to house sit for a friend, or beyond, is the right thing for me right now, I started reflecting on my six years on PEI, and how tough those years were for me socially. I met many fantastic people who are lifelong friends, but I did not not have the close circle of friends that were close to me in age that I had grown accustomed to having before moving to PEI. I was very conscious of this the entire time I lived on PEI. It meant that in the evenings I was usually home reading a book or writing. Not being a drinker, the bar scene was not for me, and I just never really found a group of like-minded folks my own age. I did not really mind, but of course it meant that I spent a lot of time alone over the six years that I was living on the island. I enjoy alone time, but I also really love the company of friends. I am generally quite social. So learning to adjust to so much time alone was definitely a challenge for me -- one which I am not entirely sure I ever fully conquered. Living on PEI, I felt as though my social life was definitely an area in which I had to make sacrifices.

There were other things on PEI that I loved though. Things that made it all worthwhile for me. The beautiful beaches and natural areas that I could get to easily in short periods of time. The farmer's market, which I adored. The trail right across from my house that I ran on regularly. The close proximity to farmland that I could spend full days on planting, weeding or harvesting crops. The community of amazing people who shared things with me that I would never have learned if I had been limiting my social life to my peers. People who had the skills to build their own homes, haul their own firewood out of the forest and chop it up themselves, and grow their own food. I really valued being surrounded by such skilled people, and I hope that some of their do-it-yourself mentality rubbed off on me, because Prince Edward Islanders are definitely empowered people. I also valued that the bank clerks knew me by voice, so that when I would call in they knew who was speaking. The tiny yet huge details of a small town that are lost in a large city.

I have been thinking a lot about whether I might take one of my best friends up on her offer to house-sit for the year that she is away working in France. Part of me is jumping with joy at this offer. The part that misses the natural environment on PEI like crazy, and that still gets tears in her eyes when she talks about pretty much anyone in my closely-knit community. It is amazing to me that although it has been over a year since I left the island, I still think of everyone there as my community and family, and miss their presence in my life deeply every day. I guess that is what happens when you open yourself to a place completely. It comes rushing in, and becomes an integral part of who you are.

I am not at all settled in California. I am constantly looking for work elsewhere, and hoping that I will find work that will enable me to relocate to the Mediterranean or Central America. But over the last few months I have been working really hard at my writing, and I am finally starting to make some progress. This week I sent off three article pitches to magazines, and I am now writing tea descriptions for a tea company that, interestingly, is back on PEI. I am also in the process of talking to a friend about interviewing her for an article about a very interesting project she is working on in Mali (which I will share with you once it is done!) I have a large group of friends that I socialize with regularly here. I am loving my regular runs in the park near our house and my yoga practice, which helps keep me grounded. I am heading off to the Dominican Republic to build a gravity-fed drinking water system for cocoa farmers in a few weeks. And I am hoping to be able to spend a week or two in Portugal this summer. Things are definitely looking up.

So when I got the news that this spring may be one of my last chances to move back to PEI and re-establish myself before my visa expires late this summer, it is understandable that I would feel conflicted. I left PEI for a social life and to pursue my own writing career. Now both of these things are taking off, but I am missing my closely knit small rural community. There has to be a balance somewhere, it seems. I have just not found it yet.

So when we were talking about sacrifice tonight, I found it ironic that back on PEI I consciously sacrificed a more active social life in order to live in a beautiful, small, rural community; and now that I have the social life, by choosing to remain here, I am also choosing, at least for the time-being, to live in a big, noisy city in which I have to worry about personal safety, rarely get to see the stars, and do not even know the names of the couple that live next door. The topic of sacrifice was chosen because of the Fast, but it has much further reaching relevance to my life as a while right now.

It is getting late, and I have to be up at dawn, so had better turn in. I am heading to bed thinking about sacrifices. The ones I make. The ones I am not willing to make. The ones I was willing to make in the past, but am not entirely sure I am still willing to make today. Reflecting on sacrifice brings priorities and dreams in life bubbling to the surface. Priorities and dreams that I know I have to be true to, even if it means I have to make painful sacrifices.

What are your thoughts on sacrifice? Are there any sacrifices that you have made (perhaps without realizing it at the time) that have resulted in blessings in the long-term?

Trinidad & Tobago

"The more difficulties one sees in the world the more perfect one becomes. The more you plough and dig the ground the more fertile it becomes. The more you cut the branches of a tree the higher and stronger it grows. The more you put the gold in the fire the purer it becomes. The more often the captain of a ship is in the tempest and difficult sailing the greater his knowledge becomes." - 'Abdu'l-Bahá

Last night my time, just was I was getting ready for bed, an earthquake of magnitude 6.3 shook Christchurch, New Zealand so violently that buildings collapsed in on themselves, roads buckled and ripped apart, cars were flattened beneath rubble falling from buildings, water pipes burst, and sinkholes opened up all over the city. I have a very close friend who lives in Christchurch whose family home was damaged so severely in the country's last major earthquake, in September 2010, that the building had already been identified as one that needs to be torn down and rebuilt in the near-future, so the news that another earthquake had struck, and only three miles beneath the city, had me worried sick for Pascale and her family. 

After watching video clips of the cathedral's steeple collapsing, the entire downtown area in rubble, and seeing images of people emerging from beneath buildings covered in blood, I got on Facebook to see if Pascale had posted any updates on how they were doing. 

Pascale is an amazing woman. She is a personal trainer who works with her clients not only on their physical fitness, but on their spiritual fitness as well. She is empowering and tremendously inspiring. But to be honest I did not expect to find three video clips of her experience of the earthquake online already. Clicking on the first, I watched as Pascale narrated a video of the flooded street outside her house, explaining that the street had literally gotten soft like a sponge as a result of liquefaction. Her second clip, which started with an image of one wall of her house which had completely collapsed on top of her neighbour's car, was titled: We told her not to park her car there. This clip then moved inside Pascale's home. The walls all have huge cracks climbing them like lightening rods. The ceilings are all cracked, the doorways and arches are cracked, and then there was that pesky entire wall that had completely dropped away and collapsed outwards. Pascale and her family had to move down the street to stay with extended family as their house, which had been badly damaged, is now unsafe to inhabit. Her third video clip takes a walk outside to have a look at the creek that is usually a small stream alongside her house. In the clip it had become a large pond that was the colour of gunpowder. Pascale commented on how much more water there was in it, but then she exclaimed, in a bright and cheerful voice: "But the ducks made it! Way to go Trinidad and Tobago!" 

Now I don't know about anyone else, but when your entire city is literally collapsing around you, you have no power or running water, your only car with a full tank of gas is stranded in a parking garage that may or may not still be standing, and all of your work for the week has been canceled, it seems to me like the lives of two ducks would be the last thing on your mind. But there are many reasons why I love this woman, and her endless optimism would definitely be one of them. Hearing her joy at the fact that Trinidad and Tobago made it through the quake made me laugh out loud. And the fact that she has two resident ducks on her property who she had the brilliant idea to name Trinidad and Tobago had me well-amused as well.

Since then, Pascale has gone on to find a well that she can get water from with a bucket, has nominated herself as resident tea-maker for anyone and everyone in the house, and even sat down to enjoy a hot bowl of meat stew with gratitude, despite being a vegetarian. Yes, I would say Pascale is definitely an example of seeing the glass as half full. 

As I moved through my own day, I found myself stopping often and thinking about Pascale and her ability to keep her cool, stay calm and positive and encouraging of others in the face of a tremendous amount of stress. She is someone I have a lot to learn from. As she presses forward into the difficult days and weeks ahead, and tries, along with her fellow community-members, to rebuild her life and her home, I will be praying for her and her fellow New Zealanders. I will also be taking time every day to find my own Trinidad and Tobago. We can't all have ducks, but finding and celebrating the joy, beauty and hope that exist even in the most dire circumstances is definitely within all of our grasp.

The beauty of diversity. The diversity of beauty.

A diverse and beautiful little garden at the bottom of the Baha'i terraces on Mount Carmel, Haifa, Israel

 This evening we had a devotional gathering at our home. We do this twice a month, and so far it has been a women's devotional gathering. We have a different theme every month, and we choose readings from the Baha'i writings and elsewhere that communicate our theme. We share readings and some prayers, and then we open the circle to discussion of the readings, and also ask if anyone brought anything to share that is inspired by the theme. Sometimes people share art. Sometimes music. Sometimes poetry or a story. Tonight our theme was beauty, and the readings were spectacularly beautiful. I will share two of my favourites here:

"Then will aggression crumble away, and all that maketh for disunity be destroyed, and the structure of oneness be raised--that the Blessed Tree may cast its shade over east and west, and the Tabernacle of the singleness of man be set up on the high summits, and flags that betoken love and fellowship flutter from their staffs around the world until the sea of truth lift high its waves, and earth bring forth the roses and sweet herbs of blessings without end, and become from pole to pole the Abha Paradise." -'Abdu'l-Baha

Here is the second reading that I loved:

"O Thou Compassionate God! Bestow upon me a heart, which like unto a glass, may be illumined with the light of Thy love, and confer upon me thoughts which may change this world into a rose-garden through the spiritual bounty. Thou art the Compassionate, the Merciful! Thou art the Great beneficent God!" -'Abdu'l-Baha

You are going to have to use your excellent powers of imagination to visualize the beautiful borders that surrounded these quotes. The women who prepared the readings for tonight's devotional took great care that the presentation of the readings, as well as the words themselves, was beautiful. Each quote was printed on a separate card, and each one had a unique, decorative border. We also had music throughout the program, and live piano at the end.

Another thing that made our "women's devotional" gathering beautiful tonight was the presence of two men! What started off as a mis-communication, led to a man who lives in our neighbourhood turning up at our thus far women's gathering! We used his presence as an excuse to get my father out of his music studio and into the gathering with us. Initially I could tell that a few of us were not sure how this was going to turn out, and whether we would prefer the atmosphere that having a gathering of women created, but as soon as we started, it became quite clear that this was going to be a wonderful evening, and that the presence of two men was going to make it far more beautiful than if it had just been us ladies!

After reading our quotes, we started talking about the ways in which beauty is manifested in the world. I talked about farming and gardening, and the beauty in diversity found in a garden. Cesar, the fellow who joined us this evening, talked about diversity in humanity, and how beautiful the idea of being able to come together despite all of our differences, and work towards common goals together was to him. Jess, a young woman who just started community college, talked about the beauty she sees in nature, and how it is the beauty that is untamed, unaltered, and often kind of unexpected and imperfect that attracts her. Pat, another friend, shared the idea that virtues like love and compassion and joy are like magnets, attracting people towards them, and how beautiful people are when they are practicing virtues in their lives. My dad mentioned how virtues are like an international language that work in every culture. He gave the example of patience, and said that patience is patience in North America, Japan, India, South Africa...spiritual virtues are like a common currency because they speak to us at the level of the soul, which we all share in common.

At the end of the night my dad was coerced into playing an original composition that he had written on the piano, which, of course, was a truly sublime way to end the devotional portion of the evening! He told us, when he finished playing, that he had been at a Baha'i house of worship in Germany many years ago, and fog had been settling all around the building he was in, and how beautiful it was to watch how it covered and then uncovered the landscape, trees and people outside. Just as he was having that thought, he noticed that there was a piano sitting in front of him, and so he sat down at it and composed the song that he played for us tonight. The story made us all smile, because it left very little doubt about the fact that this song was intended to be written. Cesar was especially moved, and mentioned how well the melody captured the magical sensation of fog moving in over the landscape. I have heard my father play this song many times, but I had never heard the accompanying story about how it was composed.

Our lively discussion continued after the closing music, into the social time. We enjoyed cake, cookies and quiche from the Freeport Bakery, and some lovely Darjeeling and apricot black teas that my mom bought today at Tea Cozy. It was a superb evening.

I am sitting here now thinking how invigorating it is to come together and share spiritually inspiring readings, reflections and discussion. How refreshing it is to engage with a group of people at such a deep level, and how centering a gathering around such depth of connection creates such an inspiring spirit of community and joy. I have been having a really tough week, and feeling very isolated and disconnected from community, but our devotional tonight gave me the gift of community and friendship. I am feeling grateful for this beautiful evening, and looking forward to our next devotional gathering, which will be on the theme of hope. I suggested hope because, having been in Canada for the past six years, I always found February to be the toughest month, because it felt like winter was never going to end. Here the idea of mid-winter depression makes me smile, because the weather is so mild, but the Californians in the group nodded knowingly at the idea that we were in the heart of winter, and how far off spring seemed, so even though it feels like winter has not started to me, the theme seemed to resonate for them also. I guess our experience is all relative to what we are used to.

Another thing I am thinking about is how happy I am that we had the men join us this evening. It added so much unexpected beauty to the evening. I loved how flexible and open the women were to having our group change shape for the night, and I am kinda hoping the gentlemen join us again next time!

What do you associate beauty with? What in your life is an expression of beauty? How do you nurture beauty in your surroundings and relationships?

Reverb10, Day 22: No place like home

Prompt: Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year? 

The author of this prompt is Tara Hunt:
The Whuffie Factor: Using the Power of Social Networks to Build Your Business
@missrogue

"Let not a man glory in that he loves his country; let him rather glory in this, that he loves his kind."
~ Baha'u'llah ~

 I have traveled across the maps of geography this last year. Across snow-covered mountains and prairies and the wide open vistas of desert and agricultural valleys. But I have already said enough about these journeys. I have also embarked on an internal journey of discovery.

My internal journey is very personal, but it extends out into the world around me in very real ways. In trying to figure out who I am, I am also trying to better understand what kind of environment I operate best in; what kind of community do I want to be a part of? How do I contribute to creating the kind of community atmosphere that I do deeply want to be a part of? Until six years ago, I did not think much about my role in creating the kind of community that I am excited to be a part of. I have lived in amazing communities my whole life. I grew up on the island of Cyprus surrounded by a community of people who I consider to be family. People who shaped my values and taught me to love deeply, to serve with everything I have in me, to develop an intimate and powerful relationship with the land and sea that surrounded me. Cyprus taught me loyalty and justice, and that there are very few things I would not do for a friend. It also taught me the importance of a community. Of roots. Of family. Of a strong story. A sense of belonging.

When I went off to Prescott College in Arizona, I was immersed in a community that was supportive, creative, innovative, open-minded, adventurous, inspired, inspiring, energetic...there was a sense that anything was possible in this community. I learned that the natural world was an integral part of my community. I made friends with powerful, strong, graceful women who danced and did yoga and meditated and prayed and sang...women who went hiking and camping with me; women who were fearless and open-hearted and full of laughter and fun and hope and dreams. I met faculty who were humble, and who I respected, and still respect deeply -- who were willing to walk by my side as we learned together instead of looking down on me from the tower of their PhDs. I learned to question, to believe in myself, to explore beyond my comfort zone. My community was dedicated to serving humanity. We wanted to work together. We traveled, we started NGOs to help better integrate the Mexican immigrant community with the mainly white, Caucasian community, we fought for justice and human rights. My friends and faculty became another extension of my family -- my network for experiencing the world; the strong foundation from which I could confidently explore the world.

When I moved to Prince Edward Island, I was integrated into a closely knit, supportive community. PEI has the highest level of volunteerism in all of Canada. Someone is sick, people organize a fundraiser to help pay medical bills; someone needs a new house, people turn up to help build it; when you need food, you can buy it from a farmer who lives relatively nearby. The network is tight, and it is strong. Sometimes stronger than residents would like, but it does have its advantages. For the first number of years that I lived on PEI, I enjoyed the strong sense of community without really thinking much about what it means to be a member of such a community. Once I graduated with my M.A., and started working with a local farmer, I started realizing how much personal energy, love, commitment, time, money, patience, determination, and and selfless service goes into maintaining the community life that I had come to value so much. It is not a culture built upon the freedom and independence of the individual. It is all about connection and mutual support, and therefore sometimes disagreements, struggle, reconciliation, and adaptation. Being a small place, there is very little luxury for not getting along with one's neighbour. Of course this means that people are sometimes pleasant on the surface in order to keep the peace, when underneath they are boiling with anger, but I found that just as often, the close-proximity means that people honestly do learn to work alongside each other even thought their ethics and ideals may differ tremendously.

In addition to my larger community on PEI, I had the community that I built through my Baha'i activities. The Baha'i community did have its struggles, like any community. Sometimes we had personal disagreements, which would boil over, but we would confront them, move through the pain and hurt feelings, and find resolution. There was a level of commitment and willingness...an unspoken acknowledgment that we were invested in wading through the quicksand to get to solid ground. Unity was our goal, and we did not let our personal hurt feelings stop us from always striving for it. Call it idealistic. Call it impossible. It was how we lived, and it created an environment that was loving, supportive, empowering, and inspiring. I could not wait to get to community events. I felt it was an honour to be elected to, and serve on our local administrative body. My community was, and has remained, despite the vast distance separating us now, my immediate family.

Living on PEI helped me to learn that being part of a community like I have just described is not easy. I was hurt many times, frustrated many times, angered many times. But I learned to stay put and grow through these times. When I was insulted; when my feelings were hurt; when I did something that hurt someone else's feelings or angered someone -- I did not walk out of the room and retreat into myself. I stayed right there, swallowed my pride and my hurt, and I grew through it with whoever I was having the interaction with. It was very hard, and sometimes we did not succeed in reconciling our differences on the first try, but we kept trying. I kept trying. I learned that I valued the unity of my community over needing to being right every time. I realized that a community is a reflection of the energy that each member puts into it. Things were not perfect, but I learned that if I remained open and willing to adjusting my perspective -- if I knew deep down that whoever I was experiencing difficulty with was someone who I loved and respected, and who loved and respected me -- that we would get through this and that our community would be stronger as a result. I learned all of this from experiencing it. It was a gift to be a member of a community like this, but it was also a responsibility.

Having moved to a new community, I am having to learn to negotiate new community dynamics. When I first arrived, and for many months after arriving, I simply did not engage with my community. I was critical of the dynamics at play, and did not want to engage with them. As a result, I have been living here for many months now, and I still do not feel that I am a part of a supportive, engaging community. I have been reflecting on this deeply lately. I realize that all communities are different. I am living in a much larger city, so relationships are going to be influenced by the cultural and geographic circumstances that we are living in. The weather here is much milder, so people do not have to band together to get through tough winters. People earn relatively good salaries, so they do not have to support each other as much to make sure that everyone has food on the table, or that medical bills get paid. But I still have neighbours. I still have a community whose energy is influenced by what its individual members are willing to put into it. I still have a role that I can choose to put all of my heart, or only part of my heart, into. If I want to live in a community that is happy and exciting and supportive, I have a role to play in creating such a community. I have a choice about what I surround myself with, and that choice is not just whether I stay or leave. It is also about how I choose to engage with the community that I happen to be in while I am here, however long that might me.

Yes, I have traveled this year. But some of the most important journeys seem to be taking place when I stop moving so much. When I put down some roots. And when I start contributing to building the kinds of relationships with the people who surround me that inspire and energize me. When I start proactively contributing to creating a community that feels like home around me.