I Believe in Community

I got a great email from my dad's cousin yesterday. She said she was going through boxes, and had found lots of Burke papers - birth and marriage certificates, First Communion documents, stuff like that. She wanted to know if I'd like to have it.

Of course I did.

I returned her email with a chatty one of my own, and among other bits of news, I shared some of my latest goals with her. I find that expressing my goals has become easier these days. When my priest asked what had been going on for me lately, I told him as well. There's a calculated reason for this. I believe in community.

When I was younger, I used to have a negative opinion of community. I viewed them as oppressive and restrictive, viewed the people as nosy and judgmental. Certainly, some communities can be. But there's a subtle line there, and it's worth noting. When you let a community tell you who you are, they will control your life. But when you tell a community who you are, they will support you instead. And in fact, if you share with a community not only who you are, but who you want to be, whenever possible they will help you get there.

When you're a kid, that means the adults in the neighborhood will buy the worst tasting beverage imaginable from your lemonade stand and declare that it's fabulous. When you're an adult, that means they encourage you, tease you, quiz you, and hold your feet to the fire while you develop your plans. Their persistence can sometimes even substitute for your own, reminding you that your goals aren't all in your head.

In fact, just the other day when I confessed to a friend that my goals were big and scary, she did just what a community member does. She gently encouraged me to get over it, with these words: Dreams are no more scary than real life. If your dreams were unrealistic, you'd know it. But you know they aren't.

This may not seem connected to the memorabilia I mentioned earlier. I was reminded however of a piece of family history I already have. In these obituaries, you see people, recently deceased, being described by the loved ones they left behind. You can't help but wonder how you'd be described if someone were writing yours.

These family members had a loving community to miss them when they were gone, a community that knew who they were. So at my age, as I am reconnecting with who I am and who I always wanted to be, I acknowledge not only that I have dreams, but that I can nurture them into reality. I find that I want my community to know that the dreams are as much a part of me as the real bits they already know about. I'm not afraid of telling them in case I were to fail and embarrass myself. In fact, I'm not even afraid of falling or failing anymore, I'm just afraid of not trying. And I need them, along with my family, to remind and encourage me to keep trying.

That's how hard things get done. With help. And when you know that getting help will definitely make hard things easier, don't you want everyone to know?

--Laura

Feeding the Hungry Heart

Thanks to Hurricane Fay, it has been raining all week. It began in earnest on Sunday, the day I chose to go hiking in Sweetwater Creek State Park. Yes, good timing, that.

Anyway, I had taken an umbrella, a bottle of water and some trail mix, so I felt fully prepared, and I got some nice pictures. This fern is one of them. I felt pretty artsy when I took it.

I began the day with mass, as I was scheduled to sing on Sunday. Normally, with an activity like hiking planned, I would have gone to the evening mass on Saturday, but as Deacon Bill would say, I was working the noon mass this weekend.

As it happens, Joe the organist sped through all the music at noon, for reasons known only to him. I don't think anyone minded, except me, though it wasn't because I wanted to add any particular spin to the songs. It's just that singing and breathing are vitally intertwined, so a quick song poses an interesting dilemma over how to do both. Fortunately, since I wanted to get some hiking time in before too much of the day had passed, people seemed satisfied when I sang on getting their spiritual hunger satisfied with the gift of finest wheat at a fast clip rather than at a more gentle or contemplative pace.

So back to the woods. Sweetwater Creek park is an interesting jewel in the center of an urban sprawl. Unlike many people I encounter there, I don't trudge through the place intent on getting exercise. Mainly this is because I'm a big girl with a bad back and regardless of how fast or slow I go, walking 4 or 5 miles is going to count as exercise for me. But the other reason is that when you speed through the trails to accomplish having hiked the trail, in my opinion you might as well have done your 5 miles on a treadmill at Gold's gym. Frankly, you miss everything.

For example, no one noticed the turtle, big as a dinner plate, sunning himself on the shoals in the creek. Or the tree frogs dancing around the base of a tree near the falls. Or what I'm certain was a blue-tailed skink. You can see my picture of him (or her) here.

In fairness, they also missed the two snakes. But I'll tell you something, they were just red corn snakes which they say make great pets. Not my pets, but that's what they say. I saw the first one while I was looking for the dinner plate sized turtle. I spotted the second one when I fell face forward into a tidal pool in the shoals. Later, I also got a little lost.

Maybe you're glad you missed my adventures. Maybe Gold's gym is sounding better and better. It's okay if you feel that way. All I'm saying is this: I went to the woods this weekend, and I have the bruises to prove it. And the stories. If I'd gone to the gym, I wouldn't have bruises or memories of snake encounters, but I probably wouldn't have remembered it, period.

Kahlil Gibran said, "When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."

I guess that's not conventional wisdom, but I see it. You value the things that require something from you. When you lose a loved one, weren't they first your joy? When you find your joy, isn't your delight due in part to the fact that at one time you hungered for it? If you hadn't missed it to begin with, would it have satisfied so completely when you found it? I think not.

Sunday, I went to the woods, and found joy in it. I guess without realizing it, I had hungered for it. It was nice to feel alive again, instead of lazy on a Sunday. It was a nice change from apathy.

--Laura

Village Elders

My encounter with Tom, the pool guru, got me thinking about my elders.

The African proverb, made so popular by Hillary, claims that it takes a village to raise a child. That can be taken to mean that lots of people contribute to a child's well-being, in fact to the well-being of... well, anyone's being. But there's more to this than meets the eye.

I've always been fortunate to have lots of older people in my life. They say in some of the "birth order" literature out there that only children will develop the strongest relationships with people years younger or years older than themselves. This has been true for me. As a young girl, I loved to visit Mrs. Margie, who taught me how to make sugared violets. In college, most of my friends were 3rd or 4th year, even when I was a freshman. When I graduated and moved to the mountains of north Georgia, I befriended the "blue haired" set because of my work schedule, and delighted in their company as much as they delighted in mine. Today, even as a young adult, I spend a fair amount of my time with adults old enough to be my grandparents.

And if you don't do this, I caution you. I think you're making a mistake.

I don't think it's healthy to surround yourself only with people your own age. This is why I've never felt comfortable in social settings geared to Young Professionals or Young Singles or Young Adult Catholics. These people are all in the same boat I'm in. Heck, some are a lot worse off than I am, so the only real satisfaction I get is in knowing I'm not quite as screwed up as the guy sitting next to me.

I prefer the multi-generational approach to living: people much older than myself, people younger than myself, people my age and people from all walks of life. People in different stages of life are interesting. They have things to teach you.

One such couple befriended me in the north Georgia town I lived in prior to moving to the Atlanta area. I first met Rita when I began taking instruction in the church. Because I worked 3-11, I could pop by the church and help her and the other "Garden Angels" tend to the church grounds. She was a silver-haired, practical woman who despite living the last 2 decades in the south had still managed to retain her Minnesota accent. She and Gordy lived on the lake and had made a hobby out of adding onto their house. They were healthy and industrious people, and by now it was the size of the Pentagon.

By the time I entered the church, they had both become good friends, and once a month or so I was invited to their house for dinner. Those were some of the most enjoyable evenings of my time in that town. We'd talk about everything from history, politics, religion, dating, work, you name it. In fact, we often covered all those topics in one night, until we were all tired and yawning, and they were still reluctant to see me go. Keep in mind, these were not lonely elders. They had 6 kids who were regular visitors to the river house. They were constantly on the go, involved in both their community and their church. Gordy had taught himself how to design web pages "just to keep myself out of the bars."

They were interesting. They weren't like me. They had things to tell me about how to live my life. They were interested in what I had to say. They respected me, and I respected them.

What makes that different from friends your own age? Well, that's hard to put into words. Maybe it's because you aren't in the same stage of "figuring things out." They have seen things you haven't, and they listen with a relatively neutral ear.

The other thing is that they teach me to be a little less harsh on myself. Older people like to take breaks. They don't tackle the whole day at one time. They get where they are going by pacing themselves, but they get there nonetheless. Sometimes, I forget that I should stop for a while and rest, refresh and renew myself between projects. Much like the observation that "you always will have the poor with you," there will always be a task set ahead of us, with things to take care of. Your ability to do this hinges on the time you take for yourself, to restore yourself, to keep yourself physically and emotionally strong, and the time you take to learn from your experiences. Otherwise, life stays pretty much the same, and you become a mindless cog in the wheel, endlessly repeating the same behaviors and getting the same results.

Sitting a spell, talking it out with an older friend who wants little more than your company is insurance - against turning your life into an endless assembly line of duty and responsibility.

I heard this once: Yankees will spend thousands a year to sit on a couch and talk to a stranger, calling it "therapy." Southerners spend an afternoon with friends, sitting on a couch and call it "just visiting."

If that's just a southern thing, I'm sorry, it's time to expose the secret. The economy is bad these days, people, so take advantage of this tip. Consulting with the village elders is free, and the rewards are immeasurable.

--Laura

A Real Goal Getter: Part VI

I'll pause for a minute about what my goals are, to tell you a little story, because I had the most interesting experience at the pool the other day.

As I was finishing my swim, an old man entered the indoor pool area to take his own afternoon swim. He was East Indian, with clear, warm skin. Nevertheless, he was so wrinkled, I had the desire to iron him. I'd learn later that he was quite old.

We exchanged pleasantries, and I liked his gentle nature and his warm smile so much, I must have been grinning at him, because he continued to speak to me after he got into the pool. We discussed the Pool Closing Tragedy, the alternate Aquatic Center down the road, ways to get the best value for our gym membership dollar, and the advantages and disadvantages of paying for a full membership versus paying ala carte.

The tone of the conversation suddenly changed.

"I am 75-years-old," he said. "I came to this country with $45 in my pocket. But I was determined to get an education. Now I have a PhD." I congratulated him, but was a bit confused, because this seemed to have nothing to do with our previous conversation. But he continued.

"I've seen tragedy in my life. My child, my only son, worked for the government. He gave his life for his country at the American embassy in 1998, when he was only 37. I stood over his casket and I told him that for him, my son who was always so worried about my health, I was going to lose weight and quit smoking. Many people complain about quitting smoking and how it will make you gain weight, so I decided to do both at the same time. When I began, I weighed 250 lbs. I just got off the scales in the other room, and I weigh 181 lbs."

I congratulated him, and he thanked me. Then he said the most remarkable thing.

"So many people say they want to do big things, but immediately come up with excuses why they can't. If you want to drive to Chicago, you don't wander around Douglasville, get low on gas, then go back home. You go to mapquest, you plan your route, you plan where you will need to stop and sleep, and then you head out with a full tank of gas. It takes preparation and it takes a plan. The excuses are just things to look past. You cannot let them get in your way."

"People let obstacles and not goals guide them," I said, letting him know I was actively listening to him. In fact, I was enthralled that this man would be saying these things to me, a reformed slacker, a real goal getter. He smiled at me and nodded, satisfied that I understood him.

All the things he said to me wouldn't fit in this entry. It was funny though that the night before, in the bathroom of a nightclub, I paused from the entertaining evening I'd had with friends to look at myself in the mirror and speculate on the wisdom of all my recent plans and goals. Were they crazy? Was I crazy? Did my reach exceed my grasp? Was this all too hard? Would I ever be able to afford to make the changes I wanted to make?

Call me crazy, but I think the next day brought my answer, from a man who lost his 37-year-old son and his only child and in doing so learned a thing or two about goals. Only to share that lesson with a 37-year-old only child standing on the edge of a pool, who is learning a thing or two about setting goals herself.

--Laura