Be+Longing

Today's Top 3 Favorite Community Moments

2011-07-15T10:57:00.000-07:00

1. Watching Murphy Brown on the couch with a bunch of Baha'i kids. I don't know where my parents were then. But, I was having fun.

2. Watching The Whiz and eating apple peels with the kids on Hawthorne Ave.

3. Laying in the grass listening to some country rock band in Amery, Wisconsin, while my grandmother tapped her feet behind me.

What are yours?

Simple + Profound

2011-07-05T23:44:00.001-07:00

The summer I was seven, I watched the same two movies just about every day. Things were a little different then. We had Atari, but no Wii. Cable with Showtime, but no Netflix. A swingset, but no Xbox Kinect. So, I split my time between running out to see what the boys down the street were up to and hanging indoors with my first bff. She happened not to care much about our male counterparts or their activities.

At some point on most days, we'd bathe our My Little Ponies or play Chutes and Ladders, and then watch a movie. We were partial to Gremlins and Weird Science. So, those were in heavy rotation. In fact, I'm not sure we saw anything else that summer.

By the time I was in jr high, I could recite most of the lines in Breakfast Club. Unfortunately, the only one still stuck in my head is Judd Nelson's quip when Molly Ringwald unpacked her sushi lunch.

The movie seemed really grown up because my sister had taped it off of Showtime well before I was able to watch the movie channels. So, once my friends and I were in the 7th grade and on the verge of adulthood, Breakfast Club seemed like the perfect way to wind down a sleepover. And there were lots of sleepovers.

I'm pretty sure that was the last time I watched the same movie repeatedly. Until now.

Last week, I saw a documentary called Still Bill all the way through, re-started it, watched it a second time and then re-started it again. Then a couple evenings ago, I watched it a fourth time and if my boyfriend had not been there to stop me, I probably would have gone back to the beginning when it was over.

The movie takes a look back at Bill Withers' life, through his own voice. Frankly, I thought the mastermind behind songs like Ain't No Sunshine and Lean on Me, had passed away. I hope that's not insulting. When I first heard his greatest hits album, I felt a connection to a bygone era. And not bygone the way my jr high days are gone. His music and voice seem to hail from a past I didn't experience myself. Turns out he's still alive, kicking and thinking back on his life in Los Angeles.

Of course, as he says in the movie, Mr. Withers did write a love song to his grandmother. I don't know many singer-songwriters who would do that today and still be invited to perform on every late night and early morning talk show in the country. Whether Bill was singing about loving his grandma, being a real friend, or missing a lady, he did it with an attention to the things in life that get overshadowed by the glitz and glam of our society today. Perhaps it's those themes that feel bygone.

Like his music, the film itself is a simple, but profound piece of storytelling. Watching it is like taking a road trip with your grandfather when you've got nothing but time and an open mind.

In both his music and the way he speaks about his own life Bill Withers creates my kind of art - the kind that is so personal, it's universal. It gets right to the heart of what life is about - knowing who you are and offering that to the world.

I Went to Church

2011-06-26T16:46:00.000-07:00

I usually use Sunday mornings for catching up on sleep and Antiques Roadshow.

But one Sunday last month, I went to church instead.

For someone who enjoys the peace of sacred space, I haven't spent much time in churches. But, the Friends Meetinghouse in Evanston, IL has been calling my name for months.

If you blink - or even just pay attention to the car in front of you - you might miss this understated brick building. It's surrounded by trees and the quiet atmosphere of a small park.

It's just as quiet inside. In fact, silence is the main event here.

Members of the Society of Friends are commonly known as Quakers. Quaker's believe "There is that of God in every one." Silence and listening inward, they say, reveals a portion of divine wisdom. There is no clergy at a Friends Meeting House. Instead, the community learns and develops by ordinary individuals sharing their wisdom with one another.

I still have much to sort out in my own heart and soul about where divinity resides. But, this notion that the divine is within us or surrounds us, and also guides us, is common among many faiths.

"For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the
midst of them." - Matthew 18:20

"Turn thy sight unto thyself, that thou mayest find Me standing within thee, mighty,
powerful and self-subsisting." - Baha'i Faith, Hidden Words, Arabic #13

"From meditation springs wisdom. From lack of meditation, loss of wisdom." -Buddhist, Dhammapada, Sayings of the Buddha 1

During a Quaker worship service, which is referred to as a meeting, someone might feel the inclination to share something with the group. The person may stand up and speak at that point. But, rather than a speech from a pulpit, it's closer to a verbal stream of consciousness.

A conversation evolves as various attendees feel internally prompted to share. But, far from a theological debate, the dialogue becomes a spoken meditation punctuated by long stretches of silence. The week I visited, there seemed to be a common thread among the flow of comments. They all centered on creating and maintaining peace.

From my visit to the Friends Meetinghouse, I learned the value of listening and developed a greater appreciation for how difficult it is to practice. Listening means allowing conversations to have space. It avoids miscommunication, because a listener is not distracted by crafting the best response while the speaker is in mid-thought. Rather, a listener honors the speaker by fully hearing each of his or her words.

Ultimately, it seems, listening is an act of love and little acts of love build community.

Putting the Neighbor Back in the Hood

2011-06-16T14:08:00.001-07:00

When I pulled up at home the other day, I saw a two year old boy walking hand-in-hand with a woman in her 30s. While I collected the array of items that had accumulated in my backseat, the boy pointed towards me and asked his companion a question.

"That's your neighbor," she told him.

As our paths crossed, the boy waved at me and said "Hi Neighbor!"

He sounded a lot like Jim Carrey in The Truman Show. But, I told him that's exactly what we should all say to each other every day.

It's been a long time since I knew my neighbors' names. In college, I could identify the people who lived on my floor - especially the guys who projected Mario Kart on their wall. In junior high, I knew what to call the people whose houses were on either side of mine. In pre-school, I knew the names of every neighbor under four feet tall, their parents, the old folks who spent summer afternoons on their porches, and the lady whose city lot was filled with flowers. And that was just on my block; I won't list all the neighbors across the alley.

Earlier this month, I attended a training by an organization that believes the friendly neighbor is not only a dying breed, but the missing link in creating safe neighborhoods. Restorative Justice Evanston believes lack of connection, and the disruption of it, allows crime to occur. So, in response, they're combating crime by creating community.

When a youth commits a crime in Evanston they can be offered an opportunity to attend a peace circle, instead of going through the court system. In a peace circle, the offender and victim come together with family members and a few community members. Each one has an opportunity to tell his or her version of the story surrounding the crime, including how they felt before and after the incident. They each share the impact it had on them and the steps that need to be taken to restore or establish peace between them. A reparations agreement is reached by all the parties and can include anything from mandatory art classes for a renegade graffiti artist to kids in conflict joining forces for a service project.

A peace circle might sound like a hold over from the '60s. In fact, it's akin to traditions dating back centuries in Native American and African traditions. In our times, peace circles and other similar restorative justice practices are taking a bite out of crime. The trainers I met in Evanston report a 98% success rate, meaning 98% of kids who take part in a peace circle don't re-offend. Not only do they not repeat the same offense, they don't commit any further crimes. The other saving grace - by avoiding court, the offender also keeps from having a statewide criminal record.

Restorative justice is practiced at Evanston Township High School in the form of a peer jury. The Evanston police department has a program with several staff members dedicated to it. And Restorative Justice Evanston is the result of hours of volunteer service by everyday community members.

Storytelling and Community Building

2011-06-08T21:47:00.001-07:00

I've been out and about so much lately, I haven't had a chance to log-in and report my findings on the state of community in Chicago. But, here's my first attempt to catch up.

About two weeks ago, I attended a reception where twenty community-builders shared news of their newest projects. All of them are recent recipients of grants from Chicago Media Workshop and will use their awards for investigative reporting projects in under-covered communities. One by one, these storytellers shared how they will explore the issues in their neighborhoods, through camera lenses and words in print.

Their projects ranged from a series of articles exploring how economic disparity relates to violence on Chicago's west-side neighborhoods to a summer program from youth on the south side who will compile a good news-only newspaper.

Their presentations made me think about the intersection of storytelling, community-building and personal development. I've learned from my twelve years of documentary production that to tell another person's story, the storyteller (or in my case producer/editor/writer) needs to understand its depths. Sometimes the storyteller knows the story better than the person to whom it belongs. Because the storyteller mulls over it time and again and looks for both the explict implicit meanings of it.

I look forward to what these storytellers discover about Chicago. As Erik Larson mentioned in Devil in the White City, this place is a like a woman without her skin, beautiful and raw all at the same time. All our flaws - poverty, crime, frustration, anger - sit in plain sight. But, sometimes we can't understand how a pain at the bottom of our foot connects with a nerve in our back (until we get caught up in something like a flashmob). I look forward to having the body examined wholisticaly by this new cadre of investigative reporters.

Friday Night Refuge

2011-05-13T19:07:00.000-07:00

So, it's Friday night and it's been a fairly calm week in the world, at least as far as I know. We didn't kill any high profile enemies of the state. No royals got hitched. All our congresspeople made it through their days without landing in the hospital. We can unwind a little:

That's not to say the world got easier this week. Floods still threathen the Mississippi Delta. Gas prices still rose. And, well, according to This American Life, our unemployment rate still hovered around 9%.

Sigh. Nine per cent of us don't have jobs. The number goes up to twelve per cent among those without a high school diploma and down to two per cent for those with a PhD.

Now imagine, all the worries you carried around this week and last:
- will I find work?
-will my brother/sister/child/parent find it?
- how can we create more jobs and a more sustainable economy for everyone?

- how can we fix the schools that are turning out kids who don't see a future for themselves?
- what am i contributing to the social, economic and spiritual life of society?
- your worry here

And imagine if you had a place to take those worries, discuss them with others and find spiritual insight at the same time.

This is what one family provided on Friday nights for a generation, starting in the 1960s when things like this were happening:

(Those are malts being poured on the heads of young people trying to integrate a lunch counter.)

That family's matriarch was Arlene Jennrich, a long-time anchor of the Wilmette Baha'i community.

She passed away earlier this month. Within hours, a Facebook page was created in her honor. And within a couple of days it had 100 followers, all sharing stories. From around the world, men and women talked about the refuge of the Jennrich home -- a place where, no matter who you were, how you felt, what your concerns were or how passionately you expressed them, you could find a place where people would listen with you and learn with you.

Sounds nice doesn't it?

If you had a refuge like that to go to tonight, what would you discuss?

O, Oprah

2011-05-13T10:54:00.001-07:00

O, Oprah, I'm going to miss you.

We first met in the 4th grade, probably around 1987. I was still going to daycare. And, between the episodes of Double Dare and Funhouse, the daycare lady would turn you on. I didn't know who you were, but I felt like you were inviting me into adulthood.

And, it seemed, one by one, the women I knew who spent their afternoons at home, were making your acquaintance. My grandmothers, my mentors, they all watched you.

The following year, when I volunteered to become a latch-key kid, you baby-sat me after school. See, I thought I might be too old for daycare and that other kids might laugh at me for still going. But, that didn't mean I loved being home alone. So, to keep from worrying about the settling noises of the house, I watched you, and worked on figuring out my curly hair situation.

For better or worse, I sometimes can't remember what I learned from you and what I learned from religion. Sometimes, I also back-up an argument with "everyone knows that," but upon further reflection, I realize only every Oprah viewer knows that.

We had to part ways about a decade ago. I started working full-time and my daytime hours belonged to someone else then. And, well, even though you offered me another chance at night, I couldn't bring myself to watch you that late. That's mostly because I like to go to bed laughing, or at least, amused. And sometimes I worried that I'd dream about serial killers and bra sizes if I let you tell my bedtime stories.

But, with this being your farewell season, I decided to tune in again. A few times I've rolled my eyes a little, but that doesn't mean I don't like you. Even friends respond that way to each other sometimes. Anyway, it's been lovely to see every well-crafted episode along the way.

Nine more days, Oprah, before our friendship becomes a long-distance acquaintanceship. I won't be able to watch OWN, as I try to keep my home entertainment as close to free as possible. But, thank you for all the companionship over the years.

On Anger

2011-05-04T10:20:00.001-07:00

I read and re-read my own post a few times yesterday, just to acknowledge my own feelings. The wave of emotions sweeping through the United States right now is just a little overwhelming and so is the constant barrage of big deal news. We went from the Tucson shootings, to rallies and the shifting of power in several Middle Eastern countries, to Japan's tsunami, to the royal wedding (snore), to the bombing of Gadaffi's estate, to the birth certificate issue, to the death of bin Laden. It's sort of what the 24-hour news cycle was made for - to keep us in touch with all that goes on in the world and to show us we're all connected to it. But, man, it does lead to a feeling of being in a whirlwind.

As I reviewed what I'd written and continued to really feel it all, I remembered a line from Julia Cameron's The Artist Way. "Anger is a map. It shows us where our boundaries are." She suggests we listen to it and give it credence.

Similarly, Carl Jung suggests that acknowledging our feelings, whether they be commonly characterized as positive or negative, is the healthiest route. "We cannot change anything unless we accept it.," he says. "Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses."

So, perhaps this outcry of anger around the world can become something powerful for us all? Perhaps letting it all out can allow us to move towards a more peaceful way of dealing with life and each other?

What do you think?

Tidal Waves

2011-05-03T12:21:00.000-07:00

Hello Be+Longing Readers,

It's been months since I've posted. Creativity and community have been flourishing in so many areas of my life, it's been tricky to make time for my own personal corner of the blogosphere.

But, today, with the swirl of emotions surging throughout our country - our world, actually - I felt moved to deposit a few words into the stream.

I don't want to talk about bin Laden's death itself. And, I'd like to refrain from commenting on matters of justice, or using words like right or wrong today. I'm still hashing that all out for myself. Instead I feel moved to talk about what I felt yesterday.

Yesterday, I felt anger. Not my own; a sea of it seems to be surging through the world. And through our DNA. And through our family trees. And through our words. And through our habits.

So much anger exists today.

And that's the painful part of almost every news report I hear - the anger in the voices of victims, victors, commentators and bystanders, alike.

We are all in a turbulent sea. A tidal wave of violence swept over American shores on September 11, 2001. And on December 7, 1941. It spilled into our streets in the summer of 1919 and got flung into the trees the summer before that. But, we'd been sloshing around in it for about 300 years by then.

Nowadays, we splash a little turbulence on each other here and there - sometimes with our fists, but often just with the way we speak to and about each other. In our families, with our neighbors, in our social circles, we even splash it on to the people we refer to as friends.

We offer it to each other whenever we seek power or status, whenever we gossip about a friend who's not in listening range, whenever we choose to make fun of someone for the sake of our own image. Whenever we make a choice to be divisive, we create just a little more pain and a little more anger in the world.

That's why this video, posted by my friend Connie at Dirty Footprints Studio, is so interesting today. When a thought of war comes, how can we replace it with a stronger thought of peace? These mothers found a way to do just that when their children found themselves on opposite sides of a conflict of global proportions.

For more thoughts on cycles of violence and true power, please see my friend Oak Ritche's blog and the Sophia Leadership blog.

Class One: Pastel Party

2011-01-18T09:22:00.000-08:00

Sunday marked my first day at the Open Studio Project, a place I didn't know existed a few weeks ago. I could have hopped, skipped and jumped there. But, I decided to drive instead. The trip took six, maybe, eight minutes.

I walked into the studio and a table full of women (and two men) greeted me with curious glances. We began our session by introducing ourselves and our reasons for being there. And for the most part, those curious glances turned into smiles as we shared our names, our experiences with artmaking (or lack thereof) and our hopes for the class.

The studio is bare, for the most part. The white walls wait for paper to be taped to them and artmaking to begin. The simply bear the marks of spillover from pieces made in past classes. This seems to be a hallmark of all intuitive art spaces: perfectly square patches of white wall framed by layers of randomly colored paint splashes.

I won't go into the whole trajectory of the class session, except to say I entered with a frown (literally) and left with a smile so big and so ridiculous. I smiled so much and sat so far forward on my chair after artmaking, some people turned to me as the facilitator.

As for the facilitators, they were fabulous. Their smiles created an immediate feeling that everyone was welcome. And I sensed no pretense or inauthenticity with that. They really warmed up the space with their genuineness. But, as a seminal rule of the Open Studio, they didn't engage in care-taking. They simply set forth guidelines at the appropriate times and then created alongside us. Had we needed anything, they said, they would have happily assisted us. But, they wouldn't impose on our space during the artmaking.

I, once again, can't wait for Sunday to happen. But, I did go out and buy new pastels and paper and painter's tape so I can make a new artspace in my dining room. Yay!

Andersonville Starbucks

2011-01-12T12:58:00.000-08:00

I had the chance to work from home today. So, I'm sitting in the Starbucks in Chicago's Andersonville neighborhood. I enjoy this neighborhood whenever I come to it. Once Chicago's Swedish enclave, yellow and blue still appear up and down Clark Street and make me feel connected to my heritage. The Swedish flag is still painted on the neighborhood's water tower. Swedish bakeries abound. And even "non-Swedish" establishments like the Andersonville Galleria bring the colors into their logo and the mosaic about the storefront's door.

I also like Andersonville because it seems to always be bustling. I once heard this neighborhood hosts the city's largest concentration of at-home businesses and professionals who work from home. I'm not sure if that's true. But, judging by the busy lunch hours at most of the restaurants on this stretch of Clark Street, I wouldn't doubt it.

It's often difficult to find a place to sit at this Starbucks location. I got here early and nestled into a leather armchair, which I've only left once or twice to 'feed my meter'. (We don't really feed meters any more in Chicago.)

About an hour ago two gentleman squeezed into the couch next to a guy they don't know. They don't seem to mind the snug fit. Both of these men have grey hair and time on their hands. They've been in the store since before I arrived, hours ago. One of them looks like my uncle, so I assumed they are of Czech or Slovak descent. But, they tell me they're speaking Polish. They're also wondering if I speak Spanish, as they'd like a translator so they can continue the conversation they're having with a guy in his 30s, who has just pulled up a footstool in front of them. They all seem to be good friends.

What's amused me most about these to guys is the way they're watching over the store, as though it belongs to them. A few moments ago a fellow laptop user came over and asked if he could plug into the outlet next to me. I looked up and smiled. But, before I could respond, the older of the two gentleman stepped in ready to negotiate the logistics of the situation. He said to me, "Are you done?"

I replied that I need to keep going with my tasks for the day, but there's a whole surge protector and room for another plug. And then because I needed to step out of the way so the young guy could reach the power strip, the older gentleman smiled at me and said, "Take a little break. You need one." Such a grandfatherly gesture.

I did, in fact, take a little break. When I returned he said, "A lot of work today?"

So, he's my new friend.

Could Not Have Said it Better

2011-01-11T13:42:00.000-08:00

I don't know this woman, but I admire her art piece and the accompanying writing. What a way to sum up so many people's feelings about this weekend's tragedies in Tucson.

It is Not "THEM" It is "US"

Huff Po: In Unity Is Our Security

2011-01-11T09:49:00.000-08:00

This weekend I'll attend my first class at the Open Studio Project. I'm looking forward to it and to what I learn about community building through the experience.

This article in the Huffington Post put into perspective the vital need we have for more community in our... communities. A friend of mine often says, "We have a lot of healing to do." And I generally take it to mean that so many of our relationships are broken - between parents and children, children and their peers, etc - that society is inevitably affected.

As Connie commented here last week, she thinks the best way she can serve the world is to live by her calling and thus produce greater happiness in her life. One more happy being means less negativity being spread around. I agree, we spread negativity like its the flu and it mutates into so many different forms, some of whom carry guns and invade otherwise powerful community building opportunities.

The following quote was included in the Huffington Post article. Its one I hear often, but rarely do I take action on it. I'd like to spend some time meditating on this and how I can take steps to apply it.

"Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity. Be worthy of the trust of thy neighbor, and look upon him with a bright and friendly face. Be a treasure to the poor, an admonisher to the rich, an answerer of the cry of the needy, a preserver of the sanctity of thy pledge. Be fair in thy judgment, and guarded in thy speech. Be unjust to no man, and show all meekness to all men. Be as a lamp unto them that walk in darkness, a joy to the sorrowful, a sea for the thirsty, a haven for the distressed, an upholder and defender of the victim of oppression." - Baha'u'llah

Word(s) for the Year(s)

2011-01-07T10:26:00.000-08:00

I've seen a lot of blog posts lately about people choosing a word for the year to come, something they'd like to focus on or embody more fully. (See some examples here, here and here).

I'd love to learn more about how people go about choosing their word. Please tell me your word story here.

A friend and I came together on New Year's Day for a Spiritual Spa, a time to reflect on the past year and look ahead to 2011. She's become like a sister to me these past few years and I have to say it's her way of life that inspires me to keep going down my creative path. I'd be doing my creative day job with or without knowing her. But, seeing the things she makes, which clearly come directly from her soul, is what's caused me to say 'I want to do that!' And by that, I mean encouraging people to go within to sort out their stories and truths.

We chose to do mandalas* to guide our reflection. I'm not so sure what my 2010 mandala** means. There's a lot of purple and red swirling around each other, with a wave of blue going across the circumference of the circle. And in the upper right 'quadrant' a little star-shaped yellow. I think it has something to do with 'going with the flow.' And the colors remind me of a drawing I once saw symbolizing the third chakra, which I believe relates to personal power.

When my friend and I sat down to do our 2011 mandalas, she asked, 'Now this is about what we want to manifest this year, right?' As soon as she said the word 'manifest', another word jumped into my mind. It sort of felt like grade school, where I often shot up my hand as soon as the teacher asked a question, thinking, 'oh, I totally know this one.' Actually, I'm still a little like that at work. And that first word is what I settled on before even beginning my mandala.

JOY

My confusion, however, comes from wondering if that is truly my word or is it just the word I think should come after the word manifesting.

So, there we have it. Joy and a little confusion. I would love to have your thoughts.

*I get a kick out of realizing that I've been unknowingly drawing mandalas for YEARS. If I still had any school notebooks from high school or college, I'm sure I'd find them filled with mandalas. It was my way of passing the time during boring classes. Somehow my doodles often came out in a circular fashion.

**Not sure I'll be posting my mandalas on-line. They seem a little personal.

Serving the World

2011-01-04T15:01:00.000-08:00

I've been reading Pat B. Allen's Art is a Way of Knowing recently and just about every few pages it brings a smile to my face. Last night, in her Knowing Work chapter, she asked a salient question along these lines: What could you do to serve the world in the most pleasurable of ways?

I know, it's very similar to the soul's aspiration question I asked last time, which had to do with our soul's aspiration and the world's hardships: in what way does your soul want to contribute to the betterment of the world?

Sometimes what our soul wants can be harder to answer than what gives us pleasure. But, sometimes when we focus on simply what gives us pleasure, self-indulgence comes into play. So, I like Allen's way of balancing pleasure and service in the same question. What would you LOVE to spend your workday doing that is also a service to others?

I'm totally excited to see all y'all's answers.

Oh, I almost forgot. This is supposed to relate to community, right? Community, I think can benefit from individuals who ponder this question and take action on it.

Ordinary Joy

2010-12-27T10:36:00.000-08:00

December 27's prompt from reverb10: Ordinary Joy
"Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?"

First, let me say, I absolutely agree with the above statement. I sometimes equate novelty with breathing and yet, I also feel quite lucky for all the novelty afforded me through travel this year. Yet, when I reflect on my most joyful moments, they are rather ho hum moments. (Except when I was in the Harry Potter Ride at Universal Studios' Islands of Adventure. Those were moments filled with glee for me, and I'm not even a Harry Potter fan. But, apparently, I am a 3d thrill ride fan.)

So, my most ordinary, yet joyful moments of 2010, in no particular order are... (drumroll):

- Hangin' out at Panera with Damin one fall day.

- Picnics in the state park.

- Playing Apples to Apples late at night with some media guys in the lobby of Orlando's Rosen Hotel and Conference Center. (okay, so a few things there were out of the ordinary.)

- Playing Apples to Apples with my cousins, aunt and uncle, parents, etc. last spring.

- Sitting all together with said cousins, aunt, uncle, parents, sister and brother-in-law during wedding receptions.

- Running through the sprinkler with my favorite people under the age of 12.

- Spending a whole day watching House Hunters Int'l with Damin.

- Discovering That '70s Show

A Soul's Aspiration

2010-12-22T12:11:00.000-08:00

I spent the last few days in Orlando at the 2010 Baha'i Conference on Social and Economic Development. For the past 27 years people interested in creating social and economic change, as well as practitioners actively involved in development work, have come together to discuss how to put spiritual principles into action. Those spiritual ideas focus on the central principle of the oneness of humanity: Each of us is created noble, we're essentially all part of one human family and responsible for each other's well-being.

The discussions centered around development as not something that one group of people does for another group of people who 'need help', but as a process of everyone learning together how to create sustainable, just communities. The idea is that no one group of people has a corner on the market when it comes to knowing what's best for the world and that the world can't become more just if one group continues to make decisions for another.

I hope to blog more about this conference in the coming weeks, as well as some of the people I met who are working on interesting development projects. I'll have to collect my thoughts first.

But, in the meantime, I'll leave you with this thought from the Baha'i Writings that floats through my mind from time to time: "Every age hath its own problem, and every soul its particular aspiration."

What's your soul's aspiration? What problem in the world might it address?

5 Minutes

2010-12-15T07:22:00.000-08:00

From reverb10:

December 15 – Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

Running through the sprinkler

The view of lake superior from hwy 61

Intuitive painting

My own soul

Driving home from Minnesota for 14 hours with 3 sleepy girls

Stopping at the Kenosha/Racine Perkins, having the restaurant to ourselves and sharing a fantastic laugh with Damin

Coming home from Oakland, being totally sick and Damin taking care of me

Flagstaff – the trees, the clean air, the coming together of people

My soul

Energy work

The feeling inside the “womb” at the Wild Heart Arts retreat

The seat warmers in my car

Rachel’s wedding

Sitting around the table with the whole fam. at Liz’s wedding

My soul

Almost “falling asleep” while meditating and realizing the good stuff was just starting to surface

Walking 2 miles in 90 degree weather just to find a good journal (um? maybe not)

Appreciation

2010-12-14T12:03:00.000-08:00

December 14th Question of the Day from reverb10:

What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year?

The discovery that home is not about place as much as it is about the people with whom you spend your time and how you work together to create a space for everyone's spirit to be revitalized.

How do you express gratitude for it?
Hmmmmm... I don't know! Gratitude would be a good goal for 2011!

retroactive reverb

2010-12-13T17:53:00.000-08:00

I like the concept on reverb10: spend each day of December reflecting, through blogging, on an aspect of the past year. Since I've missed nearly half the month, I thought I'd catch up retroactively with my first gut response to each question.

That worked, until I got to December 8th and I didn't know the answer and then I decided that was far enough. Now if I were intuitively painting at Wild Heart right now, I'd be encouraged to move through the block and just keep going and/or to paint the blockage itself, rather than simply quit. But, I think I hear my dinner bell ringing (or effects rendered bell ringing). So, I gotta scamper off to take care of that. (That's not an excuse, right?)

Oh, by the way, I want to know your answers too! Blog 'em or leave a comment here. Thanks!

December 1:

Describe 2010 in One Word ~ Exploration

December 2:Writing

What are you doing that doesn’t contribute to your writing?

Watching That 70s Show.

Can you eliminate it? I love it. Really, really love it.

What else am I doing that doesn’t contribute to my writing?

Paying attention to the hungry/malnourished feeling in my gut that says writing isn’t the only outlet for me.

Can you eliminate it? I could. But, I won’t.

December 3: Moment

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid details.

Running through the sprinkler with my boyfriends’ daughters. My t-shirt and capris stuck to me. My feet hurt against the porous cement. But, for one brief half hour, I felt like I was home (and oh yeah, alive).

December 4: Wonder

How did I cultivate a sense of wonder this year?
I traveled. I had the great fortune to leave town once or twice a month during the latter half of 2010.

December 5: Let Go

What or whom did I let go of this year? I don't know why I thought this was a difficult question at first... after reading my father's blog I was reminded that many, many acquaintances passed away this year and so did my cousin. So, I guess, in some ways I let go of the expectation that the life of the body lasts for 60-90 years. Sometimes things happen in an instant and we're moved to the next plane of existence.

December 6: Make

What is the last thing you made? What materials did you use?

I made video. With moving images and sounds.

December 7: Community

Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010?

At work. Honestly. I find great comraderie here and support for aspects of my life beyond the office.

What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

Open Studio Project

December 8: Beautifully Different
to be continued...

And: Action (or) Life as Creative Cycle

2010-12-13T15:51:00.001-08:00

Thank you, ArtSlam for turning me on to Reverb10. Here are my reflections on today's prompt about action.

A couple years ago, I became quite comfortable with the notion that life is a series of creative cycles, sometimes interlocking ones. See, when I first saw the creative process delineated into five steps, I felt:

a) redeemed, because, yes, that is indeed what I go through when I make something new
and
b) acknowledged, because somebody took the time to scientifically study people like me
and
c) a little more relaxed when the words or ideas don't flow, because I know there are generally five phases to creativity and one of them (at least one) involves the unknown and moments of having no clue which way to turn.

The five phases of the creative process, as delineated by social scientists who studied a whole bunch of people who create (new things, new thoughts, new processes) for a living can be boiled down to the following:

i. idea (or in some cases assignment)
ii. incubation (taking in a whole bunch of data/stimuli. sometimes involves picking daisies and/or your nose)
iii. synthesis (when all that stimuli whirling around in your psyche finally comes together in an ah-ha moment)
iv. work (just making it happen)
v. resolution (the final product appears)

For the past couple years I've been also living my life with the notion that every new "assignment", whether from the Universe, my own intuition, or personal drive can be followed by these four steps. Say, for instance, I want to discover the next stone in my career path (IDEA). I can gather all sorts of information about all sort of paths (INCUBATION). If one really piques my interest (SYNTHESIS), then I can try it out by taking a class or volunteering (WORK) and see how it fits (RESOLUTION).

The notion that my life is a series of creative cycles engenders patience. Yes, there's the "oh my GOSH, how looooong does this project take" feeling every so often. Especially when I notice that I'm still in the same apartment and earning the same salary. But, at the same time, remembering the steps allows me to take a deep breath and say "I'm in process and it's all okay."

So, anyway, that's all to say, I don't know which actions I'll take next in life. In fact, I believe I've taken my fair share this year. I sat on my couch for a bit of That 70's Show viewing one evening last week and realized it had been a week since I'd seen that upholstery.

Right now, I'm mostly looking forward to incubating... just picking the daisies (and quite possibly my nose. hehe, j/k).

Spirited Away

2010-12-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

Few people know this, but last weekend I went to Oakland, California for a Painting from the Wild Heart Retreat. It was a little strange to board a plane without telling my family. But, this was something I needed to experience before explaining it.

My journey to the Wild Heart Retreat actually began two years ago in my own living room. At that time, I began hosting a monthly Spiritual Spa evening for the women in my life. Every month's Spa centered on a theme: creativity, generosity, cycles, love, etc. I asked each guest to bring food for a potluck and then something to share that related to the theme. Spa-goers brought everything from prayers, scripture and poems to show-and-tell items, family photo albums and handmade goods.

After the sharing and discussion portion, we'd then engage in a creative activity, also related to the month's theme. I started to notice some interesting things happened when our hands and minds were concentrated on the task of making something. First, calm and quiet would take over the room. Second, when someone did venture to speak, their comments seemed to come from a much deeper place than during the discussion.

This notion that creativity can link us to a deep, knowing place within intrigued me. It also seemed to have implications for community building, for bringing people to a more authentic place from which to interact. So, I started looking for other avenues to explore the link. I took writing classes, incorporated art journaling into my (still nascent) meditative practice at home and gave these pieces of my thought process to friends of mine who are self-discovery buffs.

My friend Delara turned me on to a blog called Life Unfolds (and to a few others that relate to creativity and personal growth). And the Life Unfolds blog eventually lead me to the Wild Heart Retreat. When I saw what the program was about, I said: That's it!

Entering the Wild Heart studio in Oakland confirmed my hunch about creativity's link to intuition. And all weekend long I found myself giddy as I saw it confirmed again and again. The retreat offered no less than eight hours for us to simply put paintbrush to paper and follow our intuitive promptings along the page. The images that came to the fore and the contemplation the practice encouraged brought resolution to the challenges many of us felt we were facing in lives. In our hearts, we discovered storehouses of love or strength or courage we didn't know were there.

Also, I found it true that authentic creativity has the power to forge community. Though we did more painting than talking, by the end of the weekend I felt like I not only knew, but also understood this group of women better. And to think, when we all started, I didn't even know their names!

Flying home forced me to resurface from the weekend more abruptly than I would have liked. Waking up on Monday morning and putting on my grubby painting clothes one more time, then walking in stride with travelers dressed for business felt so strange. But, I came home a softer, more tender person and with a passion to find my next step on this path.

And by golly, did you know there's a place I can keep experiencing intuitive creating right here at home? I found it on-line, The Open Studio Project in Evanston. So, as the new year comes 'round the bend, I plan to take that next step and see what they're all about, which surprisingly means just walking out my back door!

Fresh Air

2010-11-21T10:51:00.000-08:00

I spent last weekend in Flagstaff, Arizona, amid tall pines, fresh air and rosy-cheeked outdoorsy folk. Nestled just south of the city, we found a home where service to the common good is woven into the fabric of family life. Together, the family is building a green home, setting educational goals in their home-schooling experience and supporting each other in efforts to be contributive citizens.

On the page, this family's lifestyle might read like a hermit's manifesto. Prior to meeting them, I might have scoffed at some of these choices. I'm a life-long citydweller who thanks her lucky stars for the diversity she encountered in twelve years of public schooling. But, this family showed me that living outside of town and nearly off the grid, along with schooling at home are not mutually exclusive with community-building. In fact, one of the younger members of their household demonstrates just the opposite.

It's their seven year old daughter who drew us to Flagstaff in the first place. Two years ago she came to her parents with an idea. "I want to have a prayer party," she said. Her mother looked at her father and said "You know, we can't stop this idea." But, both parents agreed that calling the adults in their lives, who came from a wide spectrum of faith and no-faith backgrounds, and inviting them to pray together seemed risky. They didn't want to lose friends. So, they suggested their daughter make the calls.

She dialed up just about every little person she could think of: her playmates, her gymnastics class peers, kids she'd 'known' since she and her mom participated in a prenatal hiking group. To her parents' amazement, all but one family accepted the invitation. Since it was winter, she included a sledding component to the day. The one family who didn't want to be involved with prayers, did come for sledding.

Today, the prayer party is a monthly fixture in this family's life and in the lives of those around them. The format is completely driven by the children who attend. They say or sing the prayers that are in their hearts and then move on to eating snacks and running around the family's wooded lot. The prayer portion can last anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes, depending on the kids attention span and needs.

The young community-builder's goal? She says "to make sure no one is left out."

Dance Dance Party Party

2010-11-03T16:25:00.000-07:00

Sigh... best of intentions, I tell you. I've been meaning to get out and actually participate in community events ever since I started this blog. ONE DAY. ONE DAY I WILL.

But, for now, I'd like to point you to THIS. My co-worker and confidant, Jennifer Brandel, spends her Wednesday nights hosting ladies at Dance Dance Party Party. (Jenn, one of these days I'm coming.) According to the story there are three rules: no rules, no boys and no judging. (Did I hear that right?)

Anyway... here's a look at a community building effort in Chicago that appears to take no effort at all on the part of the participants. Unless of course you're gun shy about dancing in public, which I might just be.

Larry, the Builder

2010-10-25T14:58:00.000-07:00

This week, I had an experience that sent me on a side jaunt in my search for community. Rather than looking to others to provide me with one, I started to wonder, what role can I play in creating it for myself and for others? These gentle inner whisperings were prompted by the passing of a long-time member of my faith community, Larry Kramer.

When I hear the name Larry Kramer, one word comes to mind, as if it is the definitive one: humility. I once discovered through happenstance that Larry had known some of the most well-known Baha'is of the last century, like Dorothy Baker who traveled throughout the world to bring people of various backgrounds together in community. Not only had he known people, like Dorothy Baker, who have books written about them; he'd worked side by side with them in consultative settings. But, when I asked Larry about this he simply grinned, lowered his head towards his chest and laughed a little before confirming it. When his gaze returned to mine, I saw small tears had formed. He often wept when he told stories.

"I became a Baha'i at 18," he said, "and at age 22, I was appointed to this committee. I walked into the hotel room where the first meeting was to take place and there was Dorothy Baker, Sarah Pereira and Amelia Collins." All of these women were at least twice his age, if not older.

"I thought I was in the wrong room," he continued. "So, I said, 'excuse me' and started to back out through the door. Before I could leave, they called me back in and said 'No, this is where you belong.'"

He reported never once feeling as though these women, who each could have easily been his mother, thought he was just 21 or that he was just a new Baha'i. They interacted with him on equal footing, as peers. They didn't lower themselves to become 18. They simply spoke with him as adults.

Perhaps those women provided an example Larry carried with him for the rest of his life. Or perhaps his humility developed innately. In any case, e didn't advertise this experience or hold it up as evidence of any superior wisdom. He wore no insignia on the front of his shirt claiming success in this or that. Rather, if asked, he spoke about this experience and other achievements as though he felt grateful. And he spoke with me, who could have been his granddaughter, as though he could learn from me.

He also possessed a unique ability to interact as a peer with people of all ages without becoming younger himself. I remember the year I met Larry, I stood on the steps of the Baha'i Temple one evening after a community event, engrossed in a detailed conversation with another 20-something. Larry sauntered up to us. I said, "Hello Mr. Kramer." And he said, as though laying down a rule, "Larry." And from that point on, I bit my tongue every time I got the urge to use an honorific in reference to him.

As long as Larry could stand on his own two feet, I would ask him to greet guests as they came in to community events. One time, his fellow usher was an eleven year old girl. I handed them both half of the stack of programs for the evening and as I walked away, I heard Larry ask the girl "So, how would you like to divide up our task for this evening?"

After his passing, a friend of mine told me that she once got stuck in a traffic jam with Larry and he and the other women in the vehicle became engrossed in a discussion of the merits of Buffy and the Vampire Slayer. She says he knew the show well enough to talk about its finer points.

With humility as his calling card, Larry quietly offered friendship to many people. Many stories have surfaced since his passing, usually starting with the line "I used to drive Larry to events." He went to everything he could and according to one of his family members, he looked forward to chatting in the car as much as he looked forward to seeing "all the friends" at the event itself.

The telephone, it seems, provided Larry another venue to extend a friendly embrace. One woman twenty years his junior says they spoke by phone three to four times a week, sometimes in relation to a project they were working on and sometimes just to chat.

As well, a woman in her twenties, who is caring for three young children at home, says he called her before each Holy Day to ensure she knew about the occasion and where it would be celebrated. He'd then read prayers with her over the phone. "I'm going to miss those calls," she said on my Facebook page.

And I'm going to miss Larry. I wept a little at the graveside, a Larry kind of weeping, if I can be bold and say that. A mixture of gratitude and sadness welled up. Sadness that something has ended - that I won't get to see him anymore. But, gratitude that our lives overlapped long enough that I got to see examples of what it means to be a builder of community.

Spiritual Aunties, Uncles and Cousins

2010-10-15T12:40:00.000-07:00

Every so often, when I'm craving a sense of community, I'm reminded of the great one I was exposed to as a kid. Here and there, images will creep in from the scrapbook in my memory and I think "now, that's what I'm talking about."

For instance, just now, I was listening to my "Bette Davis Eyes" Pandora station and a song by Fleetwood Mac came on. Immediately I saw the face of one of the Baha'is in our community singing folk music into a microphone. When I pulled away from the close up of her in my mind I noted that the scene was one in a home, just an ordinary home, in the not-so-ordinary Summit Avenue area of St. Paul, Minnesota. (Summit is where the governor's mansion is, but this particular house was what one might consider an ordinary urban bungalow.)

There I am in the memory, sitting on a couch squeezed between my mom and one of my many spiritual aunts. And I'm watching a woman pour her talents into a microphone, while other quality musicians accompany her on various stringed instruments. That was just a normal Saturday night in my childhood.

There are other Saturday nights like that in my mental files too. Like the ones spent in the Carloni/Antilla household. They often had Christmas lights up around their windows, even when it wasn't holiday season. But, as the darkness of evening set in, the dim light gave extra charm to their apartment's dark wood window frames and hardwood floors well.

I usually fell asleep on that floor when I was there on Saturday nights. After a long social hour, my mom would pull up a pillow next to her on the floor, and I'd nod off while the adults dialogued. That's what they were called dialogues, opportunities for people from a variety of backgrounds to talk about... well, the stuff of life. I see Scott is still doing these types of activities, but now with much broader and more diverse groups of people in Minneapolis.

Finally, there's one more snapshot that appears in my mind when I think of that community that formed a context of warmth around my childhood. Perhaps, its more of an 8mm filmstrip that is conjured, since the people in the frame are moving.

In this scene, I'm in my late 20s and I'm trying to sneak into a community gathering without being noticed. Prayers have begun and I don't want to interrupt. But, I catch the eye of one of my spiritual aunties. A silent commotion ensues and suddenly the three-person couch she's sharing has room enough for a fourth. She's gesturing for me to sit down next to her and so I do. I'm welcomed by a comforting pat on my knee and smiles from all three women. Everyone else is continuing to pray, their eyes closed. It's been over a decade since I left this place, but I'm home and in many ways, nothing's changed. I still belong.

Tell me a story about safety and warmth from your childhood experience. Or, conversely, what do you do to let the kids in your life know that they are loved and that they belong?

I See You

2010-09-10T13:38:00.001-07:00

On Wednesday, I took my lunch hour with several other people who were all interested in discussing marriage and matehood, which is really a topic for another blog on another day.

But, one point made in the course of the conversation has stayed with me all week. That is, so many of us yearn to be seen, to be witnessed, to be acknowledged. Sort of like the quote below points out:

~ Acceptance. It is the true thing everyone longs for. The one thing everyone craves. To walk in a room and to be greeted by everyone with hugs and smiles. And in that small passing moment, you truly know you're loved, needed, and accepted. ~ Rena Harmon

It's like we all want to be Norm on Cheers.

This acquaintance suggested that, perhaps, one of the best services we can render to society is to be the one who sees others.

This morning while I rode the train, I noticed a young woman taking on this role, quite naturally. She was speaking with her sister and mother in a language I didn't recognize, clearly from Africa or the Caribbean. Suddenly, she leaned into the American woman sitting next to her mother, a stranger in her 60s, and said, "I like your hair." (By the way, I liked her hair too. It was gray and short and just, plain pretty.) The woman was visibly flattered and though she didn't join in the conversation after that (I'm sure language had something to do with it), she did bid the ladies adieu with "Have a great weekend, ladies!"

It was a simple moment, but one that I always love seeing, when that invisible wall between strangers is crossed - respectfully and graciously.

What do you think?

(photo credit: By Eneas De Troya.)

Community, Cornfields, Consciousness

2010-09-01T15:35:00.000-07:00

Please note: this post has a discussion question at the end. You're invited to use the comments section to join in.

I spoke with my friend, Jessica Gaines, last Tuesday. She was sitting in the middle of a hayfield in southwest Wisconsin at the time. Jessica’s seeing a lot of green and gold these days. She’s given up the urban life to work on organic farms around the country, along with her mother.

“My mother,” she told me, “is the third generation of women in my family to retire and live full-time as a nomad in an RV.”

Jessica, on the other hand, is getting a jumpstart on that retirement tradition and joining her mom’s travels while she’s still young. “I couldn’t not do it,” she explains. The open road didn’t just call Jessica, it screamed out to her and her inner voice joined in the chorus. So, off she went.

I noticed in some of Jessica’s recent Facebook statuses she seemed to be appealing to the ether to help her find community. It sounded to me like we were looking for the same sensation, but in vastly different environments. So, I decided to ask her to contribute to my blog on a regular basis. We settled on periodic phone interviews to update me (and you) on what she’s finding in her journey.

But, it turns out, our first conversation went beyond the confines of place. It ended up not being a look at whether community is more easily built amidst cornfields or concrete. It became, rather, a dialogue on the symbiotic relationship between the individual and her community; how one can affect the development of the other. And, the spiritual link to the evolution of both.

Boy, this is one of my favorite topics! (Favoritest, actually!)

One thing to know about Jessica: she has an amazing voice. When she sings people feel connected to their souls and to their truth. Jessica carries those same qualities into spoken conversation, along with candor, clarity and careful word choice.

Jessica shared with me a story about the development of this voice – or rather how she discovered she even had it. The year she turned 14, she went on a road trip with a group of teens from Rockford, IL who were all members of the Baha’i Faith. They traveled to the Martin Luther King Day parade in Atlanta. The obligatory road trip sing-along started on their way home, as they listened to a gospel music CD. When Jessica joined in, someone yelled, “Stop, everyone, stop!” The car grew silent. That person turned to Jessica and said, “Jessica, you are a really good singer!”

Before that moment, she didn’t even know she could sing. “No one had heard me before, so I had no mirror.”

“I got bucketloads of encouragement,” she remembers. Later that year, Jessica stood in front of an audience of several hundred people, of all ages, and sang on stage for the first time. The auditorium filled with applause for her and Jessica was off on her next journey, that journey of discovering and enjoying her own voice.

She began singing more and more and today feels herself wilting if she is not surrounded by music. In fact, when she’s not tending to the fields of the organic farms she’s visiting, she’s taking side jaunts to Baha’i communities in the Midwest to help groups of people discover the joys of singing words of Sacred Texts together.

Jessica says, if it hadn’t been for the community she enjoyed as a teenager, “I wouldn’t have known that part of myself which is a salvation to myself and a service to the world.”

Community and the Inidividual

So, for Jessica, community a group of people empowering and encouraging one another. It's about enabling the individual to understand her uniqueness and her talents and then allow space for her to use them in service to the common good.

How can an individual play a role in building community? “By doing that very thing,” Jessica says. “Find your path of service and do it. In doing that they are creating the space for other people to do it.”

But, the individual’s role doesn’t stop there. We discussed how a person's development can’t be dependent on the reaction of other people. Sometimes parents, family members and friends point out our faults more often than they see our strengths.

We noted that we all possess an internal reservoir of tools to improve our view of our own selves. For Jessica, these consist of daily spiritual practices like prayer, meditation, reading from scripture and providing service to others.

She cites two quotes from the Baha’i Writings as playing prominently in her life right now. The first:

“O SON OF BEING! With the hands of power I made thee and with the fingers of strength I created thee; and within thee have I placed the essence of My light. Be thou content with it and seek naught else, for My work is perfect and My command is binding. Question it not, nor have a doubt thereof. “ (Baha'u'llah, The Arabic Hidden Words, #12)

The second is along the same lines:

“O SON OF BEING! Thou art My lamp and My light is in thee. Get thou from it thy radiance and seek none other than Me. For I have created thee rich and have bountifully shed My favor upon thee.” (Baha'u'llah, The Arabic Hidden Words, #11)

“They help me remember, “Jessica relates, “my happiness, my joy, my radiance is already within me. Its from that place that I must access it; I can’t access it in an other way. My consciousness must be within myself.”

I’m not too surprised that our conversation took that turn. Jessica and I share a common spiritual perspective, which is that of the Baha’i Faith. And I’m sure we’ve been inspired by the same documents lately. For me, a turning point in my understanding of community came from reading the Baha’i International Community’s document on Rethinking Consumerism, which that agency a contributed to the 18th session of the United Nations Commission on Sustainable Development.

But, religion aside, I know there are people of all backgrounds on the hunt for community all over the city and region. Some are building it. Others are partaking in it. Still others are craving it. The search continues for me. I’ll keep exploring the nooks and crannies of Chicago to see what I find. And we’ll tune in periodically to Jesscia’s adventures as well.

‘Til next time: Tell us a story about a time when someone pointed out a gift or talent you didn’t know you had.

Fantastic Article

2010-08-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

Last week, I spoke with my friend Jessica Gaines, who has given up the conventional "hang out in one place" lifestyle to spend time on organic farms across the United States. I thought she could add a little country mouse perspective to this city mouse's blog. (By the way, not a fan of real city mice or their menacing cousins, city rats.)

But, first, before I post that story, I thought I'd get you in the farming mood. From Farm to Food Desert, published in last week's Chicago Reader, highlights the connection between Chicago and black-owned farms in Kankakee County. I never thought I'd be interested in a downstate community that appears to be down on its luck. But, the more I learn about it, the more fascinated I become, especially with its racial diversity.

My own experience with midwestern farm communities is limited to ones originally settled by my Scandinavian ancestors. So, driving into Kankakee for the first time about a year ago and seeing a wide spectrum of complexions was not what I expected for me, though the town itself reminded me of those I'd grown up visiting. From Farm to Food Desert gives a little insight into how Kankakee County came to be home to African American farmers. Its a history I want to delve into more deeply, for sure.

One is Silver and the Other is Gold

2010-08-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

On a whim, I picked up Jeffrey Zaslow's The Girls from Ames during my vacation last week. I thought I'd read it in the car on the 14 hour ride home. But, as mentioned in my previous post, a ride with three kids didn't leave much time for quiet activities.

However, I just took a lap through the introduction today at lunch and, of course, it lead me to think about an element of community building: friendship.

His interest in female friendship began when, he wrote an article for The Wall Street Journal about women who had carried on friendships for decades, anywhere from thirty to eighty years.
The women Zaslow interviewed for this article "believed their friendships thrived because they had raised some expectations and lowered others. They had come to expect loyalty and good wishes from each other, but not constant attention."

He also learned:

- sociological data demonstrates that women who nurture decades-long friendships also excel in their marriages
- that same data shows that the health and happiness quotient also goes up form women with life-long gal pals
- if women continue their friendships toa ge forty, it's probable they'll be lifelong friends.

So, tell me, how do you nurture your friendships?

A Little Community on Wheels

2010-08-16T07:36:00.000-07:00

Sorry that I left my newborn blog unattended for a week; I was busy blending families.

My boyfriend and I took a fourteen hour road trip with his three girls to introduce them to my parents for the first time. And then our families spent several days sightseeing and relaxing together.

It occurred to me that the process of bringing together two families bears a striking resemblance to community building - on a more micro level, of course. There are at least two different cultures at play - one for each family. And, in our case, perhaps three different cultures, considering that as a single woman in my 30s, I've developed my own way of doing things too.

In a multi-generational family and in communities, there's also a need to cultivate understanding and consensus without compromising anyone's sense of individuality. And no one wants to crush the budding personalities of the youngest members of the group. But at the same time, helping them carve out space for respect for others seems important.

The best illustration of community building I observed this week was at meal time. As we ate, we would discuss how we wanted to spend the rest of our day together. My boyfriend moderated these sessions by offering two or three choices for activities, and asking what each person wanted to do and why. It was pretty awesome to see a 14 year old and 10 year old peacefully reach an agreement on whether to play bingo or watch a movie, each stating her preference but also taking into consideration the other person's motivation.

Building community among a family of five during a fourteen hour car ride is a different story. But, I will say, laughter certainly helps.

First Pages, First Steps

2010-08-07T22:11:00.000-07:00

I walked into the classroom for my most recent stint at StoryStudio Chicago and found it filled with other ladies. Were there 20 of us? 18 of us? Something like that.

There were doctors, homeopaths, destination wedding photographers, financiers, filmmakers, bartenders and bloggers in the crowd. All friendly. All ready for a fresh experience.

The class, I'll admit, was too short with just eight sessions given us to learn the art of magazine writing. During that time, we wrote profiles of one another, reviewed a restaurant and laughed a lot. But, it was a great start for forming community, meeting with other would-be wordsmiths interested in putting their observations on to the page.

This was the third time I'd taken a class at StoryStudio and each of those experiences was unique. The first focused on crafting Spiritual Essays. What a nice internal trip that allowed! In the second class I took, we dove into the world of Memoir. And again, it allowed for nice introspection.

In addition to classes, StoryStudio offers all-day Write-a-thons, local retreats, one-night classes and open studio space for any member.

I'd say, sign up for a class, you will meet a wide spectrum of Chicagoans and learn a little more about yourself in the process.

Oh - and men can attend classes there too! The entirely female composition of the magazine class was not typical.

Communio

2010-08-06T21:35:00.000-07:00

I've got a question for you. Where, on earth, do you feel like you just "get" what's going on? Or, perhaps, a more precise question, where on earth do you feel a sense of shared heritage or tradition or culture with others?

I just lifted the following definition of community from Wikipedia: 'The term Communion is derived from Latin communio (sharing in common).' I'm sure this refers to the Sacraments shared in the Christian church. But, it also describes what I felt tonight at the Washington County Fair in Lake Elmo, Minnesota.

The feeling of shared experience arose twice tonight. Exhibit 'A' to the right demonstrates the first time.

Where else, on earth, would you find a sign like that? And I kind of think you have to be Minnesotan - to share the experience of being from this state - to even get what it means.I use the word uff-da when I sit down and discover my lower back hurts. I also use it when I lift something heavy. Wikipedia says it generally means 'I am overwhelmed.'

Now, I didn't try the Uff-da tacos. But, my guess is they weren't particularly spicy. This is rural Minnesota, after all. Instead the sign is likely conveying that they are overwhelmingly good.

The second time I felt a sense of community was when I saw salt-of-the-earth women and men singing along to Under the Boardwalk. When I say salt-of-the-earth, I picture one woman in particular. 50something, with straight hair, wearing no make-up and a lackluster t-shirt. She didn't smile, at all, as she sang. But, serenity shown on her face as she, and the fella in plaid sitting next to her, sang along with that Scandinavian stoicism that's so common here. Something about her total lack of pretension chocked me up a little.

Oh - right, I was talking about community. The word community came to mind because as I watched her lip sync, the tent filled with lots of other voices singing along.

To both the taco stand and the sing-a-long, I can say "I get this" and that gives me a sense of belonging.

The Outset

2010-07-30T14:35:00.000-07:00

I've lived in Chicago since 1996. For a long time, I loved the city simply for the attractions and amusements it provided. On a random Tuesday night, for instance, I'd find myself sitting in the Pritzker Pavillion, watching the Alvin Ailey Dance Company perform for free, with world-class architecture as the backdrop. I'd feel so lucky to be here.

And then there would be entertainment of the homegrown variety, like the time I saw thirty cars back up in the shoulder of Lake Shore Drive without hitting each other. Chicago is a place where I routinely saw things I'd never seen before.

But, these days, I'm longing for something a little more. I'm longing for human connection. I'm looking for deeper bonds. I'm looking for community. Real community.

I know it's out there in pockets and alcoves and maybe even in plain sight. This blog is dedicated to that search - the search for community.