Community, Intentional or Not.

So, I haven't written much in a long time. I've been busy doing a lot of other stuff, mostly nothing, but nothing usually keeps me pretty busy. I did some other stuff too, like dated a guy for a minute and went to work on time a few days here and there and, oh- I ran a 10K. That was pretty legit. So, you see, I've been busy.

Mostly I just haven't been in the mood to write. I'm a fickle blogger. A ficklogger. A flogger. A blockle. Whatever.

But today I want to write some thoughts on community. I'm a fan of community. In fact, after I finish writing this I'm gonna go officially become a fan of community on facebook. I grew up in a strong, loving, motley crew-funky bunch, church community as a child. These people loved me and the loved each other and they were messy and weird and broken and wacky and brilliant and talented and odd and creative and committed to each other and to the thing that brought them together that was the church. They came to my homecoming coronation and to my school plays. I went to their children's piano recitals. We went to pool parties and church retreats and potluck dinners and weddings and Fourth of July fireworks together. In the days before cell phones, they were who I called when my mom was not at home and I was in the school nurse's office with a 103 fever. These people were family. Old home movies prove it.

I felt like I mattered to these people. And I felt useful. Being one of two teenagers in the church, I was the valued child care staff/nursery worker. I knew I had a role. I also felt like the things of my life were important to them, like when they announced in the service that I had been elected Junior class president. They knew who my boyfriend was and when I got a new dress and when I decided to change my hairstyle. They noticed me.

Years of social work have formed in me the opinion that we are all literally dying of lonliness. We live in these separate existences, in these separate homes, in these separate lives, not connected, not knowing our neighbors, not wanting to be seen or heard or known or touched by those around us. We go from work in our cubicles to home in our apartments, careful to not raise the volume too loud on our TV's lest we become aware of the other that lives a drywall sheet away from us. We wear our ear buds and avoid eye contact and mumble polite hello's to our coworkers in the kitchen as we heat up our leftovers. And we wonder why the hell we are all so fucking depressed.

I started investigating this idea of living such independent, isolated lives and realized that this is a strictly American, late-20th century lifestlye. Up until the last few generations, everyone lived in community. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, random friends and loved ones all lived in the home together. Before this, whole tribes lived in community and everyone was valuable and had a role. If you ran fast, you became a hunter. If you liked babies, you took care of babies. If you had a knack for cooking or growing stuff or figuring out what herbs cured things you became the cook or the gardener or the witchdoctor for the tribe. Births were celebrated because it meant another valuable hunter or warrior or gardener. From the moment you were born you brought distinct value to the tribe.

A great deal of the depression and anxiety that I see as a therapist comes from feeling separate or unsupported or alone or unloved. We don't feel connected. We don't feel like we matter. We don't know how to experience intimacy with ourselves or with others. Some of the kids I work with have no other conversations with an adult all week long until they come to see me. Their parents are busy working 2 jobs each to support the lifestyle that they live or are too depressed and undersupported themselves to be present with their children.

I started looking into what is now called Intentional Community several years ago. Turns out there are other people who siing the praises of community like I do and have banded together to form their own communes. Some are religious and some are not. Some are formed around the ideals of sustainable and organic living, some are not. Some live in communal homes while others live in seperate homes and share communal yards and pools and playgrounds. My friends caught wind of my commune intentions and said I should start my own, which we would call The Radish Commune where we would all grow our own vegetables and grow our armpit hair and take showers once a month.

The Radish Commune never came to fruition, so I moved home a year ago because I could not live alone. I was working two jobs to support my family and I had become a stressed out, maniacal woman. I was angry and sleep deprived and so stressed out that I could not enjoy the 900$ 2-bedroom apartment I was living in that was what my second job was paying for. I was hating my life, hating my son, hating my job, hating my neighbors, hating myself, hating the "rat race" that I had chosen but felt victim to. In a moment of clarity, I quit my second job and moved home so that I could live and breathe again.

Now, I will not lie and tell you that I love everything about living with my parents. There are obvious drawbacks, some of which have made me wonder how I can somehow earn an extra grand a month so I can get the fuck out of here. In fact, I spent the better part of the last year dying to move out again. However, I think I may have unintentionally created the commune that I was looking for. This community of me, my son, my mother and my father is a lumpy bumpy crew. We don't like eachother a lot of the time. In fact, we really drive each other all crazy. Jack writes on my mom's walls. My dad is just socially awkward. My mom listens to the TV so loud that I can hear it down by the pool. And I am the messiest person in the world and leave my shit everywhere.

But.

Jack has three playmates instead of one. I have dinner cooked for me every night. Mom has her own personal kitchen cleaner upper. Dad has someone to play baseball with in the backyard. Jack has two other laps to snuggle into when his mommy is mad at him. My mom has someone to vent to about her annoying coworker. Dad has a buddy to keep him company at the lawnmower every Saturday morning. I have built in babysitters for almost any night of the week. Jack and I also get a HUGE house with a HUGE yard with a pool and a sandbox and a big driveway for bikes and a swingset and a garden and treefort. Jack can actually go outside and play, whereas most kids I know have no outside and so they stay inside and play videogames all day. Why would I trade this for an apartment with a yard that can barely fit a platic kiddy pool? Because my mom fusses at me for not getting enough sleep? Because my dad makes bacon every morning that smells up the whole house? Because I can't have boys over? Because it FORCES us to be in relationship and to work through shit that we haven't had to work through sinceI moved out at 17?

Well, yeah. That's a big one. But that's the stuff of community. We are forced to deal with one another. We are forced to live with eachother, even though it's uncomfortable. But there's comfort in that. They know I'm annoying. They know I'm messy. They know I have a certain set of values that are vastly different than theirs. This has created conflict - which we've had to WORK THROUGH. And it's been ugly and uncomfortable and has made me want to move away from it all on more than one occasion. But somehow I find it comforting. It's the real life stuff of unconditional love.

Tonight my friends all came over and cooked burgers that we topped with bacon and guacamole and grilled onions and cheese. My dad played with the kids while my mom and my girlfriends made the food. I (of course) was mixing margaritas. The dads sat chatting and rocking babies. I realized that The Radish Commune had come to life, here, at my childhood home except that it's more like The Guacamole Bacon Cheeseburger Commune, which I would much rather be a member of anyways.

It's not cool to tell people I live with my parents. But it works for me. It allows me to breathe and slow down and actually enjoy my community. It allows me to feel supported and held and contained. It allows me to give my son a yard and a open sky and a tree fort and solitude that comes from being able to get space away from his mom if he wants it. Is it easy? No. Does it make me miss solitude and personal space like CRAZY? Yes. Does it force me to stretch into giving and receiving unconditional love like I never thought I was capable of? Yes. Does it make me have to grow up and be an adult around my parents? You bet. Was it awkward when my parents came home when they were supposed to be away and found my having sex on the living room floor? Umm... yeah. Would I want any of this to be different? Not right now.