A Thousand Fibers

Mike Ditka the dog and Clint are enjoying the Paseo, when suddenly they realize that they are supposed to be somewhere else.

What a whirlwind the past couple months have been! Honestly, as I look forward, the whirlwind is ahead too. Over the past couple months I have attended an NBA Championship parade, visited several cities and towns along Route 66, sat in a hospital waiting to see a friend, moved my son 800 miles north to go to college, and attended a fair mix of meetings both virtually and in-person.

The ribbon that connects all of these events is community. During the big parade and the days leading up to it, all of OKC seemed to be sharing a very positive vibe. As I visited several cities along Route 66 taking photos and talking with people, each place seemed to have its own unique flair. When I sat at the hospital, those of us in a room waiting all found camaraderie despite our differences. As I left my son’s new home for the next couple of years, I saw that he was finding his way into a new community. Though I know I was experiencing some sadness out of my own selfishness, I could not deny that he likely found what he needed in this stage of his life. In the mix of meetings, there is community when we work toward a common goal.

For several reasons, the concept of community has been on my mind today.

Last night Mike Ditka the dog and I were in the Paseo Arts Districts visiting a couple shops for help on a project. We were having such a good time talking with folks that we lost track of time. We raced home to attend a Neighbors Night Out event. After the barbecue, ice cream and festivities, we walked. As we made our way through the streets, we discussed something from the meeting that felt perfectly normal and human, but to Mike, it seemed so alien. Everyone introduced themselves with their names and where they lived. As we walked, we looked at the trees, the homes, yards, and cars.  We both had the realization that we would recognize if something was amiss about a home before he would know if something was wrong with the humans who occupied it. This is probably a very common part of the human experience, but the more I think about it I wonder if it should be.

No matter the roles we play, whether we are a museum curator, a bookshop owner, a doctor, an informal educator, or theatre director, there is likely one concept that we discuss frequently—community.

When we imagine community- are we imagining a series of homes and shops—or—are we imagining the people that fill those homes and shops? 

I am imagining the people and believe many of us do.

It can be easy to think that we “create” community by “inviting” people in. I know I have made this mistake.

Community is much bigger than any action we can take. Community is older and younger than we are. Community has been around longer than we have and will be here longer than we are. Community grows, shrinks, overlaps, and divides. Community changes constantly.

We can open our doors to every community, but we also must be willing to enter doors too. Community is two lane highways, secret passages through alley ways, well-worn walkways through the woods, and sidewalk routes that we can navigate with our eyes closed. Community is exchanges and dialogue, as much as it is a set of shared ideals or beliefs.

The physical structures we associate with a community change. In the neighborhoods we walk, restaurants come and go, shops are built and destroyed, salad bars become woodshops, medical supply stores become event rental spaces, and gas stations turn into other gas stations. The appearance and occupants of these neighborhoods change, yet the identity of the neighborhoods remain.

Maybe using the analog of a neighborhood is too simplistic. A neighborhood includes people who were there when the neighborhood was young, as well as people who have just moved in. Neighborhoods are filled with people who loudly let their opinions be known, and just as many who have complex perspectives but choose to be quiet for the most part. The neighborhood also includes folks who were once very outspoken but now seldom speak. In the neighborhood are people who have yet to find their voice. Some folks in the neighborhood have had negative experiences and put in place guards to protect themselves as well as others. The neighborhood is home to multiple ideas and perspectives, though from the outside these nuances are seldom noticed. For this reason, I used the neighborhood as an analog for community.

Whether we are offering a weekend program, designing an exhibit, or opening an art show, it is arrogant to think that we can simply invite a community in. We can enrich our lives by becoming familiar with the community, and we can make our efforts better by showing community members they are welcome. To do this isn’t writing the correct words or placing advertisements in the right places. Community is one of the most rewarding parts of being. If we want to embrace community, we must be willing to go places, meet people, and sometimes sit patiently through long meetings.

As Mike Ditka the dog and I walked home last night, we saw firefighters talking to elder neighbors, young children chasing each other around trees, and corporate professionals leaning on a pickup and eating ice cream. I thought about a moment earlier in the day at the bookshop. A young couple was paying the bookseller as they deliberated whether they would dine at the cafe across the street or cook at home. Small moments like these are ways of acknowledging that we feel welcome and included. Sometimes they come quickly. Sometimes they don’t, but often they are worth the effort.

Community is constantly being formed, and it is not happening by grand initiatives. It is happening by intentional efforts to make people feel seen, welcome, and appreciated.


TL; DR
"We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men." – Herman Melville