church, Prospect Park, July 18, 2007.
I’ve been a little down recently, but not about any one specific thing. My relationship with what’s-his-face fell apart rather spectacularly; the cracks are really beginning to show at work; my living situation is about twelve different kinds of ridiculous. On top of that my computer is on its last legs, and don’t even ask about my financial situation.
Still, none of these annoyances is the source of my general malaise. As if a new apartment would erase my worries, would allay my fears. None of those symptoms are new or unsolvable. Most just require a little effort on my part to overcome.
The source of my stagnation is something bigger, more amorphous, and much more difficult to solve. You see, dear Reader, even with the above problems I know that where I am in my life right now is fine for the moment. Expected even; paying your dues and all that. But I also know that if I don’t have a higher purpose, if I don’t start deliberately making my personal, financial, and career choices with a specific goal in mind, I’ll wake up in ten years in the exact same place. And while I can tell myself that outcome is unacceptable, I don’t know how to stop the inertia with which I will keep drifting there.
It seems like it would be simple enough, then, to just pick a goal and work toward it. To imagine who I want to be, and then make choices as if I already was that future woman.
However, what I really want has little to do any of these priorities. Making oodles of money has never held much interest for me. I have never felt the call of a specific geographic location when I think of home. I don’t define myself by my job. Design, writing, books—these are things I do; they are not who I am.
What I do want is to be part of a community of like-minded individuals. And when I say this, I do not mean in some abstract, cosmic sense. I do not mean in some kind of electronic social networking way. And I don’t even mean that I want to live in the same city as a few people who I get to see now and again when our other priorities have taken a back seat to our social lives.
I mean that I want to gather my friends, all of the people I care about and respect, and live together. Create a sort of artists’ collective. This is what I dream about. A building filled with the people I love. Gallery space on the ground floor, where we can display and sell our creations, maybe host the occasional show or event. Common space on the second floor—a well-stocked kitchen with a huge table for family dining; a library with built-in bookshelves, comfy chairs, and those lamps with the green shades. A garden on the roof. Maybe studio/darkroom/editing type space in the basement.
And, in living together, we’d better facilitate those deliberate interactions and accidental moments out of which I want to build my life. Long dinners with delicious homemade food and unending bottles of red wine. Collaborative artistic endeavors. Impromptu creative writing workshops. Spontaneous midnight cookies. A home to return to after a trying day, where you know you’ll find a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear. A supportive environment in which to dive into a new creative project, where you don’t have to explain either the joy or anxiety of creating something from nothing. Not having to be alone. A community where every day is Thanksgiving.
It doesn’t matter where this building is, but it is important that it is an actual, physical place. I want this to be an expansive and inclusive redefinition of what makes a family.
I’ve had a few moments recently where this vision of community was laid in front of me, and has forced me to realized that I have never wanted anything more. The most powerful moment was a few weeks ago when I went to see Ani in Prospect Park with a few friends. I’ll be the first to admit that my appreciation for Ani has waxed and waned over the years as we’ve both grown and changed, but I have always loved seeing her live.
The best moment of this recent show, however, was a little ways into Ani’s set, when she started playing an as-yet-unreleased song. Tatiana leaned over and repeated an observation that she made earlier in the evening—with the same smile of clarity on her face—that for her, going to see Ani is like going to church. And she gestured with her arms to encompass the whole venue: the way the early evening haze was caught in the stage lights, the warm blanket of sound coming from Ms. DiFranco herself, and the ocean of people surrounding us, everyone just looking for a moment of peace in a group of strangers who just understand each other on a level most other people won’t even begin to fathom. A group of strangers where you can just relax, just breathe for a moment, take a break from having to be so hard and on your guard all of the time.
Then Ani had the outward facing lights illuminated, revealing the crown to her so we could say hello. Could look around and see how—even at a stupid concert—the total is more than the sum of its parts. That we are more than a bunch of individuals standing in our separate worlds.
And I had a fantastic vision of a community, my community. Of a group of people who make this collective entity, this new family, a priority for their lives. Who want to give something of themselves in the name of building a small world to inhabit together. Feeling this welcome every fucking day. An army of love, trained not in the arts of destruction, but of creation. Everyone can come, everyone is forgiven, even me.
After all of this, this glorious vision of where I want to be, it is clear to me why taking the first step out of my current hole is impossible. It is not simply a matter of making a decision, setting a goal, and working toward it. By definition, this is not a solitary dream. This is not something I can do on my own, nor is it something I can demand from others.
I’ve mentioned my dream of collective living to a few people, and the response has been generally positive. “That sounds great,” each invariably replies. However, I don’t have a lot of faith in anyone joining in my scheme were I to seriously pursue it. There is a lot to gain from communal living, but I have no illusions about the sacrifices that are also required. Sharing space with other people requires that, to a certain extent, you are not the most important person in your life anymore. What is most convenient or ideal for you may or may not be the best choice for the group; it’s the tragedy of the commons all over again.
And it’s not that I don’t think my friends are clever enough to understand that concept, and they are certainly smart enough to recognize the benefits that come from prioritizing the group instead of the individual. It’s just that I am fully aware how much social pressure there is in the other direction. Living with roommates for financial reasons—understandable, at least at this point in our lives. Living with other people simply because we like being around other people? Preposterous, particularly once everyone starts pairing off and getting married. It is perfectly acceptable—encouraged, even—to make sacrifices for your significant other, or for your career. To put those things first when planning for your own future. But to put the goal of building a community at the top of the list? It takes enough out of a person just to grasp at these accepted goals; how could one demand that you make up entirely new ones? And for it to be worth the effort to maintain that priority, to build a home out of glue and string, blankets and furniture, you’d have to guarantee that everyone else would also put in the same effort. But as people begin starting families, going to grad school, and moving up in their careers, I don’t see my silly dream of a community remaining at the top of anyone’s list. Nor do I fault them. It is just not a demand that I can make.
But this leaves me with a community of one, and it’s a little lonely. Beyond that, however, it just makes it difficult to plan for my future when the very action is a subversion of my own dreams. You can’t force a community, but I also can’t remain stagnant much longer. I’ll have to start moving in another direction. Some people may think that we’re too young to settle. But that’s foolish. Life is just a series of compromises, settling for one thing after another. I guess today I am settling for myself.
