I am the youngest of three daughters--closer in age and life experiences to my sisters than my parents, but closer to my parents (until recently) in proximity. these days I wonder if that position in the sociology of my family has contributed to my inclination to want to meet many people and know how they tick.
among my sets of older friends I play the role of "little sister." this is not contrived--it is more natural than anything, but though it comes easily I can still recognize its advantages: there is less pressure to know, behave, and understand things on the level of my friends in their mid to late 20's and 30's (or beyond!) but I still may be included in hangouts and happenings on a level with which everyone is pretty comfortable. it's fine--it's great, really. I have my friends of similar ages and experiences to me and we can mouth off, call the shots, assert ourselves, and generally enjoy the safety of sharing the same latitude in life. we may as well enjoy these years of hypotheticism (which is evidently not a word, but I'm going with it) while we can. it won't last forever, at least not to such a grand scale as we currently enjoy, but is is our necessary prerogative to explore haphazard ideas of how the world may be and should be before having to reckon with how it actually appears to be.
one of the cool things about having older friends is that I can toggle between doing silly things with youngsters (or older friends who act like youngsters) and then engage in reflective dialogue with my dear buddies who have gone through the motions and grown out of them. today I spent some time fishing with my best friend. he asked me if I could see why he doesn't care for going out to crowded bars and running around town. absolutely, I said--I always could, but there's plenty to be said for a little healthy dabbling in the common habits of city culture. yet already I have grown weary of the anxiety of being alone in a crowded room, or trying to hold conversations in the places least conducive to conversing, in conditions best suited to alternative forms of relating to people that are quite far from being healthy or beneficial.
it seems like growing up (more importantly, just plain growing) is finding that proper mix of the experiential and the reflective. but I suspect many lack any navigating principles to guide the proportions. as unsure as I am about matters of my own faith and convictions, I am thankful for the sensibilities that have been instilled in me. my mother emphasized communication and consideration to what I realize all the time was an exceptional degree. my time alone as a homeschooled kid in the country prompted me to fill my time with art, craft, and curious inquiries into animal husbandry, history, science. my early best friends made being friends with the opposite sex no big deal--normal, easy, interesting. and my first regular job opened to me the ever-burgeoning world of agroecology--not to mention the practical value of principles like hard work and attentiveness. sometimes I feel as though I have been a passive participant in my own life and that someone is tending me by introducing joys, challenges and new material at exactly the right times.
sensibilities are not enough, however. for as long as I can remember I have been a little hard on myself by actively questioning my own motivations for my actions or interests. that doesn't mean I always find the answers, or that I do a good job of making adjustments when self-objectivity would seem to doing so. but none the less, I feel I am at least somewhat attuned to changes in my thought patterns, goals or understated intentions. it is disturbing, then, to notice my preoccupations shift from more selfless pursuits to selfish ones.
when I make any effort to trace these shifts to their sources I find that they have much to do with the people I'm spending my time with. no surprise there--so long as my norms are dictated by my society, the closest semblance to living a principled life will be to skim the surface of sensibility or mildly entertained interest, never truly committing to one when things get difficult. I'm at risk of becoming a delightfully likable but ultimately boring and ineffectual person by seeking to toe the line in an effort to be relevant, inclusive... and included. can one be a distinctly principled person, whose "action from principle, the perception and performance of right" makes for good change in the world without compromising my various dear associations and friendships?
perhaps it comes down to the mixture. not surprisingly, I'm reading lots of Wendell Berry these days and he draws a distinction between a community and a public. as it stands, I am (for better or worse) enjoying living in a public where I am comparatively independent from others and need not shoulder the yoke of others' dependencies on me, save for a handful of dear friendships whose requisite needs are welcome and reciprocal. it's a far cry from the communal ideal. but it has its advantages, provided I recognize it as a season in life to be actively encountered and observed but not expected forever. the most significant advantage is that while I function as an individual in an amorphous public I may make community happen on a smaller and deliberate level. still on my terms, and hence still not fundamentally communal, I may currently pick my society and retreat from them when I've had my fill.
yes, it's consumptive and no, it is not ideal. but it is beneficial for the time being--at least for me, considering it as food for thought. the trick will be remembering that even in the smallest pseudo-communities I can be thoughtful and reflective while still offering myself sacrificially to the other(s) involved. a table of fancy friends outside of a bar downtown is not community--it's portion of the public whom I happen to know to some extent. but I may yet offer what can be found within committed community: sincere interest in the welfare of the other, and an honest extension of aid should I be in possession of any aid to offer. jokes, laughs. the boldness to offer a private observation and the patience and warmth to receive the timid confessions of others' observations. commiseration over bad weather, car trouble, busywork or lack of work.
love, so it seems, always finds a way to make room for itself. ah--love, that's a principle. that's a start.
