Jake and I had been talking when he said something that made my brain go “OH!” and basically re-wired years of misguided searching. What he said to me was, “I think you are confusing community with suburbia. You grew up in a suburb, but you had a community… most of the time suburbia is not synonymous with community.”
Now that may seem obvious to you readers, but for me it was an eye opening moment. For years I have waxed poetic about how and where I grew up, equating the two in my mind and constantly yearning to find that again as an adult, in a new place. We actually currently live in a suburb (though a weird one because it acts like a seceded city from a larger nearby one. It also gets terrible amounts of run-off traffic that only a coastal town abutted by a huge city can get).
When Jake said that to me it hit me that that was what is missing from here versus where I grew up. I lived in the same place from ages 11-23ish and got to re-invent my life in my community over and over again. I had friends in the area sure, but even after many of them came and went I had their parents, my neighbors, new co-workers with whom often shared people in common who we knew, random encounters with townsfolk, etc. The life felt interwoven and connected despite me spreading my wings in multiple literal towns.
So while I was taking a bath today I was thinking about my community and what it takes to have one and why I don’t have one here. Some of it is definitely a product of time. I have only lived in this town for 10 months now, most of which I was pregnant for or had just given birth, and for all of it I was sleep deprived and battling topical steroid withdrawal. So yes, I haven’t been spreading my roots as aggressively as I could have. I started out strong: when I moved here, I baked cookies and delivered them to neighbors’ houses with hand-sketched phoenixes as a weird get-to-know-you thing; and then I also made it a point to meet all the librarians during multiple library visits, and also explored the farmers market on occasion. But then between my physical condition and my pre-to-post baby phase, I grew tired.
That and was hard to establish a deep connection when one is in different stages of life. Our neighbors are mostly all parents with kids who are between 9-19 years old, and the parents themselves are probably all in their 40s (I’m guessing). Many of the parents include one of the couple who is a state native, and if not born-and-bred in this town, they were probably born in one within a 15 mile radius, and thus lots of them have family around. Many of them are working, or randomly gone a lot of the time so it’s always a chance encounter when I do see them.
It’s also just a different type of town than what I grew up in. This is car community. I’ve tried to make it walkable to the extent that I love, but the sidewalks end randomly and the roads are hilly and windy, and people tend to speed aggressively. It was fine when it was just me on foot, but with Fiona in her stroller I just don’t feel as comfortable.
But how does this relate to a spider web? And why am I thinking about spiders when I have such a phobia of them? Well, I’ve been reading a lot of southern-set books lately (first ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’ by John Berendt and most recently ‘The Prince of Tides’ by Pat Convoy), and the one thing they have in common is a deep-seeded love for their environment. They talk about the flora and the fauna and the smells and the colors as an important part of the experience around the stories they weave.
In The Prince of Tides (which is fiction), there is a background story within the story that talks about how black widow spiders helped save the family from a murderous intruder (because the children released the spiders all over said intruder) and how afterwards the family never killed another spider again, and it made me think about spiders and my own fear of them. Then when Jake and I were discussing community, I thought to myself, “hey, a community is kind of like a web” and that led to this post.
A community is like a web. And by this I mean that the ideas behind a web almost fully apply (if taken with creative liberties).
A web is built slowly over time,
One thin gossamer strand at a time
With the determination of knowing what it should look like
But innately, without blueprint,
With knowledge of its fragility
And understanding of the need for constant adjustment
As bugs and debris and miscellaneous items rend it broken.
It is made over an existing space
Be it flora, or the existing corners of a barn
Or something in-between
The web does not exist without some sort of baseline structure
But it can be recreated over and over again in new places
As need demands, thread by thread
Again and again as it suits the needs of its creators
Anyway, that’s where my mind was roaming today. I think it’s also why I yearn to move back to my parents’ area. I found a community I liked and now I just want to return to it so Fiona can experience it too. Maybe that’s lazy, but I make no excuses for it.