There are many things that always fill me with wonder while on the road: the generosity of strangers, for one. The people who open up their hearts and share their stories with me, another.
And then, there is community. It comes to me in the most unlikely places through the most surprising people, and always concludes with me leaving a small piece of my heart when I depart.
A few weeks ago, I stayed with a bike shop owner in Burlington, Vermont, who invited me to a botanical burlesque dinner and camp out at a local park. That night, we sat around a roaring fire in a warm circle as the host’s wife encouraged us to introduce ourselves and say what inspired us.
I watched the flames flicker as they cast warm orange and yellow shadows on the faces around me. The answers varied, from a woman who was inspired by the energy in around the fire to a man who was grateful for some time out of the house. When it got to me, I answered honestly: I was inspired by the connections they had built, and grateful for the opportunity to join their community, even briefly.
As the host sat across from me, strumming a guitar and humming to himself, another man sidled up beside me, asking if I’d like to pat a rhythm on some bongos. I tapped along, trying to keep up with any sense of a beat, while people around the circle started rounds, a melodic din of melding voices.
While the words spun tranquilly, I handed the drums to my neighbor and leaned back against the dark wood bench. I wondered, incredulously, how I ended up here, while I made small talk with a single mom who worked with homeless vets and listened in on the chatter of new lovers against the hum of folk melodies. Things like this did not happen in my small town back home.
But somehow, I still felt perfectly comfortable.
Weekends later, I found myself at a different kind of dinner party: in the fluorescent-lit basement of a Protestant church. Manchester, New Hampshire brought me into the close knit 7th Day Adventist church group, where on a Friday night, we ate a potluck dinner and read a selected Bible passage, pondering the question of what happens when God doesn’t meet our expectations.
Sitting in a circle of metal chairs, I listened as a man expressed frustration moving on after his divorce and another shared how he prayed every night overseas in the military, wanting everyone to come safely home. An engaged couple sat intertwined, his hand on her knee while she rested her leg on his. They looked at each other knowingly, unabashedly in love.
I leaned back against my seat, thumbing through a hymnal while we sang a Christian tune. It was I didn’t recognize, much like the rounds week before, but still, somehow, I felt perfectly comfortable.
Community has presented itself in many forms over my many weeks on the road. On the surface, the people may look different, or sound different, or believe different things. They have different priorities or different points of view. But when you go behind the surface, even briefly, you see the same values percolating over and over.
They want to belong, to be valued, to be seen. They want safe places to grow and share and fail and do better the next time. They want respect and love.
Most people are good, wherever you go. It’s just a matter of listening.
