As Elaine said recently in a comment on the blog, “whether you want to be a part of community or not, if you are alive, you are.”
We’re all part of communities, though we might draw our lines in the dirt differently. What might count as a community to me might not for you. Jobs, churches, neighborhoods: these are all broad communities. I share an office space with five other people; two of us are in the same cubicle: I like to think of these as communities-within-communities. I’m in a monthly writing group and a weekly reading group, both mini communities. I’m a graduate student, a writing center consultant, a freelance editor, writer, and blogger–each of these putting me in regular contact with different groups of people, different communities.
And then there are friends: from high school, college, J’s grad school, my grad school, from church and Sunday school and contemplative prayer… gosh, I feel like I’ve littered communities everywhere we’ve lived over the last few years: Pennsylvania, New York, Texas, and now Kentucky.
And now here we are, planted. I shop at the same grocery store, go to the same bank, eat at the same handful of non-chain restaurants in my little town–and at each of these places I nearly always see people I know. Nearly always. It’s a small enough place.
It’s nice to be planted, though it’s still hard to keep track of my roots. (But that’s a blog post for another day…)