good enough

Life only makes sense in community, at least for me. Sara is gone this week out visiting one of her rural preschools, so its just been Lois and I around the house. It's a strange feeling after so many months of guests. First it was Tia Liliana, then Rebekah and Lois concurrently, with always a smattering of overnight visitors here and there along the way. Plus Tony, of course - he rents a place 10 minutes away but hunkers down here in the evenings, skyping his fiancee for hours at a time. (Also gone this week.) Joseph comes to town every few weeks to be in-love with BFF and vice-versa, and it is always a pleasure to see him.

I thrive in this type of setting, one of presence, though recently it started to feel too much like a circus and my stress bubble came close to bursting. This usually coincides with an emotional crisis, like finding a little girl whose entire face (even her tongue) is basically a gross misshapen tumor. Having space to decompress helps me get a grip.

But I much prefer people to no people. This afternoon I came home from teaching English at church, grabbed some tuna pasta salad, and sat down to enjoy Goonies, a DVD mailed to me by my friend Scott in Cambodia. I've seen Goonies at least 5 times from about age 8 on, but never alone like I did tonight. And you know what? It sucked without someone to share it with. Its pretty scary how quickly life loses meaning for me in the absence of community. 

I traveled to Turkey by myself in July 2001. Turkey is one of the coolest places on Earth. Istanbul is... I'm at a loss for words. You can wander the streets alone past midnight - a young single woman, me, I did this - and it's safe, so warm and thrilling, like the best endless summer night ever. The cobblestone streets are teeming with lantern light and couples walkinga around, the cafes are full of old and young people, even kids are still up splashing in fountains, you can sit down with a steaming glass of apple tea and watch the Whirling Dervishes perform, spinning faster and faster, their deep navy robes billowing out, white fezzes on their heads, holding one hand pointed up toward the stars and God and the other pointed down toward earth and man. It's mesmerizing. The Hagia Sophia embellishes the night skyline in front of you and Blue Mosque illuminates everything behind you. The land is rocks and fields, the Black Sea misty and beckoning, food - oh man, its so good. The nation is gluttonous with history and politics, all of it fascinating. To me, the worst thing about Turkey is the perfume deodorizer they douse you with on public buses. From my first night there, I thought: "Now THIS is a place for a honeymoon." Problem was, I was there by myself.

"Istanbul Skyline" by Jean Martin. 

I made the best of it, wandered around a few days, met a guy from California on his way to New York via Australia and we had one nice day nonromatically sailing up the Bosporus Strait together, sampling fish on a stick from street venders, scampering over ruins, and eating figs off trees (too many, we both got diarrhea). But mostly I was on my own and midway through, I lost heart. What's the point of sitting down with an tweed-capped old man to take an experimental puff of his hubbly-bubbly if you have nobody to elbow and say, "Aak!!"

It's a personality flaw and I have suffered on many occasions because of it. I still enjoyed the watermelon, warm bread, feta cheese, mint tea, sun-smothered tomatoes, and fresh-squeezed orange juice I ate for breakfast every morning. But it would have been better with a friend.

I learned this about myself a long time ago, but you can't always engineer life to avoid loneliness. Sometimes you still end up alone for eight months in a little house in a foreign country where you don't speak the language. It might be horrible for a long time.

Community is just a lately over-theologized word for fellow human beings. Having them in and about the house makes my life more satisfying, full of laughter, make sense more.

That's actually what the whole movie Goonies is about, when I think about it. I will be glad when Sara gets home again.