Scott finds writing about himself in the third person odd but enjoys other types of writing. He frequently wishes his brain had a brain.
I like community.
It is difficult not to like community, the concept; it is a little easier to not like certain communities, I try not to. After all community is, in theory, all about something common providing unity, which is rather appealing. We all have hopes, fears, dreams and other sorts of conceptual nouns that we hope that others have or at least understand as well.
For me at least, and I suspect a lot of you, the first community I was a part of was a playgroup, maybe you went to nursery school. A few times a week I was left in the company of other like-minded four year olds and we’d play games and make things and get juice, you know that watery sweetner saturated squash particular to churches, at the same times each session. A community I was thrust into. I didn’t scope out all the local playgroups and settle on this particular one. Similarly I didn’t get a say in whether or not I went to school let alone which one.
Your schooling is full of communities, or I suppose communal identies; from top down you have school attended, year that you are in, class that you are in, group that you are in, and so on. The rivalry between the two classes of my year was pretty intense. It informed the default split for seven years; games of football, or netball, who with and where you sat with at lunch time, where you hung out at breaktime. If this seems off-point bear in mind community tends to be about enjoying similar activities, having something to share with others, and feeling like you have a place you belong.
Then high-school happens and the previously drawn lines of division get rubbed out and you mix classes. In my first year I was split two ways, academic classes and pratical classes. In third year it was split again by subject columns, by fifth year it was spilt again. A greater and greater division of our previously established communities happening alongside that most fun transitional period called being a teenager.
When I was a teenager things, like what was interesting or smart or funny, suddenly seemed more important, more personal. I have never met, whilst I was one or since, a teenger who wasn’t a little bit unsure of themselves, split between what they like and think is important, and between what they think others like and think is important. The difficulty is that as all our pre-established communities are getting diced up by bureaucracy and life we also are becoming unsure of who we are.
It takes time to shed that insecurity I think. There is an element of knowing who you are before you can be a useful part of a community, but communities can also help you figure that out – so it goes.
Communities just take time, the good ones happen organically, without force, when you aren’t paying attention – just like you or me.