It Takes a Whole Village to Raise a Child
I used to fantasise about being a hermit. All of my problems
would be solved, I thought, if I could just be left alone — by people and the
world. For, all of my ailments and stress were caused by others...obviously!
Family, friends, strangers, social conventions, conventional morality,
government...and most probably you too. It made perfect sense, to my mind. It
was scientific even. Like when two inert substances are brought together, such
as bicarb soda and vinegar, you get an acidic, frothing, bubbling over
reaction. My life was a continual series of these kinds of chemical reactions.
But, if you keep the substances apart...peace and serenity… Genius! Nobel Peace
Prize please…
However, as a friend of mine would annoyingly point out
whenever I bemoaned my inability to extract myself from society and enter the
serene utopia of Thoreau’s ‘Walden’, “If you really wanted to be living that
life, you’d be doing it”. Damn him and his beautiful logic! I may not have accepted
it at first, but sometime later it resonated with me. Of course, it wasn’t
other people I wanted to escape, it was my pain and ultimately myself. I
couldn’t see it at the time though. And when I did see it I didn’t accept it on
a deep, internal level straight away. For, I couldn’t see outside of my own
suffering, nor could I at that time observe the supportive architecture all
around me to be able to acknowledge the power available to me. And, funnily
enough, it was in fact society and other people that intermittently alleviated
my existential malaise. I would eventually come to internalise what I now call
‘radical self-responsibility’ (more about that in a future blog post). But in
the meantime I seemed to need to experience it, not just know it.
“It takes a whole village to raise a child”, so says the
African proverb. This resonates with me deeply and based on my own experience
and observation it is self-evident. For our earliest development to be healthy,
holistic and adaptive we require the care and input of more than just our
immediate family, but rather the greater community. Although, our modern day
communities are comprised more of schools, film, television and the internet
rather than kinfolk, nature and the oral tradition. And despite where the
community influence comes from and how it is delivered, the quality can’t be
guaranteed. Nevertheless, the village proverb seems an apt metaphor for, not
just our childhood development, but our whole of life development too.
Humans are social creatures and have been for hundreds of
thousands of years. We have relied on the clan, both socially and
psychologically, for so long it’s hard wired into our DNA. Individualism is but
a drop in the ocean in our evolutionary history, but has changed how we live in
the world and how we experience it and ourselves. It has brought about amazing
progress to our existence, such as challenging our assumptions about power and
possibility. It has also produced many new conditions in the human condition,
both psychological and social. Mental illness, the breakdown of social
reliance, Donald Trump, to name just a few. There is a theory that during and
post-World War II, wartorn Western societies experienced significantly greater
meaningfulness and S a result more robust, real happiness in their lives, despite the obvious trauma and
suffering. Counter intuitive, I know. The suggestion is that the coming
together of communities — albeit thrust upon them by unforeseen circumstances —
to rebuild their homes and societies and to support one another through their
adversity gave people’s lives enriched purpose and meaning. Alone, those
affected could not have achieved anywhere near what was achieved collectively.
And some of those directly affected by the horrors of war — the “collateral
damage” so to speak, the soldiers on the front line — were soothed and able to
recover faster and more robustly thanks to the sharing of their experiences,
their grief and the sharing of their stories.
Building community and relationships is like doing a load of
washing. All of the dirty laundry — the shirts, the towels the socks — are
thrown in together to be cleaned. During the wash everything mixes together,
rubbing and massaging each other into cleanliness. The dirt is shared around a
bit until it eventually washes away. The closeness may be a little forced,
sure, but the magic happens in spite of this, or perhaps because of it. If the
clothes were conscious I'm sure they'd resist a wash as much as I’ve resisted
change when at the crossroads of suffering (I think I’ve just uncovered the
mystery of the missing socks). To change or to stay the same...this is the
question. But at the end of the wash everything comes out clean and fresh.
Almost like new. Some still carry the remnants of stains that will take a few
more washes to expel. But the change is invariably unmistakable.
The sharing of our dirt is important to our transformation.
Usually anyhow. So much happens in this process that is valuable to our growth
process. Primarily it is the power of connection through story and by being
vulnerable, even when our deepest feeling says no, don't trust. Of course, it
isn’t always necessarily beneficial, and can in fact be harmful, to
indiscriminately share our “stuff” with just anyone or everyone. The checkout
operator at Woolworths doesn’t actually want to know how you really are.
Believe me, I’ve tried. Sharon on checkout three’s blank stare left me feeling
a little hopeless and abandoned, my vulnerability battered and bruised. So,
please choose your community wisely.
From a place of vulnerability we are open to the new and we
are open to learning and growth. “In the beginner's mind there are many
possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few” said zen master Shunryu
Suzuki in the zen bible, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. When I hold on too tightly
to my preconceived ideas about myself and the world there is little room for
expansion. My ego needs reassurance of the status quo for its security and
strength. But this is a myth, a story, one that we keep telling ourselves again
and again, into solidity.
Through our stories we find connection. And validation too.
When I’m vulnerable and in unfamiliar territory the soothing knowledge of
others wandering those lands too is a powerful remedy. Like being stranded on a
deserted island, the first sign of rescue is enough to lift our spirits and
instill us with hope. But too long in isolation and we find ourselves, like Tom
Hanks in Castaway, creating imaginary lifeforms to alleviate our suffering. So
too, we tell ourselves stories or myths rather than addressing the truth of our
underlying hurt. We seek solace in our pain and shut others out from it as a
kind of protective measure. And if nothing changes, nothing changes. We often
choose the familiarity of our suffering rather than the dark corridor of the
unknown. But it is through this corridor that can lead us to transformation and
salvation.