Buoys in the Transition Fog

For the last four decades I've been in the community business—investigating it, creating it, living it, promoting it, and articulating it. In the last several years that primary focus has morphed to include a focus on cooperative culture (creating a greater sense of community, rather than limiting my scope to residential intentional community) and sustainability (figuring out how to define and manifest a high-quality lifestyle that could be accessible to everyone on the planet). If nothing else, it means I'll never run out of interesting things to do.

To me, the bridge between my community focus and my sustainability focus is broad and obvious. But I've come to understand that the relevance of my many years plying the waters of intentional community is not so clear to those steaming toward sustainability from a more mainstream port of call. While community is the water I swim in, I can look like a pretty exotic fish to many of the newly converted, who are entering the seas of sustainability for the first time—to the point where they're not so sure it's a good idea to have me and my ilk as a pilot for their journey.

At its best, community entails learning how to collaborate—how people with common interests and a future together can come to agreement about how to proceed, even when they start from different viewpoints, have different personalities, and prefer different strategies.

No matter how you slice it, sustainable lifestyles are going to require a higher degree of sharing than most of us are used to—there just aren't enough resources to go around at the rate were used to controlling and consuming them. While I'm not predicting this will lead to everyone living in intentional communities, I think what we're learning in the crucibles of intentional community about how to handle the social dynamics of sharing is absolutely germane to the future that's ahead for all but the über rich. 

By "social dynamics," I'm referring to how to equitably sort out who gets to use a shared resource when multiple people want it at the same time; what will be the standard of maintenance and care for shared resources; how will you navigate frustrations when you don't think these things are going well? In community, we deal with this stuff all the time. (Not always well, mind you, but we're learning, and that experience is hard-earned gold for the path ahead.)

In addition, when you digest where upward spiraling gas prices are heading, you have to anticipate a future that's based more on what you have locally than what you can buy from far away. It means developing a stable, more self-sufficient local culture based on mutual reliance. While no one is advocating a return to medieval feudalism, we will need to learn better how to make common cause, and how better to make room for outliers in our neighborhoods.

Intentional communities are R&D centers for learning how to do these things. To be sure, some are learning faster than others—it isn't all smooth sailing—yet we've been able to significantly advance our understanding about how to have constructive conversations among people holding strongly different opinions about vital concerns. And these skills export well into more mainstream situations where there is increasing need for their application. We have to find ways to solve problems that don't rely on outspending others, building higher fences, voting people off the island, or simply moving away.

Thus, when we witness the dramatic surge in sustainability programs among university curricula (like mushrooms after a spring rain), and how many Transition Towns have popped up across the country (there are currently 143 initiatives in the US, distributed across 35 states, focusing on developing positive responses to the challenges of peak oil, climate change, and economic instability), the FIC gets excited about the potential for collaboration. We figure intentional communities are already wrestling with how to integrate sustainable practices into everyday life: ecologically, socially, and economically.

In the university context, we can offer field trips, guest speakers, and adjunct faculty to programs who want to hear, see, and taste live examples of what their studying. In the Transition Town context, we can help groups learn how to bring together disparate stakeholders—people who are not used to talking with one another, such as business people and tree huggers—and find agreement that respects all parties.

That said, it's been frustrating how little headway we've been able to make (so far) with sustainability programs and Transition Town groups when offering assistance. We have not yet found the way to pitch our skill and experience in such a way that they're attractive to these groups. While we're not giving up, it's both mysterious and humbling that we're having so much trouble penetrating the fog, and appearing as buoys to help navigate safe passage to the harbor of local, sustainable practices.

Meanwhile, we'll keep ringing our bell and hope that a favorable breeze will blow some traffic our way.

The Threads of Accountability

I was in a conversation this week with representatives of an established community wrestling with issues of accountability—which means that they're like almost all other communities I know. It's a good topic because it illuminates a tender spot where most groups are unsure of their footing. While there's no question that there's an issue, there are many questions about how to proceed.

In exploring this juicy topic, I want to start by positing some background universals:

o  In community there are more occasions to get irritated about accountability (than in the mainstream) because you've purposefully chosen a life in which there will be more sharing: everything from tools and resources, to cleaning and child care; from participation in group governance to personal confessions that you're trusting will be kept confidential. That means a lot more chances to run afoul of expectations.

o  No one wants to be the police, nor do communities want to live with police. It's an unpleasant role and not one that people had in mind when they were drawn to community.

o  It's ineffective to rely solely on informal, one-on-one direct conversations to clear up misunderstandings and hurt feelings in connection with accountability. While—thankfully—this works some of the time, there are any number of reasons why this breaks down: a) past attempts at direct communication with that person were unpleasant or ineffective, and you're unwilling to go through that again; b) it's personally too scary to give someone (or that person) critical feedback; c) you're paralyzed by your emotional response; or d) you think it's a bigger issue than just you and the other person, or just this occasion.

o  Groups invariably prefer that members exercise a high degree of personal responsibility, such that there's minimal occasion to worry about accountability. That is, members are not looking for opportunities to be bosses over other members, or to have other members telling them what to do. While there are times when that's appropriate, and some have a knack for it, it's not what people are looking for when they join community.

o  Going the other way, there's resistance to spelling everything out in detail, such that there's often a need to interpret the spirit of agreements (because the letter is fuzzy), allowing for latitude of interpretation—which becomes the devil's playground.

o  While groups try to craft agreements with as much specificity as they can muster (trying to anticipate the situations in which they will be applied), the reality is that extenuating (unanticipated) circumstances are common, such that there's considerable nuance in determining how much leeway should be extended in light of them. In short, life is messy—so please try to minimize how much time you spend lamenting that fact, or pretending otherwise.

With all of that in mind, my sense is that accountability issues tend to clump into four major types:

A. Individuals (or committees) not doing what they said they'd do, or not accomplishing it in a timely manner. Maybe they get partial credit, but they're glossing over or blowing off crucial components. This can take the form of their not putting in the time, or their not being effective when they do (or both).

B. Expiring agreements not being removed from the books when they've been made obsolete by newer agreements, the conditions no longer obtain, or they were never effective and it's time to bring reality into alignment with theory. When the group doesn't clean up its agreements, the dead wood starts to undercut the vibrancy of the live wood. ("Why do I have to follow agreement X when everyone ignores agreement Y?")

C. Members are perceived to be coloring outside the lines of acceptable behavior. This is most acute with explicit norms (for example, yelling and screaming in a nonviolent community), yet also occurs when there is an implied norm (never helping to clear the dishes after a common meal, or seldom lending a hand to bring in the groceries when the food truck arrives).

D. Members are felt to be taking advantage of an allowance for flexibility based on personal circumstances, such that they frequently under-perform relative to general expectations and are perceived to be taking advantage of the system to not do their fair share.

What to Do?
Here are a number of suggestions for ways to get traction with this slippery eel:

o  Establish a Work Committee whose mandate includes being available to help resolve misunderstandings and tensions between members. (This task may be backed up by a Conflict Resolution Team if dynamics get hairy.)

o  Ask further that the Work Committee periodically meet with all residents to stay current on their personal circumstances regarding ability to contribute to the community, helping them find suitable ways to contribute (to the extent possible), and sensitively informing the rest of the community about what's happening when there are exemptions.

o  Every so often conduct a Martyrs & Slackers conversation to clear the air about the sense that contributions may be significantly out of balance.

o  Check to see that the Membership Committee is doing a solid job of making sure that all new residents are aware of agreements and the expectations around participation.

o  Have a conversation ("pre-need," as they say in the mortuary business) about what you think is an appropriate menu of options if someone's determined to have fallen short of meeting expectations, and the process by which that will be considered. (Increase dues to cover hiring people to do the work that was not done? Jawboning? Measured withholding of social benefits? Paddle machine? Tar and feathering?)

Voting and Cooperative Culture

I'm in Ann Arbor right now, where I participated over the weekend in the annual conference of the North American Students of Cooperation. Sunday morning I did a 90-minute workshop on Consensus, during which I was asked to contrast how voting differs from consensus in terms of its effect on the group's culture. What a good question!

While student co-ops are invariably dedicated to making decisions democratically—where everyone has a voice in what happens—there's a large difference between doing that through voting, which is essentially an adaptation of our mainstream competitive culture to ensure a fair fight, and doing so through consensus, which represents a cultural sea change. 

As it happens, many student co-ops use voting, which is understandable when you take into account that for most of the members it's their first experience with cooperative living and voting is the decision-making process they know best. Thus, it's appealing to take what you know and try to make it as open and as even-handed as possible. 

Further, it's no small matter to understand consensus and get good results with it. It requires unlearning competitive conditioning that runs deep, and it can be especially challenging to access your new-found cooperative intentions when the stakes are high and you have a strong view about what should happen.

All of that said, it's important to grok that in sociological terms, competitive culture is the opposite of cooperative culture, and if you're seeking to move from one to the other, you need to think through how your decision-making process reinforces or retards that transition.

Does voting have to be adversarial and competitive? No, but it often is. Witness the divisive dynamics of voting in the US government, which have taken a marked turn for the worse (by which I mean less civil and less collaborative) than a generation ago. Today, it's the norm to hear vicious public statements from elected officials about those who hold differing views, negative ad campaigns are depressingly common, and suggestions for bipartisan actions are seen as a sign of weakness. Yuck.

Even though cooperatives are committed (presumably) to cooperation, voting does not tend to reinforce that commitment. Let's break it down, starting with the assumption of good intent on everyone's part (I know that sometimes there's hanky panky, stuffed ballot boxes, backroom deals, and outright misleading statements, but let's set all of that nonsense aside).

The interesting case is when the vote is not unanimous. Voting advocates like this because it allows the group to move forward when there is substantial support for a particular course of action, yet everyone is not aligned. In consensus you would not have an agreement; with voting you do. While this undoubtedly saves meeting time (you reach the finish line sooner), it comes at the cost of an outvoted minority that may feel disenfranchised, run over, or otherwise unhappy, which can manifest in sidewalk grumbling, halfhearted implementation, and even sabotage. 

Mind you, I'm not saying that losing minorities are always disgruntled (in fact, I reckon they're "gruntled" more often than you hear that label applied), yet it isn't rare, and it can be the very dickens for losers to distinguish between their views being: a) blithely disregarded (because they don't have enough votes); or b) disagreed with though carefully considered.

With voting you run the risk of tyranny of the majority, where a determined and cohesive bloc can run roughshod over the outnumbered; with consensus you are susceptible to tyranny of the minority, where an obstreperous few can hold up the many.

With voting it's all about aggregating enough votes to prevail. With consensus you need to slow down enough to get all legitimate concerns on the table and addressed. For consensus to work you need to create an environment where openness and even disagreement are encouraged (so that you can explore how people got to different points of view, which can illuminate nuance—ultimately strengthening the final proposal about how best to respond). With voting you sometimes make a strategic choice to not speak if it looks like you have no chance of prevailing and want to conserve your social capital for a more propitious time. In voting, there is a tendency to stop listening closely once you've secured enough votes to pass your proposal. In consensus you have to work the whole room.

While I've tried to outline above some of the unwanted cultural consequences of voting, I have sympathy for student co-ops that are hesitant about using consensus. In addition to the non-trivial commitment to culture change, you have to cope with a constantly changing membership (almost all of whom will need training in consensus if you expect them to use it well), and the need to be careful about membership selection both so that prospectives know what they are signing up for and can be screened for alignment with the group's common values and agreements extant. All of this is work and it's understandably tempting to be less careful about who you let in (so long as their rent checks are good) with the strategy that you can manage difficult members by outvoting them.

In summary, consensus, if done well, will tend to engender more cooperative culture than voting, but you need to be diligent about process training, clear about common values, and careful with membership selection in order to harvest that result. Some groups would rather just vote.

Dia de los Muertos 2013

Today is Halloween. In addition to being a high holy day for Brach's, Nestlé, and Russell Stover—as well as for costume makers and vintage clothing stores everywhere—there are deeper, less materialistic roots to this pagan cross quarter day, or Samhain (which for some reason is pronounced SOW-in). 

The name, Halloween, comes from a foreshortening of All Hallows Eve: the day before All Saints Day, Nov 1. It is the day, reputedly, when the veil between the temporal and spiritual worlds is at its thinnest—when it is easiest to pass from one to the other, and back again.

In Mexico, this time is honored as the Day of the Dead, or Dia de los Muertos. It is a family holiday where all are encouraged to remember those no longer with us, especially those who have passed in the last 12 months. While there is a somber quality to recalling loss, this is an up-tempo holiday, where gravestones and altars are colorfully decorated and favorite foods are consumed or left in remembrance. The energy is neither funereal, nor morbid. It's a celebration.

In that spirit, I want to offer brief tributes to those in my circle of acquaintance who have died in the last year. In chronological sequence, I lost the following five friends since Halloween a year ago:

Michel Desgagnes (Jan 12)
Michel was a French Canadian community networker, connected with La Cité Écologique, a vibrant well-established ecovillage in de Ham-Nord, Quebec, launched in 1984. He was stricken with meningitis and died suddenly. While it's always shocking when someone you knew as a blithe and robust spirit succumbs to illness—at age 45 no less—it's a sobering reminder that one never knows how much sand is left in anyone's hourglass.

My fond last memory of Michel was at the national cohousing conference in Washington DC in June 2011, when he won the raffle allowing him to select any item from the vast array of auction goodies. Without hesitation, he chose one of the less expensive items with a solid community pedigree: a Twin Oaks hammock—much to the chagrin of the Coho/US Executive Director, Craig Ragland, who was expecting to be able to outbid everyone else to secure that distinctive piece of casual furniture for his backyard in Bothell WA. While it would be inappropriate to say that Craig took his loss lying down—after all, he didn't get the hammock—he did take it with grace.

I still retain my final image of Michel with his radiant, Christmas-morning countenance when his winning number was announced.

Donald Walters (April 21)Also known as Kriyananda, Donald was a disciple of Paramahansa Yogananda. He started Ananda Village in Nevada City CA in 1968, which later blossomed into a collection of eight intentional communities worldwide, plus as many as 100 meditation and teaching centers.

He had lived a full life and passed peacefully at his community enclave in Assisi, Italy, at age 86. For a more complete elegy, see my blog of April 26.

Of the five people I'm remembering today, Donald is the only one I never met. He is included here because my life has been devoted to building community and promoting cooperative culture, and Kriyananda was a fellow traveler of the first water. When someone's light burns that brightly, we are all touched by the shadow of its passing.

Rob Dubose (Sept 10) 
Rob died tragically as the result of head injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident. He was, I believe, in his early 40s. I first met him in 2006, as a member of the facilitation pool at Pacifica Cohousing in Carrboro NC. Later that year he enrolled in the two-year Integrative Facilitation training that Ma'ikwe and I taught in the Tarheel State, having secured the financial aid of the Quaker school where he taught as an expense in support of continuing education. (As a social change agent, it's always inspiring when an employer sees the value of training in facilitation.)

I had last seen Rob in January, when I bumped into him and his teenage daughter at the Weaver Street Market in downtown Carrboro. We talked about trying to get together while I was in town, but it didn't happen. Now it's too late.

June Huebner (Oct  4)My aunt lived until 92, when pneumonia claimed her. Sadly, her participation in the here and now had been sharply diminished by dementia the last two decades, and it was my sense that she was ready to go. 

She was my father's younger sister, and the last living member of that generation of my immediate family. While you might suspect that such a close blood relative would be well known to me, that was not the case. My father did not get along well with his sister and he died in 1989, unreconciled with his only sibling. While I'm confident that my father's story of the dynamic between them differed substantially from June's (and I don't expect to ever know the full story of how their relationship broke down), the fact is that they both played a role in the tragedy of their estrangement, and our family never spent time with June or her family once my grandfather died in 1974 and was no longer there to insist that both of his children attend family functions.

Fortunately for June, she had the loving devotion of her long-time husband, Fred, and her son, John, to sustain her through her long decline.

Jim Estes (Oct 5)
Jim was the husband and lifelong partner of Caroline Estes. Together they were part of the pioneering group that founded Alpha Farm (Deadwood OR) in 1972. He had been in frail health for a number of years, and was stricken with a massive stroke that claimed his life at the ripe age of 91.

Jim was a Southern gentleman from Alabama who had a career as a newspaperman with the San Francisco Chronicle. As a professional editor he found it hard to turn aside his critical eye and would recreationally mark up restaurant menus whenever he and Caroline ate out—which they enjoyed doing. In Alpha's early years, his salary was crucial in keeping the community financially solvent as it carved out a niche for itself in one of the finger valleys of the Oregon Coast Range between Eugene and Florence.

While Jim mostly served in the background, in support of his dynamic and better-known partner, they were a devoted couple with deep affection for one another, and his gentle upbringing and demeanor helped establish a standard for civility and graciousness at Alpha which always stood out for me in the informal, and sometimes callow world of intentional communities. His sardonic wit inserted into side comments were always a highlight of my visits to the community, and I'll miss his precision with words.

• • •

Tonight I'll place five stones on my altar, and take several breaths invoking the memory of each of these five souls. For today is their day.

Affordability Limbo: How Low Can You Go?

In recent years one of the themes that has emerged from my work with cooperatives groups is the challenge of dealing authentically, yet compassionately with the limits of diversity. It's a booger.

While almost all groups embrace diversity as a core value, it's apparent that its application is not open ended. That is, there are limits to how far you can (and should) stretch in service to that value, and there is more than a little delicacy around the examination of a live example—mainly because good intentioned, reasonable people reach limits at different places and because it always boils down to a specific person (or persons) at risk of being voted off the island.

While this shows up in a number of places: mental health, people with disabilities, an aging population, today I want to concentrate on affordability. Almost all groups have to wrestle with how to contain costs, and almost all groups face pressure (eventually, if not sooner) to modify financial requirements to accommodate desirable people who are straining to reach the bottom rung on the ladder (as defined by that group).

This request to make an exception may be rare enough—and the individual(s) involved may be attractive enough—that the group is gracefully willing to labor with it. However, there is an insidious tendency for any adjustments to the floor of affordability to rapidly become the new standard, and you can pretty well count on another request down the road that will ask if you can go lower still. Where does it end?

While no single request may appear unreasonable (note: I'm not saying that all should be approved; I'm only making the point that it may not be hard to appreciate why any particular request was made and why its advocates are hopeful of favorable treatment), the accumulation of such requests, as a whole, tends to create an environment of constant downward pressure on financial barriers to accessibility, and that this may have unpalatable side effects.

Whenever a group lowers the floor, it means accepting members who are right at the edge of being able to afford the lifestyle the group has determined it wants. That means adding voices who are likely to feel threatened by requests to enhance services, or tackle new projects, thereby leading (at least potentially) to one or more of the following not-so-attractive consequences:

1) There may be a concomitant diminishment of the upper end of the community's lifestyle, because the range of what members can afford has been capped at a lower level.

2) The more affluent members may go forward with some group activities on a pay-to-play basis (so that they won't be held back by the more limited means of the less well off), which means that some discretionary benefits of membership are not enjoyed by all—an awkward social dynamic that is a long step toward promoting divisive us/them energy in the group.

3) It's common for members to look to other circles in their lives for satisfaction that feels blocked at home, which dilutes the vibrancy of the community.

To be sure, the fact that a person joins the community when their wealth and income are limited does not mean they'll stay in that place. People can, and often do, grow into greater wealth and financial largess over time, such that limitations today no longer apply in the future. In such situations, they are the beneficiaries of the group's willingness to be flexible without occasioning any significant shift in lifestyle or community-supported activities.

On the other hand, there are folks who embrace voluntary simplicity to the point where they're purposefully avoiding the pursuit of greater financial flow (which choice I'm not criticizing; I'm just pointing out where it leads). Further, there are people who are simply unable to generate a greater financial flow in their life—perhaps because of disabilities, age, or lack of skill.

In contemplating these dynamics, I have two suggestions:

First, whenever you decide to create an exception, be sure to stay with the conversation long enough to determine explicitly whether you're creating a precedent (lowering the bar) or not. If you prefer to see your exception as a one-time deal, have the minutes reflect that this decision does not signal a change in the community's affordability standard, and that any future requests for similar exceptions are not guaranteed a similar response.

Second, define what you mean by affordability. Select objective, measurable criteria that approximate what you're willing to do in that regard and then stay the course—until and unless you decide to change the standard. If you rely solely on what feels right, you'll be scudding about like a leaf before the wind which, ironically, can be a kind of commitment to financial affordability that's hard to afford energetically.

When I'm 64... Like Today

When I woke up this morning the ground was covered in white. Kinda like me.

Of course, in the ground's case the hoar from our first hard frost will melt before noon. In my case, there's only going to be more white from here on out, excepting the bald spots.

I was up until midnight last night, producing a trifecta in the food processing kitchen. It's the end of the harvest and time to wrap up. Yesterday I made our final batch of tomatillo salsa, whipped up one last round of tomato salsa, and incubated tempeh for the first time in more than a year.

I was pushing it yesterday because today's my birthday and I wanted to clear my plate for half a day of celebration with Ma'ikwe. Given that: a) birthdays are an appropriate time for reflection; b) I'm 64; and c) I've always had a soft spot for whimsy, I've decided to play off Beatles lyrics for today's commentary...

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,

To be fair, I started early. I had a receding hairline by the time I was 30, and the amazing thing to me is that I have any hair left on top.




Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine?


After putting out lunch today and cleaning up (concluding my 24-hour cook shift that started yesterday), I'll head over to Dancing Rabbit and enjoy the rest of the day with Ma'ikwe and Jibran. In this case, Ma'ikwe will be my valentine and I'm sending myself to her. In addition, we will be imbibing unfermented fruit juice tonight as we continue our commitment to be alcohol free while in therapy. But that's quibbling. The right celebratory energy is there.

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,

While I rarely get home after midnight, Ma'ikwe likes to retire early and it's common for me to return to a dark house after a trip or a late date. Trying to make as little noise as possible, I brush my teeth and crawl into bed with my wife asleep. So far, knock on wood, she's never locked the door.


Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?


There's always been something off for me about that line, "will you still need me"—something a bit codependent. I want her, and I want her to want me, but "need" is tricky. I need honesty; I need support; I need understanding; I need love, but I don't think that Ma'ikwe has ever needed me in order for her to be a whole and vibrant person, and I'm not looking for that to change.

oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oooo
You'll be older too, (ah ah ah ah ah)
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.

It's eerie how this is exactly where Ma'ikwe and I are at: the point of decision about whether she'll have me in her house. We'll be starting an experiment about that right after Thanksgiving (when I'm 64).

I could be handy mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.

As a homesteader with basic skills in wiring, there's no doubt I can mend a fuse (and perform myriad other household maintenance tasks). The question is whether I'm home enough to be reliable, and have enough maneuvering room on my dance card to get to the tasks in a timely way.

You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride.


While Ma'ikwe isn't a knitter; shes definitely a sitter, and we spend quite a little time on the sofa by the wood stove. So we're solid there. In the context of the car-conscious lifestyle at Dancing Rabbit, I think we can safely translate the Sunday morning ritual into a walk, rather than the recreational consumption of hydrocarbons.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

I've been together with Ma'ikwe for eight years now, during which time she's consistently projected herself as someone whose drawn to gardening as an Earth-centering practice and restorative ritual. While her health and other pressing priorities have often gotten in the way of her spending much time with her hands in the soil, I know this is a powerful association for her. Maybe, once we succeed in establishing a single household and get on top of our home improvement priorities, we can spend quality time in the dirt together. I can imagine it at least. I like the image of feeding each other.

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save

We definitely like vacations together, of which I have fond memories, including our last one in New Mexico in April. While the Isle of Wight is not a likely destination, we had a lovely time on Drummond Island in Lake Huron four years ago...  and it definitely requires some financial planning to make vacations happen.


Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck, and Dave

I have two grandkids now—Taivyn & Connor—with no immediate prospects for more. Thus, I have no idea where Vera, Chuck, and Dave will come from, but I'm fine with that. And while I like family members to be pro-active, I don't need anyone to be pro-creative on my account. 

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.


While poetic, this is the weirdest stanza in the song. I aspire to be living in the same house with Ma'ikwe, not linked merely by postcards from the edge. To be fair, we do have a challenge staying well connected while I'm on the road (where skype offers more promise as a medium than the US Postal Service), and we're also working on more direct communication (aren't we all?), so there is some cogency to the lyrics.

For all of that though, the signature seems so passive and resigned that I can't relate to at all. Hmm, I've put on some weight over the years. Maybe if we adjust that to "waisting away" I could get behind it.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?


While Ma'ikwe and I have found epistolary exploration of our relationship dynamics to be especially potent, I can't see asking her to fill out a form with respect to an update on our prospects for long-term intimacy (unless this is an oblique reference to our marriage license six years ago). That part, which might be referred to as the $64 question we've asked each other a thousand times, will always be done face to face.

Whoo!

Whoo, indeed.

• • •

Here's the valentine that Ma'ikwe sent me this morning:

Dear Beloved Whats?band,

Happy 64th Birthday! And happy 8 years of flirts, fights, fucks, facilitation, funks, fun and food. Also freeze/thaw cycles... metaphorical and literal.

We're in an odd, odd place together, are we not? And yet birthdays keep happening, anniversaries come and go. I have no regrets about the journey, and am glad you goaded me into taking it seriously 8 Novembers ago when you asked me to marry you. The bottom line is I love you, admire the hell out of you and have been more stimulated by your presence in my life than nearly anyone else (and it is a fine, small club you are part of, even if you aren't the sole occupant.)

I'm glad you are coming over today and we'll get the afternoon and evening together. Other than cooking and snuggling, what would you like to do today?

Love, the Whats?ife

• • •

Did you notice that 64 is eight years times eight F's? It's a sign! Now all I have to do is puzzle out its meaning.

Homes for Community Veterans

As someone who's lived in community for nearly four decades, I know a lot of folks who have lived in community—many of whom no longer do.

Of particular interest to me are those who lived in community a long time ago (I'm talking about those who have been gone for 10+ years) and are not likely to ever return. From what I've observed, most people who fit this profile fall into one of three categories.

Group I: Those That Got a Taste and Have Always Savored It
Without question, most folks recall their time in community fondly. Especially after time has burnished away the rough edges, and rose-shifted the memory toward the positive. They remember it as a time of unparalleled stimulation and connection. Community is a nutrient-rich environment, and it tends to foster growth spurts and unique experiences that participants remember well.

I can hardly tell you how many people I've spoken with who lived at least a portion of the childhood in community and think of it as the best time of their lives. Similarly, there are hosts of college alumni who glow when recalling their student co-ops days, and this pattern extends to people who lived in community in their 20s, 30s, and 40s as well.

For a long time, it baffled me that people could hold aloft such a positive memory and yet lack the motivation to recapture it—even for their kids. As good as it was, I've come to understand that mostly people are sharing a nostalgic moment rather than seriously contemplating a lifestyle reversal.

Why? In some cases it's family obligations (children to raise; precious schooling options to preserve by staying put; a spouse who's not interested; aging parents to care for). In others it's employment (needing to be near a valued job; worry that community life will be too consuming to allow for a vibrant career elsewhere; concern that community will be socially unacceptable to co-workers, or will otherwise dead-end a promising career). 

I also think it's inertia. People get used to the life they have and it's work—sometimes difficult and awkward work—to uproot what you're comfortable with to try something new. And make no mistake about it: community will rock your world. Having one's world rocked when you're young is part of what makes it memorable. Yet you may not want that much octane in your tank later on, when the consequences of upheaval are more awkward to digest.

People naturally invest in the choices they've made and it's typically harder to consider major lifestyle shifts once you're a decade or two down the road. It's one thing to do so in your carefree college years or your early 20s; it's all together something else to make such choices when your life path is fairly settled. I'm not saying it can't be done; I'm just saying it's hard.

I can relate to this because I chose community at the callow age of 24—well before I had a family or any significant roots established. While I can still recall my step-grandmother warning me that I was jeopardizing my future if I stepped off the up escalator (to career advancement) to scratch the exotic itch of community, following my heart never seemed that risky to me. Over the years, however, I've come to appreciate that: a) I took the chance when I was still close to the bottom rung on the ladder; and b) not everyone has the self-confidence I do that I'll land on my feet wherever I jump.

Group II: Those Who Were Traumatized and Haven't Gotten Over It
While (fortunately) this is a small portion of my focus group, it's a sobering one. Often, the people for whom this fits are either children who did not enjoy what their parents subjected them to, or they were adults who didn't get along that well with others in the community. In either case, there is a lingering story that power was misused, and they were on the short end of that stick.

In some cases there was a profound misunderstanding about what the group stood for or a mismatch of personalities. In more dark instances, power actually was misused and individual rights were trod upon. While all community dreams are positive, the same cannot be said of all community practices. In consequence, there are people who have been deeply scarred by experiments in group living that went awry. I've talked with a number of them and their stories can be chilling.

It is, of course, no mystery why the folks in this category don't return to community—they're still trying to recover from their prior experience.

Group III: Those for Whom It Was a Pivotal & Positive Experience But They Can't Go Back
This category is the most poignant. Often it's people with a strong sense of self, who have been quite successful in the mainstream. After years of wandering the relational desert of the wider culture they crave the sense of belonging and connection that is the hallmark of healthy community. At the same time however, they've become set in their ways and are often: a) unwilling to give up the control they have over their lives to be a rookie in an established group; or b) no longer have the energy to pioneer a fresh group. 

They are at a stage in their life where they seek community as support for their active life. They know what they want to do in the world and they're seeking community as a base of operation. As such, they prefer to join an established group (they have no interest in being on the committee to establish pet policies or parking lot norms). Yet they also have definite ideas about how they want things to run, and it's highly unlikely that there's a community that exactly meets their specs.

There are few groups who embrace new members who are full of ideas about how things can be improved. Rather, most groups want new members who are first willing to learn why things are they way they are, and who try to be accepting. Unfortunately, Group III folks tend to have Type A personalities. As movers and shakers, they can be disruptive and established groups tend to react badly when new members try to move things around too much or to shake them up right away.

Over the years I've been approached by a number of community veterans looking to go home again (to community). While these folks have valuable community experience, you cannot reasonably walk into a new group and demand credit for past service in another location; respect has to be earned anew. If returning veterans do not have the patience or humility to be viewed as a newbie, finding them a suitable home in community can be like the proverbial challenge of fitting a camel through the eye of a needle—they'd have a better chance of making a lot of money and trying to buy their way into heaven community.