The other day, I was walking down the street. I saw a gaggle of college-aged men, one of whom was carrying a guitar, another carrying a small amplifier. I engaged in conversation with the gaggle, enquiring about the guitar, amp, and their collective musical abilities. After a brief discussion of musical influences, bands, and instruments, I was whisked away by other friends. I love talking to strangers, so I was very pleased with my admittedly brief discussion. Then, the other night at the climbing gym, I saw a gaggle of college-aged men, seemingly newcomers to climbing. I started talking to them, and then realized that one of them was the same as in the group of men I met on my walk! This felt very serendipitous, a word I have never bee
n able to define. It was a mix of good city planning, wonderful community spaces, and a sprinkle of luck. If I were in a car instead of on foot walking down that street, I probably would not have even noticed the instrument-toting group. On foot, my attention was drawn to them in a totally unique way. Walkable spaces are amazing because they breed this sort of connection. It’s not quite small-town coziness, as that can feel suffocating at times. It’s more of an active transportation-centric environment that breeds spontaneity. You can, of course, experience this sort of thing in a car-dependent town like the one I live in, given the appropriate spaces. My favorite space for serendipity must be the climbing gym. It totally shrinks the size of a community, finding a niche hobby. You meet so many disparate people that are brought together by an activity, an experience, I’m sure, that is replicated in knitting circles, group meditation, or book clubs. I guess the feeling I’m trying to convey is encapsulated by the word community. It’s the best parts of living in a small town without the suffocating lack of privacy. It’s the ability to blend into a crowd with anonymity and then, in the same instant, recognize a friend and strike up a conversation. I love communities. If I performed a study on myself and surveyed my feelings of connection to the community, I am certain you could cross-reference that chart with one of my uses of vices. They would surely have an inverse relationship. That was the outcome of the Rat Park experiment. The opposite of addiction is not sobriety, it’s connection! We are social critters; we want to socialize. We want to connect! Share stories, experiences, resources, and help each other thrive. Perhaps you are addicted to that socialization, that sharing, that feeling of connection, but what is more human than that?
editors note: i think this sounds like a robot. thats ok i guess! trying to not be a perfectionist.
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