“What did you do over spring break?”
Well, I spent a week with 30 strangers on an urban farm doing service, without Wi-Fi, and maybe showered twice.
I think most people would’ve tapped out at the limited shower aspect, and I know I was second guessing my choice to live in community when I realized exactly how many people I would be sharing a space with. It’s hard enough for me to remember my coworkers names, let alone remember 30 new faces. It was like an intense game of memory, but with duplicates of some cards. (Wait, how many Rachels are there again?)
Each year, Campus Ministry hosts service trips over spring break. There were five options; most, if not all, included the words “community living.” When I saw that phrase, I didn’t realize, or rather, I didn’t know what it really meant to live in community. Although this could be seen as a shameless plug for the spring break service trip (which it’s not, but you can sign up on The Den when the new applications eventually roll around!), looking back on my experience, I believe that community living – or at the very least, trying to live sustainably – is something that everyone should at least try once in their lifetime.
Now, I have attended service trips before in high school where we went to Dante, Virginia, and lived a communally, but I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me for this trip.
Before I get into the nitty gritty of communal living, there are a few things that you should know about me first. I am an intense introvert. I can crack off sarcasm and joke around with people for a good few hours, but once my social battery hits zero, I actively seek out situations with limited human contact – more so than normal. Also, I am addicted to coffee. Unashamedly so. Comparable to being a two-pack-a-day smoker, but with coffee and relatively healthier.
I was placed at Jerusalem Farm, located in Kansas City, Missouri. (For the longest time, I hoped I’d be going to Kansas City, Kansas, just so I could say, “Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore!” as we were leaving. I still did; no one laughed.)
The first day was understandably quite a learning curve. Eight-hour car ride crammed in the middle back seat of an SUV, while throwback jams from the late 90s and early 2000s blared in the background. It was enjoyable in memory, but I wouldn’t volunteer to relive that ride again just yet.
Once we arrived to Jerusalem Farm, we were introduced to the lay and laws of the land. After which, I promptly knocked out before my caffeine-withdrawal headaches began to kick in. When I woke up the next morning, boy! did it kick in.
Throughout the week, I learned not only how much I waste, but how much of what I waste can be easily saved or converted into something useful. For example, I am now a strong supporter of composting and the whole, “if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down,” lifestyle. It may be a small act of solidarity for those with limited access to water, but one person is still better than no person.
Being an introvert, it takes me a little while to open up to people, and with so many people living under the same roof, it was overwhelming trying to be keep my guard up until one day I decided to just stop.
I learned how to become vulnerable. Spending most of your day with your work group transforms them all into something more than just random people from around the country stuck together for a week. It turns them into people you feel like you’ve known for most of your life.
Home universities become blurred, and you honestly forget that the only thing coming home with you are your memories and mementos of your new group of best buds. Living in community is bittersweet. I love how fast I witnessed the evolution, growth, and unadulterated genuineness of what was once a mass of strangers, but now the people I am proud to call friends. All in a weeks time.
Whether it’s installing fiberglass insulation for the first time, connecting with a person who was being unjustly evicted, or learning how to work a moody nail dispenser, deep, unique bonds can be grown as long as there’s a bit of love and an open heart.
Long-term community living isn’t for everyone, but it is an experience that, if gone into with an open heart and mind, can and will impart an impassioned sense of care and empathy, not only for yourself, but for those around you.
James Cantu
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