Couchsurfing, Connections, and Community - Afterword

Afterword: The universe has always found synchronistic ways to talk to me through books and writing. I wrote the above entry after fighting off a bout of severe depression this morning. I feel quite forgotten by my friends back home; my geographical friends you might say. Most never write, even good friends rarely do, and only one writes if too much time has passed between my posts. My Aunt Kay is the only one who has kept consistent, loving communication with me for the last year since I gave up house and home to find what has meaning in life and what I can contribute to this world now that my children are grown and gone. I open email conversations, after a few exchanges my friends close them, and I don’t hear from them again until I open another email conversation. I don’t understand this obvious recoil of friendship from people I spent years building connection with and there are days, like today, when it crushes me. When the “why am I here” and “what is the point” blues descend, I cry, scream if I need to, and then force myself to pick something to do that will take some time to finish. I make a deal with myself to finish it, knowing when I do the darkness will have dissipated some. Today it was making pasta sauce and writing the above post. When I finished writing, I went to research the idea of connections based on common interest rather than common geography. The second link I hit was the following story: Let's Build a Fanatical Empire I’ve envied plenty of people in my life. Pulitzer Prize winners. Concert pianists. Women with naturally curly hair. But I never-ever-not-one-weensy bit thought one day I would find myself jealous of Barbie collectors. Of people, primarily women in bright colors and pink lipstick, who eagerly dip into their children’s college education fund in order to purchase tiny red shoes and tiny sparkly earrings and tiny strapless ball gowns for those days when their Barbies are feeling especially glamorous and in need of a night on the town. But that’s exactly what happened one hot July weekend when I attended a Barbie convention as part of my research for WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? I spent a couple of days watching squealing women in pink run on tip-toes through the convention. I attended workshops on limb reconstruction and costume design. I heard stories about hotel slumber parties that featured strawberry daiquiris and dozens of pajama-clad women armed with their Barbies. It was all very bright and cute and puzzling. And then I met Judy Stegner, a 43-year-old collector and single mother from Fort Worth, Texas, who told me about her 700-doll Barbie collection, and her amazing Barbie friends, most of whom she’d originally met on the Internet. “You know,” she said, her voice a deep Texas twang, “the Barbie collectors I've met are great people. I mean, I never could have made it without 'em." “What do you mean,” I asked, “that you couldn’t have made it without them?” Judy then went on to tell me that her son, a 17-year-old named Justin, had been murdered at a random shooting at a church. He was her only child. After the shooting her Texas friends gradually dropped out of sight. “I mean, I don’t blame ‘em,” she said. “They didn’t know what to say. “But my Barbie friends… they called or wrote me every day. They sent me money. They sent care packages. They helped raise thousands of dollars for a tuition assistance fund in Justin’s name. They also contacted Mattel. Can you believe that? They contacted Mattel and the company sent me a special collectible Barbie and a handwritten note the first Christmas after Justin died.” Judy paused to raise her glasses and wipe away tears. I couldn’t think of a single, comforting thing to say and felt deeply ashamed because of it. Suddenly, Judy jumped to her feet. "Let me show you somethin'," she said. She grabbed her convention tote bag, pulled out a quilt and unfolded it on the bench in front of us. The quilt, made to honor her son’s life, featured 18 hand-sewn panels created by her Internet Barbie friends in California, Texas, Oklahoma, Michigan, Virginia, New York and Australia. The back of the quilt was covered in a white flannel swath of vintage fabric covered with Barbie silhouettes. Judy bent over and ran her hand along the soft material. "I can't imagine how much that cost," she said. “I’m so blessed. This is the closest circle of friends I’ve ever had.” I left Judy feeling a bit awestruck. I’d spent two days at the Barbie convention, secretly amused by the pink spectacle of it all, and in the space of one, 30-minute conversation, Judy made me realize there was much more to Barbie collecting than meets the eye. There was a passion for dolls, sure. And a passion for creative expression through costuming. And a passion for the hunt-and-gather challenge of finding dolls perfect for your collection. But there was also community – the same kind of we’ll-do-anything-for-you community that some people claim is dying in America. For all these reasons, I was jealous. And when I left the convention and was given a 30th-anniversary Malibu Barbie as a memento (same as the original, but with sunscreen) I was secretly thrilled by the acquisition. And here’s the thing: I’ve since learned that Judy and her Barbie friends are not an exception. Every subculture I studied exhibited the same zany, who-gives-a-rip passion, and the same vibrant sense of community. http://whoareyoupeople.typepad.com/blog/2006/09/fanatics_anonym.html by Shari Caudron I guess when our life changes in some dramatic, profound way it is hard for the people who love us to know how to continue to be with us. It is easier sometimes to pull away than to imagine what a friend is going through in their changed world. We all see reflections of ourselves in others. For Judy’s friends I’m sure it was her profound suffering. For mine perhaps it was the profound emptiness that forces me to search beyond the American dream for something more fulfilling. For both of us, it has been the beauty of the community that we have come to belong to that helps see us through the harder times. I think of the people I have met and want to know better, the places I would still like to see and those I would like to return to, and most especially the kindness, generosity, and hospitality that has been shown me since I have traveled this new road and joined this new community, and it keeps me going, even when I feel lost and forgotten. To all of you, in the community of man and all the communities it contains - never underestimate the power of the kindness and the connections you share with others. It can be the only thing that sees them through the dark and back into the light.