We need it. Sometimes we crave it. We don’t always know how to make it happen. A sense of community can be as elusive as the Golden Snitch at a Quidditch match, but most of us are still compelled to seek it. After all, we’re created for community.
One of the biggest challenges in moving to a new place is rebuilding community. If you’ve just left a place where you were known, accepted, welcomed, and even cherished, the newness of the next place makes it feel you’ve tripped and fallen into a black hole. Every bit of life is sucked from you as you get settled into the new, and there’s rarely anyone to give you a hand. There’s no one who really knows you. Isolation hurts more than ever.
I think we often forget that new places, new people, new circumstances necessitate some change and (hopefully) some growth. We forget that the community we left didn’t just flourish and welcome us as soon as we walked into the school, the job, the neighborhood. It took time and it took work. We had to work at it. Others had to work at it, too.
As adulthood takes shape, there are fewer places of automatic community. We have to seek it out. We have to extend ourselves.
It’s great when others ask the questions and extend the invitations. It’s amazing when you find someone you click with a few minutes into your first conversation. But that’s only one side of the story. To build real community, I have to ask the questions. I have to invite. I have to risk. I have to get over myself.
The reward is amazing, but it doesn’t happen all at once. Just like a Quidditch match, community and the Golden Snitch can elude us for a while, but it doesn’t mean we give up. It doesn’t mean we walk off and forget about (as if we could!). We keep at it. With time we realize we are part of what we’ve longed for.
We have the Snitch.
(If you’re clueless about Golden Snitches and Quidditch. I’m really sorry. You should add Harry Potter to your summer reading list. I promise–it’s not evil.)
Confession Time . . . I’m linking up to The Gypsy Mama‘s Five Minute Friday, but I spent more than 5 minutes on this. My thoughts tumbled about like clothes in the dryer and that’s how my words came out–messy and jumbled. So, if you’re a 5 minute purist . . . please forgive me my time transgressions.
image courtesy of msrballoons.com