That’s how it is because it’s always been that way. And because that’s how it is, and they know that’s how it is, they don’t need to explain. And because they don’t need to explain, they don’t talk about it, and that’s how it is.
Which makes it hard to explain because it means thinking about what it is. What it is.
And that’s what I lose when I’m away, and what I slip into when I’m back. It’s the pair of jeans that’s stiff for just a moment when first out of the wash but soon soften completely, fitting the contours of the body as a skin. It’s a flicker of unconscious observation that things are the way they always were before falling into a groove so deep that there’s nothing to see without a point of comparison.
Patterns are comfortable, easy, normal. Evolutionary, after all. Patterns have been expected for so long that there might be observations made but no questions asked, at least not out loud. It’s the changes that are questioned, the things that are no longer the way they were before, the things that are just different enough to seem jarringly out of place. And it’s only with comparison that we notice, the comparison brought by distance or time or the dramatic life events that have us seeing everything with different eyes.
I’ve slipped in and out of many skins and they snag sometimes, like the way leather boots rub the backs of heels used to the freedom of sandals. Sometimes a sweater deemed cozy in one environment is garish in another, or a favourite work dress is suddenly completely out of place. Sometimes the clashis obvious, and sometimes it takes a moment to put a finger on just what doesn’t fit. But once identified, it cannot be ignored. The broken zipper catches in all the wrong places and tugging it closed is an inconvenience that turns into irritation.
Late at night is usually the time when everything feels wrong, where the life chosen and celebrated is under the microscope of inquisition, its only fault being that its course is reality and its outcome unknown. (This is living, after all.) The life not chosen, the path not taken, is the one full of possibility and because nothing is known, anything is possible. The life chosen and experienced in medias res suddenly seems written to conclusion. The allure of the other choice is just that, allure, because we can neatly conclude everything when we know nothing. The mind spins patterns and the patterns reveal themselves in stories, compelling for their certainty despite the gossamer substance of dreams.
In the morning it’s easy to see the dreams for what they are, to dissolve the wisps into smoke and settle back down to earth. But what doesn’t go away, what never goes away, is the swell of questions that comes from the lofty heights of comparison. It’s easy to find fault with what there is when what there could be only exists through rose-coloured glasses. And it’s easy to forget that the forks in the road were once obscured with weeds, or that the signs were old and faded. It’s easy to forget that the choice was to walk through the open door because another door had closed. It’s easy to be nostalgic for what is no longer, and easy to fall for what never was and couldn’t be.
It’s having the courage to look forward instead of sideways, to go confidently while the world turns, that is somehow obscured late at night. To commit to what was chosen and to let that path shape itself around a body that has itself changed. The jeans might need to be let out or taken in, held up with suspenders or cut down into a purse, but the jeans shape themselves to the body they’re given; we either fully embrace where we are or run the risk of forgetting to live at all.
And because it always, always helps to remember, here I end with words borrowed:
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. -Robert Frost
I didn’t think much about the interaction after it took place, but I’ve never forgotten the email I received years later. It’s an important reminder of what it means to be part of social groups and what it means to look out for one another. I believe in the possibility for a peaceful world through the purposeful, intentional building of peaceful societies and communities. And I believe this requires us to step outside of ourselves and care for those who share our communities with us.
After reading and rereading an email that I was surprised to receive, I thought back to the interaction that had taken place one afternoon. I saw a student sitting in the hall in front of the lockers, a completely normal thing for a student to do, and something about facial expression or body language prompted me to follow up my greeting with, “Are you okay?” The student reassured me that all was fine, and we went our separate ways.
But, the student wrote in an email years later, all wasn’t fine and I had noticed. This student was now older, wiser, happier, and more confident in themselves and was writing to thank me for noticing them. I appreciated the email not just because of its contents, but because it indicated that the student remembered something I had forgotten, something that was more significant than I had recognized.
And this led me to think about other interactions, other moments in which we catch something in others that is, perhaps, not quite right. And then we make a choice. We can make the choice to dismiss what we see, to assume that people will come to us if they need to. Or, we make the choice to engage. This can be as simple as asking that question, “Are you okay?” or opening a conversation that we find challenging. It can be hard to share our impressions of others with them, to ask people really big questions about their lives or their choices. Sometimes we don’t realize (or won’t admit) something is wrong until somebody stops us to ask.
Even if we don’t want to have the conversation, or if the automatic, “Yes, why?” remains the response, I think there’s something really important in having been asked how you are. Like my student, I’ve never forgotten the Italian night class professor who took one look at me and asked if I was okay. I remember blaming whatever “it” was on having had a long day at work, and I don’t remember what was actually wrong. I just remember that she noticed something and she asked. On another occasion, I remember the relief I felt at someone else noticing a situation that I had tried to brush aside. “Are you okay?” meant that I didn’t have to be, meant that someone else saw what I saw.
One might argue that a simple “Are you okay?” is only good enough if the response is then acknowledged. What do we do, for example, when we were secretly hoping the person would simply reply, “Yes, why?” or when we realize that the ten minutes we’re available to talk might not be enough? I don’t want to say that there’s an art to asking this question because I don’t think there is. I think people understand when a question is genuinely meant. There is then a respect in interaction that opens an invitation when an immediate response is not possible. “Are you okay?” could indeed arrest a moment of crisis, but I don’t know how commonly that is the case.
I don’t think it has to be complicated to be a good person or to live as part of a social society. Rather, I think it is the aspect of acknowledging one another’s humanity in a natural, real way that creates such societies. There’s no harm in pausing for the moment it takes to ask someone how they are, and the ask itself might make all the difference.
My weekly German lessons follow a textbook, the current chapter of which is “Nebenan und Nachbarschaft”, or “Next Door and Neighbourhood”. Truth be told, much of my German lesson time is spent just chatting with my teacher and hearing a lot about life in the DDR (German Democratic Republic, or East Germany). I get a lot of practice listening, and learn about German society and history in the process. Last week, however, a discussion prompt in the textbook led to a discussion of German attitudes towards neighbours in comparison to American attitudes. Two points in particular were striking.
Moving
In Germany, people usually stay relatively close to where they grew up. My friends here live in the towns where they were raised, or a short drive (we’re talking minutes, not hours) away. When people move, they make a home for themselves in the new place, but are often already familiar with the area and have networks of people around, either in the new place or close by. This is quite different to the situation in the US, where the touted cultural expectation is often that young people will leave and start their own lives somewhere else, somewhere far away. (Interestingly, though the data do not bear this out, the cultural interest remains.)
Perhaps, my German teacher suggested during our discussion of an audio recording we heard during the lesson, it is this movement between places that has led to connections among neighbours. In my experiences living in the US, people make an effort to get to know each other, they have regular social gatherings, and it is not uncommon to knock on a new neighbour’s door to drop off baked goods and introduce oneself. Whenever I visit my parents, I am stunned by the number of people my mum greets by name when out walking the dog. (A brief anecdote about who they are in the neighbourhood usually follows.)
Although greeting a new neighbour with baked goods is utterly unheard of in Germany, I have found my neighbours to be quite friendly. I know a few names and greet the others around town when I see them. It is common for German neighbours to collect deliveries for each other, and I gave my neighbours the keys once to let in a repair person during the day, another perfectly common interaction. People water each other’s plants, but a social gathering would likely be out of the question, and possibly seen as an affront on much-desired privacy.
Perhaps a different environment is borne from being new to a place, from the need to learn more about the local school district, for example, and find a mechanic as soon as one settles in. German neighbours live side-by-side and are respectful of one another’s space; American neighbours might be looking for community, which Germans already have elsewhere.
Levels of relationships
The search (or not) for community upon arriving in a place might help create different levels of relationships among people. When you’re alone in a place, you need people, whether for social contact, general assistance moving house, or getting to know the area. Perhaps this creates closer bonds from the outset than in environments where people already have social networks, and perhaps cultural expectations about the relationships people have with their neighbours make it easier (or more difficult) to get to know them in some places rather than others.
For example, a friend in Denver has sent me photos of his neighbourhood spaghetti dinners, and a Canadian born-and-raised friend whose mother tongue is Swiss-German lamented how hard it was to make friends during a decade in Switzerland as an adult because people moved in the same circles they had since grade school. Many of the people I’ve met in Germany have known each other since their own school time, and even if they’re no longer close, they greet each other in the street. Perhaps when people have so many connections that stretch back so far, they don’t have the same need to look for new ones.
A phenomenon that I really like here in Germany is that of Mehrgenerationenhäuser, or “multiple generation houses”. This is the idea that people of all ages live in the same house (apartment building) with the intention of interacting with and helping each other. Older residents might provide childcare for the children of working residents, while those working-age residents might help older residents with household tasks. This is a commitment to knowing one’s neighbours in a society where people already have strong social bonds, perhaps indicating that strong relationships between neighbours would not otherwise evolve.
It was an interesting conversation to have during my German lesson, an interesting look into societal differences that tell us something about culture and attitudes. These are differences that might not be obvious from the beginning, but become increasingly so the more one looks around. And like many aspects of society, this demonstrates that there are many ways of being, and that one way is not better or worse than another. Rather, these ways of being create the culture and environment of a place, and it is to this that people adapt when moving across borders.
Photos, travels, musings, and ideas on education by someone trying to make the world a better and more peaceful place
By Rebecca Michelle 