An interesting thing has been happening in the community I’m staying at. For the last couple months everyone has been working very hard to prepare for a group of visitors who arrived a couple days after we did. Since their arrival, the focus of the community has been, for the most part, keeping this group happy. Often, this goal has come with the consequence that a large portion of those not directly involved with these visitors have been left somewhat to the wayside. Resentments have emerged. Stress has worn people thin. Conflicts in personalities and approaches have resulted in confrontations and the occasional low-level exile.
I came at a strange time. I know this, because everyone keeps telling me. Steven, who spent several months here last year, has something to compare the current state of things against. I, on the other hand, do not.
Maybe that’s a good thing, if I can be patient enough to ride it out.
Coming into a community like this can be difficult, even in the best of times. There are a lot of unwritten rules, expectations, and procedures that you have to learn in order to really get into the flow of life. Coming along with all those things will inevitably be questions, at least for me. Why does this work this way? And without answers to those important questions, the rules can feel very arbitrary and, many times, contrary to my own set of beliefs.
Every day, often many times a day, I come to this point where I hate it here and want to run as fast as my feet can take me in any direction that points away. I don’t know these people, except for a few who I have very little interaction with at this point. I don’t have an investment in this community. The strongest tie—and really, the thing that has probably kept me here to this point—is the cats. Second to that is Steven. He comes second, because I can actually sit down and explain to him why I’d be leaving, whereas it’d just be abandoning the cats.
Why, then, could this possibly be a good time to come?
When I was a kid, I used to approach my dinner plate with the motto: eat the worst, first. Get it over with. Deal with the thing Mom is going to make me eat anyway so I can enjoy the rest of it without that thing hanging over my head. That’s kind of the approach I’m trying to take here. I get to see this community worn thin, when the nasty attributes that manifest in the face of stress and sleep deprivation come to the surface. I’m not saying that after this it’ll all be sunshine and rainbows, but at least I’ve gotten a dose of the worst, first.
This approach does not wholly convince me. I’ve told myself, and plenty others, that I am giving the community a solid month, after the crazy-making event is over. At the end of that month I will look back over everything, and decide if this is where I want to be.
I’m reminded of my first couple weeks in India. I spent a large portion of that time in my room, on my bed, crying and sleeping. I felt out of place, alone, lonely. I was disenchanted with the contradictions I saw between the holy city of Rishikesh and the way the people treated the animals. Culture shock is a real and heavy thing. Even five weeks into my trip I was still seriously considering leaving.
There is a question that comes to my mind sometimes, that I haven’t really found the answer to: When is it time to cut my losses from what is truly a bad situation for me, and when is it time to invest a little bit more hope, a little bit more energy, so I can come out the other side stronger? It’s a delicate balancing act that requires listening to the heart and the gut. Practices that require, well, practice. The still, small voice of truth inside all of us can be hard to discern from the whirlwind of fear and opinions that usually rages within. The more we listen, however, the louder it gets.