Ten years ago, I moved into Friendship House. I remember getting into a fight with my mom as we grumbled over the many one-way streets in Forest Park, trying to find the house I’d move into but had yet to visit. I had all my belongings shoved in the back seat and my anxiety shoved in the front.
My memories from that day are vivid: Chris, a core member, sitting on the stairs speaking to my mom and interrogating her about our family. Tim, a core member, coming home from Arts of Life in the late afternoon and asking me about the countries I’ve visited and my favorite foods. Elbert, a core member, standing next to me while I chopped peppers for dinner, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and saying, “You’re alright with me,” as the sun beamed into the kitchen. Now, I know that this was Elbert’s highest compliment.
That evening the entire community came over for Celebration Night, and the walls stretched to accommodate the gathering. People squeezed past me to get seconds of the chicken fajitas, a meal requested by Tim, whose anniversary we were celebrating. After dinner, we formed a circle-like blob in the living room and dining room, and the strangers around me began participating in a ritual I would later learn to hold with the utmost respect and sacredness.
People began to name all the things they love, saw, and appreciated about Tim. They saw his resilience, his humor, his passion, his kindness. What struck me most was the ease in the space – how comfortable people felt to share with Tim what they loved about him. It was obviously a well-practiced ritual. I sat there somewhat terrified and simultaneously reassured. I yearned to be a part of a community that was bold enough to notice and name the gifts they saw in each other. My favorite poet, Mary Oliver, said, “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” She prescribes instructions for living life, saying: “pay attention, be astonished, tell about it.”
I hope I’ve paid attention. I know I’ve been astonished. This month, I will be stepping down from my official position as Director of Care to pursue work as a psychotherapist, but my love for this community will remain strong. This place is really special. It has held some of the most profound moments of my life alongside ordinary and deeply comforting kitchen table conversations about cars from the ‘90s and sump pump machines. It has cracked me open a million times over, and I cannot imagine I will ever stop talking about it.
