Bowling Alone

McKibbin and I have a long history of reading together in coffee shops. It's a habit we must have started with our college textbooks. Sitting quietly for hours. Talking in spurts of conversation about our books.

My memory of reading Robert Putnam’s text Bowling Alone is framed by coffee shops and the company of my future husband. Putnam's text documents the demise of civic engagement, the eroded relationships people form with neighbors and communities. It’s a book McKibbin can, rightfully, claim to have read because I'd smack him in the arm rather constantly and say, "...listen to this..."

And it's one of those rare books that shifted around the contents of my life. It called out a sense of isolation I had never put a name to. A loneliness I later thought of as my four-walls syndrome. Before this book, caring extended only as far as the four walls of my apartment or house. Sure, I belonged to letter-head organizations and partook in the occasional letter writing campaign. Rarely, though, did any of those letterheads ask me to show up to a meeting let alone talk to anybody.

So Bowling Alone shifted my center of gravity. Last night isn't my only example, though it's a good one. I've had the pleasure of working with a group of 8-10 neighbors in hopes of expanding the greenspace at Naomi’s school.

Last night we capitalized on the steady stream of foot traffic through the school building for Parent-Teacher conferences to showcase our conceptual design plans. I could talk (or blog) your ear off about the merits of the greenspace project...and at some point I'm sure I will...but my Bowling Alone point is that I felt tied to something. And feeling tied to something keeps me from feeling alone or growing cynical.

I considered the people I've worked with. The Summer Family Festival we organized, the Playground Movie Series that rolled out last fall. Even our Saturday breakfast meetings with orange juice and coffee and kids playing upstairs. The random occasion where we'll bump into each other at the grocery store or post office. The easy joking around we'll do while waiting in line. When I lived by the four-walls philosophy those sorts of things either didn't happen or the conversations didn't include me.

There's no global conclusion I've got for this blog post. Just a good moment I wanted to mark from my walk home last night. The cold night air stinging against my goofy smile. A smile that ate up my whole face.