As a teenager growing up in Minneapolis, I couldn't wait to move far away. Despite my best efforts, I ended up attending college at the University of Minnesota, a whopping 6 miles away from my house. There, I discovered there was something deeply right about being in my hometown in this new way. I fell in love with the closeness of the skyline, the hushed wonder of the Mississippi River, which I crossed daily, and the wild turkeys who roamed the streets. Over the past 22 years, my heart has been both broken and filled with joy because of this city, as I have been raised in the midst of rivers, artists, bogs, and uprisings. (An essay, or perhaps novel, for another time). Moving across the country gave me a whole new perspective on what home means, and the significance of Place. I had never spent more than a few weeks outside of Minnesota before coming here. Now that I was gone from the city I had once been itching to leave, nothing seemed to make sense. How could this Place embrace me when it does not know me? Why are the roundabouts called rotaries, and why are everyone’s vowels so short? How could I belong here when I have almost no understanding of this Place?
On my first day here, as I was pulling up to my new home, I saw a tree on the boulevard that made me do a double take. I gazed at the smooth, flaking bark and the pointy tipped leaves. A sycamore. Never in my life have I had them so close, so constant. I was abuzz with excitement. What other newness will I share space with here? Months later, although my heart still longs for my cottonwood friends, I rejoice at the shagbark hickory, sweet gum, pin oak, and beech trees that have now become part of my surroundings. I have tasted the salt of the ocean, and watched honey bees bathing in pokeweed pollen. I still see wood ducks, great blue herons, and wild turkeys, but they live near Scarboro Pond rather than Minnehaha Creek. I have also exchanged homemade bread and locally grown eggplants with parishioners, and held people’s hands as they shared their stories with me on the mobile clinic where I work. I have slowly found new walking routes, new neighbors, a new community and way of living that have been extraordinarily transformative. Even during our house meetings, which often go on for hours, I am filled with wonder, love, and a sense of simple yet indescribable correctness. I have been connected with a web of people who exist at the intersections of spirituality and social justice, and I have finally begun tangibly developing resources, skills, and relationships to engage with my commitment to emergency preparedness.
After a night walk with one of my housemates one day, we sat and talked on the porch for a while, watching the steady stream of traffic go by. As we moved through the conversation, we approached the subject of friendships, reciprocity, and the desire for change. I paused and asked, “Do you want to create a new pattern with me?” They agreed, and we sat in excited silence, marveling at the magic of that moment. I am grateful for the Life Together ecosystem, which allows such conversations to occur regularly. Questions of belonging and feelings of homesickness still arise within me, but over time I have seen myself and others creating incredible new ways of being. My suspicions that intentional community has the power to re-calibrate who we are as a species on this planet have been confirmed in the ways I have seen us show up together, and in the ways we strive to carry our values and connections more wholly into our lives. Being here has allowed me to live in the way I have always wanted to, and I know these experiences will always be with me, no matter where I call home.
