walking in circles

My wife Lesli and I were teaching a class on the book Margin by Dr. Richard Swenson, who believes that health for people in North America demands a return to living within our physical, time, financial, and emotional resources. Lesli came up with a pair of diagram that captures the conclusions we've come to regarding lifestyle and community.

The first diagram is a hub with a half dozen spokes emerging from it attached to circles. The hub is me, and the circles represent your various "neighborhoods". There's the people you know who live around you, the people you know from work, the people from your kids' schools, from your faith community, from the gym, from the places you've lived before, and your extended family. If you have a hobby that gets you in another group, add that. Maybe even the email groups you belong to, if you want. There's also a loosely connected retail and service community - people you buy stuff from or hire to build, make, or fix things. It's our experience in modern suburban life that it is rare for these groups to have any shared members. Imagine a big celebration for your next birthday - you invite everyone one you know. I picture that for most suburbanites, the party hardens into pockets of people who know each other from one of your circles but know no one else.

The second diagram is the same as the first with this exception: the spokes are shorter, with the result that the attached circles overlap - there are people from your various spheres of life who fit in more than one group. People from church also happen to be your neighbors. The father of your kid's friend fixes your car. The woman who serves on the food bank board married your mother's cousin. This life exists in rural areas, small towns, and still exists in pockets of older cities. Throw a big party in this diagram and the overhead view looks like an ants nest of mingling.
There's a lot to be said for this second picture. For one, it contributes to personal integrity: it's harder for me to be a "different person" at work than at home, because there are those who both see me work and see me parent. Second, it allows me to both see others and be seen by them as more than a role. It's harder to commodify me, and I am likewise less likely to treat another simply as someone who does or gives something to me: I will more likely consider my doctor's need for rest along side of my need for her care if I know her children. Third, people in this picture emerge as we are: multifaceted. Did you know that the guy who lives next to you is a fine banjo player? In this picture, you eventually would. Fourth, it simplifies life and speeds up the resolution of challenges. If I know that my neighbor plays banjo, I do not need to thumb through the yellow pages when I have an depression that requires the irresistible joy that the banjo elicits. I knock on his door - if he can't help, he knows someone who can. Banjo players have as one of their circles other banjo players. The same is true of people who could use my help. And if there's one thing that I have grown certain of, it's that people love to be asked to help. Fifth, it builds citizenship. As the circles overlap, I begin to see concerns that impact many of the people in them. I also begin to sense passions, skills, and connections for addressing these concerns. They may not impact me directly, but I see that they impact my neighbors (not just my geographical neighbors) and therefore I understand the call for action.

Personally, I can't think of any negatives in this picture. I know some people like their privacy; but in my experience privacy is either the desire not to be hurt or the desire to do hurtful things (and the cycle of abuse suggests that these two desires are interwoven). These desires are more easily addressed in relationship than out of it.
The more pressing question is not whether everybody wants it, but why, if it's so good for us to live with overlapping social worlds, don't we have it?
It could be wealth: the love of money is the root of all evil, according to a first century writer. Money always tempts me to think I can take care of myself, when in fact the notion that I can take care of myself is the source of much suffering. As the wealthiest people in the world, and maybe of all history, suburbanites are an awfully lonely bunch.
It could be that we don't realize that the life of overlapping worlds requires, in the suburban context, an intentional scaling back. One author, in The Connecting Church, suggests living as much as possible within one square mile.
It could be that we simply get in our cars too quickly, without thinking where we're going. A walking lifestyle in a walkable community builds a life defined by overlapping, interconnected, multifaceted relationships.
So here's to the life of true wealth: knowing people as I know myself - complex, broken, hopeful, skilled, passionate; and bound to them in a web of support and resourcefulness. A walking life.