Musings on community and self-worth

In Patti Smith’s Just Kids the idea of artistic connection and the ways in which people gravitate toward each other transcends the idea of metropolitan cities being the hotbed for creation. At the end of the day, it’s a myth. Who do we have when the streets are littered? What places do we have to go when the old haunt shuts down without warning? How does one grieve the loss of a community, the people that mirror to them that you are a valuable and unique individual? Something in the way that Smith mourns the loss of Robert, the literary gut punch that is waiting to barrel its fist, says a lot about how easy it is to forget out the community we learn about when we are younger. The community we have with another person.

Today is my 2-year anniversary, and I’ve learned that the worth in being a husband isn’t about showing up. It is actually what is reflected upon me that shows to me what worth is in my embodied self. If I wake up feeling grumpy, and I hate life when I put on my trousers in the morning, my self worth is as much as the lifeless fabric that serves merely as an armor. If I wake up and see the pants as something that I had acquired to clothe myself and serve the basic need in navigating in the world, I see my worth as someone who was able to get out of bed and live life (with pants on). Moreover, the worth I feel in being in a husband isn’t about showing up for someone else. It’s seeing my wife in the morning, reflecting back to me, someone who has loved, protected, and continued to support me. To have someone like this in my life, to have worked hard to realize this, to embrace her and let be the person that she is, shows to me that I am deserving of this love.

When we lose communities, lose people, or things, we do lose a piece of ourselves. It’s hard to show up in new spaces, because we carry with us the weight of our hearts. Everyday we carry that weight. No matter how much exercise, training, or meditating we do, I am led to my inner self. I see within me the path toward healing – to acknowledge that those people, those communities, and those things are long gone. What I have now is love – a life to live with someone that I have traversed disparate paths with and conquered battles with. What I have now is a communion with self. If I am lucky, I can build a circle of people that lead to my mind and my heart. What I have now is self-worth.

It is morning now. The streets are a lot cleaner, because the cleaning has happened. But it doesn’t account for the still remaining piles of trash and broken glass that the morning dog walkers must be aware of. The joggers that seem to have an infinite amount of time. The bakers that are slanging their dough. As I walk to the train, I observe the buildings. Some of these will break down. In their lot, in the blink of an eye, a new building will go up. It reminds of time when I was new in the city. I was standing in front of a room full of people. I was reading verse, and I was nearly on the verge of tears. It was the literature that brought me here. It was my wife gifting me a copy of Patti Smith’s book before I took a leap. That was then.

But I’m here now though. The spring wind brushes against my face, as I try to hide my desire for that time. I’ll always carry it. I will now embrace – that version of me as a moment in time. That was the previous chapter. I wouldn’t trade it for the one that I am in now.