I was reading Norman’s entry for today, Some Things Never Change, about the need for community. He asked the question, too, what one’s favorite sound might be, suggesting a response such as the voice of loved ones. I think this is not universally true. Community is so much more comfortably mediated electronically. That may call for an explanation.
I’ve got fragrance/chemical sensitivities that make me ill when I am around people (or new construction or remodeling materials or exhaust fumes or candles or newly printed books, newspapers, magazines, etc.) I become dizzy, disoriented, panicky, practically speechless, and decidedly ill. It’s got the food and respiratory allergies and the gluten intolerance beaten all hollow. Nothing makes me quite so ill as civilization.
I remember when I had to give up riding on a city bus…walking at times of the day when there was heavy traffic…attending traditional church services…taking part in Bible study circle. I spent 15 years attending Roman Catholic churches, but after the second time with blood poisoning from the incense fumes on my skin and no interest in having a holiday church service that didn’t have incense, I was out of there. At the next place, the flowers, candles, perfumes, lotions and hairspray drove me out. The visitation pastor comiserated with me, but said that unless I were a major financial contributor to the church, it was useless to even bring up the issue at a church meeting.
It is not as though I didn’t take an active role in the life of the church, wherever I was–retreats, contemporary and traditional choirs, Stephen ministry, conducting workshops, writing Bible studies, meditations, songs, calls to worship, devotions, etc., etc. When I became “difficult,” I was no longer welcome.
I wrote a poem, the day it became obvious what had happened at my church “home”: “Vision Stalker.” E-mailed a copy to my mother, and she wrote back: “It was ‘Rally Sunday’ at your church, last Sunday, too, wasn’t it.” She knew exactly what I meant by what I’d said. She was different in other ways, but she also didn’t fit in.
Quiet. Solitude. Waiting rather than programmed worship. My favorite sound? Fast-moving water. The wind in the trees. The almost soundless sound of snowflakes falling on a too cold night.
I experience community on the computer. It’s safer and longer lived that way.
Hi Liz! Oddly enough, I was discussing a part of this point this morning. One of the things I have found is that community means something different to youth and young adults today than it does for a lot of us older folks!
Community for them is just as easily formed through electrons as it is in a face-to-face and audible form.
I hadn’t realized your extreme reactions to scents, etc. I can not begin to imagine what that would be like. On the other hand, you have underscored something that has only recently begun to dawn on me about how community and communication is and may be formed!
I’m not sure whether it’s age or adaptability or circumstances, Norm. I’m 62 (as of the end of this month), but I’ve worked with computers since I graduated from college in 1968 (with majors in English and philosophy). Not sure how much of a factor my age is.
My mother, who is 86, has been hanging out at rec.crafts.textiles.quilting for over 10 years, now, discussing quilting and life in general with people from all over the world. (When she had a hip replacement, they collected and mailed to her enough quilt squares made by newsgroup members to make two quilts.)
One thing that strikes me is that I really haven’t come across all that many people I have a lot in common with. (Married Al when I was 45.) On the Internet it’s easier to find people with common interests, and there’s a lot more of them, because I’m drawing from a larger, deeper pool.