In practice, we modeled ourselves on an existing collective in Tampa called the Lakehouse, who were organized around the principles of engaged Christianity. Since we couldn't necessarily organize around religious lines, we instead organized on principles of minimizing our environmental impact and working for justice for socio-economically marginalized peoples. This was easy because we all were just out of college, under-employed, and living in a marginalized neighborhood. I jumped at this because it gave me a chance to practice the sort of engaged anthropology I had envisioned myself doing, and doing this put me in constant contact with other anthropologists working in Sulphur Springs.
So I went to grad school, and suddenly the time and emotional pressures of grad school proved to be too much to juggle in addition to my responsibilities to the collective. So I moved out, and I'm moving again, and pretty soon I'll be moved out of Tampa (if all goes according to plan).
And each move puts me at increasingly further distance from the primary relationships I formed during those years living at the Birdhouse. Because living in a community like that does wonders for propinquity --- the relationships you form when you sleep three to a room, share everything, and where front-porch discussions made for a much richer evening than the alternatives of isolation and numbing entertainment.
I'm kind of sad right now.
This time last year I was in the middle of one of the worst breakdowns of my adult life, radically re-organizing my life around the path that took me to where I am today, but in order to follow that path I had to give up something that I only really began to appreciate in hindsight: the propinquity. And I'm glad for the shitstorm that has been this year of life, because a lot of really good things have happened, too. For the first time in a long long while, I can say the laughter has outweighed the tears, even by a little bit.
