I totally endorse tight-knit communities, ones in which bonds of friendship are formed and nurtured, ones that foster hope, ones whose members help one another out when needed.
And I certainly endorse the choice of being mindful about how you respond to criticism, how you respond to other people’s behavior, how you respond to other people’s emotions.
For my own part, I have been lucky enough to find such a community in my own life, and I value it enormously. I’ve seen that community help one another pay rent, take care of one another’s children, help one another through periods of grief and join one another in periods of joy. When I had my stroke and was delirious in the ICU for a week, they organized a 24-hour heel-and-toe watch so I would always have someone I knew in the room when I awoke. Many of us spent much of this past weekend visiting a friend whose father died recently.
It’s not a religious community, although many members are religious—many different religions, both mainstream and non-mainstream. Many members are atheist. In most cases, I neither know nor care about their religious or spiritual stance, nor do they mine. It’s not a much-of-anything-in-particular community, though it has its origins in several online and university communities.
Personally, I don’t think I could find the kind of support you’ve found in a community that denounces my marriage, for example. Nor in a “relentlessly positive” community that discourages expressions of negative emotion. But if you’ve found support there, if it helps you be more mindful of your choices and to make choices that improve your life, then I’m happy for you.
I also endorse not confusing fundamentals with accidentals. What I endorse in your community is the reliable (within strict limits) mutual support, which is also what I value in my own. I assume you would similarly endorse that in my community.
That yours is a religious community, and mine is not, is beside the point.
Its origins are complicated, but yes, online communities were importantly involved, and it would not have become what it did without them.
But neither would it have become what it did had it been an exclusively online community.
Striking a balance between the convenience of online communities and the stability of geographic ones is something I suspect we (that is, humans) will be experimenting with for several decades to come.
The stability of geographical communities mainly comes from it being impossible to completely avoid people you dislike, or not meet people you could get along with when you frequently are at the same location. I lack the experience of living before the internet was well developed, but I actually prefer meeting and talking to people online. Even when you live in the same house as someone, it is still primarily through the words they say that you have a clue what is going on in their minds. The need for physical proximity seems like it is mostly nostalgia.
You are, of course, entitled to value whatever communities you wish for whatever properties you wish.
And, like you, I value online communities for the opportunity to encounter new minds.
That said, when a single parent needs a friend to look after their kid for an afternoon, or someone with a broken leg needs a friend to help them get groceries into their third-floor walkup, or someone delerious in an ICU needs a friend to sit with them for an evening, or someone who has just been dumped needs a friend to hold them for a few hours, or someone who just lost their home needs a spare bed to sleep on for a couple of weeks, or any of a million other similar situations arise, words on a screen aren’t terribly helpful.
I value geographical communities for all of those services and more.
But sure, for a community where nobody needs those kinds of services, physical proximity may not be a big deal.
I totally endorse tight-knit communities, ones in which bonds of friendship are formed and nurtured, ones that foster hope, ones whose members help one another out when needed.
And I certainly endorse the choice of being mindful about how you respond to criticism, how you respond to other people’s behavior, how you respond to other people’s emotions.
For my own part, I have been lucky enough to find such a community in my own life, and I value it enormously. I’ve seen that community help one another pay rent, take care of one another’s children, help one another through periods of grief and join one another in periods of joy. When I had my stroke and was delirious in the ICU for a week, they organized a 24-hour heel-and-toe watch so I would always have someone I knew in the room when I awoke. Many of us spent much of this past weekend visiting a friend whose father died recently.
It’s not a religious community, although many members are religious—many different religions, both mainstream and non-mainstream. Many members are atheist. In most cases, I neither know nor care about their religious or spiritual stance, nor do they mine. It’s not a much-of-anything-in-particular community, though it has its origins in several online and university communities.
Personally, I don’t think I could find the kind of support you’ve found in a community that denounces my marriage, for example. Nor in a “relentlessly positive” community that discourages expressions of negative emotion. But if you’ve found support there, if it helps you be more mindful of your choices and to make choices that improve your life, then I’m happy for you.
I also endorse not confusing fundamentals with accidentals. What I endorse in your community is the reliable (within strict limits) mutual support, which is also what I value in my own. I assume you would similarly endorse that in my community.
That yours is a religious community, and mine is not, is beside the point.
I’m happy that you’ve found such a community, and I find it very encouraging. It originated online? Really? That is...also encouraging.
Its origins are complicated, but yes, online communities were importantly involved, and it would not have become what it did without them.
But neither would it have become what it did had it been an exclusively online community.
Striking a balance between the convenience of online communities and the stability of geographic ones is something I suspect we (that is, humans) will be experimenting with for several decades to come.
The stability of geographical communities mainly comes from it being impossible to completely avoid people you dislike, or not meet people you could get along with when you frequently are at the same location. I lack the experience of living before the internet was well developed, but I actually prefer meeting and talking to people online. Even when you live in the same house as someone, it is still primarily through the words they say that you have a clue what is going on in their minds. The need for physical proximity seems like it is mostly nostalgia.
You are, of course, entitled to value whatever communities you wish for whatever properties you wish.
And, like you, I value online communities for the opportunity to encounter new minds.
That said, when a single parent needs a friend to look after their kid for an afternoon, or someone with a broken leg needs a friend to help them get groceries into their third-floor walkup, or someone delerious in an ICU needs a friend to sit with them for an evening, or someone who has just been dumped needs a friend to hold them for a few hours, or someone who just lost their home needs a spare bed to sleep on for a couple of weeks, or any of a million other similar situations arise, words on a screen aren’t terribly helpful.
I value geographical communities for all of those services and more.
But sure, for a community where nobody needs those kinds of services, physical proximity may not be a big deal.