How to Live in Community

I had four completely different yet memorable college living experiences. First, I lived in a suite on a freshmen girls hall. I had my own room and while the girls on my hall had a great time doing fresher activities, I was struggling through my senior level courses and American culture shock. I don't remember much because I was either sleeping or studying. Not my finest moments.

Second, I lived in an apartment. I was going to get straight As that semester. My beloved non-perfectionist housemates were going to have fun. Nothing was ever clean, I did most grocery shopping, we have people over till 3am three nights a week. I chilled out, I had fun, I made it work, and I got my only B that semester.

Third, I lived in an co-ed "intentional community" with nine other people. My mother called it a commune which is a fair assessment...except that we were good Mennonite kids (except one Catholic) so nothing sketchy went down...not including some sketchy meals. That was the hardest semester academically, but it was almost the most fun; watching Winter Olympics, group dinners, board games, lots and lots of guests, and getting to know people very different from myself.

Fourth, I lived in another group house with 13 other people in Washington DC. I should say I ate and slept at that house. I was rarely there between my 30-hour-per-week internship, my beloved road bikes and friends in the city. It wasn't a bad semester, but 14 people is a lot, especially when unlike my previous house, people had vastly different living standards and preferences. So...when in stress...leave....it works.

I found common themes in all my living situations worth remembering because...well...the sky is the limit and who knows who I'll be living next. First, you have to decide what's most important. The dishes washed, the trash taken out, the bathroom cleaned, the floors swept, the compost composted...it's all important but even when the chores are delegated, they don't all get done and you can't do them all. So I picked what matter most to me, and I did it myself. The same applies with housemate behavior, and you make your mental list of non-negotables as small as possible to preserve your sanity. And this is coming from a borderline OCD clean freak.

Second, you have to label your food. Enough said, enough sad corresponding stories.

Third, if you don't feel comfortable, leave. My mini-communities only lasted a semester and when I didn't feel comfortable, I would visit friends or find other places to study. If some of these situations had lasted longer then three months, I would have had to leave. You decide each time if it's worth building bridges, burning bridges...or ignoring bridges.

Fourth, diversity has mixed value. It seems like a fine, noble and progressive idea and we all hope to have diverse friends. Yet it doesn't always work in housing community. It's better to live with people similar to you; similar values, similar hygiene preferences, and similar sleeping hours. It just makes things so much less stressful, and then invite the diverse people over.

Community is kind of a vague term. I did find it. And when I found it, it was glorious. When I didn't...well...you learn to find joy elsewhere.

This Post is for Darrell

I've lived a very fortunate existence. None of my close friends ever passed away. A childhood friend who I'd grown distant from passed away on my 18th birthday, but my existence has been free from the grief of death. None of my close family ever passed away either. For all my life travels, for all our crazy homes, for all the summers coming back to the States (and not coming back for the other 10 months), and for all our rather dangerous vacations, my family sort of stugs sadly and say, "well, at least no one died."

Sadly though, my family has come to deal with death. On 14 August 2010, my Uncle Darrell Hercyk passed away in his sleep from what appears to be sleep apnea. He was 51 years old, living in St George Utah with his wife Julie, and 8-year-old daughter Jessie, working for SkyWest. Darrell still holds many athletic records at Haverling High School in Bath NY, he was an artist deeply inspired by both Dutch Renaissance painting and the Native American art of the Utah West.

Darrell lived in Utah over 15 years so we didn't see him much, though we received many pictures of my cousin Jessie who looks just like him. I feel we might have been better friends because he went through a serious biking phase in his mid-20s before an old lady yanked out of her driveway while he was flying down a rural road, effectively landing him in the hospital and ending his extreme sports days. It was a long time ago though, and Darrell had moved onto family life, minus the mini-van. My family was looking forward his next visit to New York in early-September for another family wedding. It's a difficult time for everyone, and I suppose we're all still in shock as we wrap our minds around the sudden tragedy. "One minute they're there, and the next they're gone." I'd heard this phrase a thousand times. But suddenly it became real, and that's tragic.

So this post is for Darrell, because he made our lives better, and because without him, my family just isn't the same.

How to Love Biking



My Beloved Bike and I went to NYC

Before I bid my 2009-2010 sojourn in the States adieu, I must pay homage to the most influential element of my life. I've spent time in reflection the past few months on memorable experiences here in the States. I met awesome people. I had three great internships. I went to concerts and American cities. I played in snow and golden fall leaves. I loved my Stateside family. I discovered truly good food. I found a religious community with values similar to my own. I even met someone who tolerates my protrusive bubbly global nomad. But what I'll remember most is unquestionably the magic of biking.

2009 and 2010 were dedicated to biking. Anyone who knows this global nomad knows that. Ironically, biking is a departure from my overseas life which was centered in nations where biking although sometimes common was always unsafe and unrealistic. Yet I decided that after my first semester at uni in 2009 that I should obtain a bike in order to reduce commute times around campus. So my aunt gave me a bike her sister-in-law obtained in a raffle in the early 1980s. Somewhere between biking through the rain between my aunt's home in Linville back to uni five miles away (my first bike ride in four years) I knew there was something special about biking. It was love at first ride. 



The original bike that started everything



Transport: People don't use the bike the way the bike is meant to be used. It's a form of transport. It moves you from one destination to another. You can strap a basket on the front or back...or a messenger or a backpack. My bike advocacy friends in Harrisonburg and Washington DC and others like them all across America are promoting biking as an alternative form of clean renewable energy and transport. I embraced it and the freedom that comes with it. Everyone should embrace it. And I lived in a very hilly city as well.



Exercise: I did not have time to exercise much at uni as I was an overachieving student. But I did have to get to the grocery store, and I had to drink coffee every Saturday morning, and I had to get to the bank...so I biked there. On weekends, long rides were in order with one earbud listening to David Crowder Band. Biking is exercise commitment. You can run out and walk back, but you can't bike 20 miles and then walk home. Or you could but it's a real pain.

Happiness: Biking makes me happy. I physically feel good. I feel good about myself. I feel liberated from Pakistani headcoverings, American consumerism and bad Kenyan driving. There's something comforting about two wheels under you, watching the pedals move in smooth constant circles, feeling like you're moving fast but still feeling like the world is at your finger tips. 

Bike advocacy in Harrisonburg VA: Feb 2010





I hope my biking stage hasn't ended. If anything, the beloved Fuji Newest 3.0 I purchased downtown Washington DC this past summer is currently hanging in my parent's garage in Bath New York, awaiting my return. It's not over. I predict that it's only begun. I can't drive a car yet with very little effort, my life is full of transport and travel; bikes, planes, trains, metros, buses and faithful feet. Sometimes things surprise you. Things you don't expect become the most memorable aspects of your life. So the next time you see someone on a bike, think alternatively. Think of me.