Overriding My Programming…and the Slogan on My Socks

Why cultivating closer community ties won't come naturally to me

When the polls opened, a line stretched down the sidewalk. As voters stepped from the misty dark into the bright lobby, their attire sometimes offered clues about where they’d be heading next: healthcare workers in scrubs and sneakers, construction workers in scuffed work boots and company t-shirts, office workers in suits and polished shoes. For others, like those in Goth-style black makeup and Doc Martens, their fashion or tattoos hinted at musical tastes or other interests.

This November was my first election as a poll worker. Throughout the busy morning, I found myself thinking, all these folks live within a few miles of me—and I don’t know any of them. By lunchtime, a few friends had come by, but more than 1700 voters who cast their ballot at the precinct were strangers. Most were patient and kind, and some thanked me and the other poll workers. One woman had decorated an index card with flowers and THANK YOU in colored pencil and held it up to each poll worker as she moved from check-in to ballot pick-up, booth to ballot scanning.

When I consider my immediate family and friend circles—at school, church, the gym, and in our neighborhood, I find them populated mostly by active or retired teachers, professors, librarians, social workers, ministers, and therapists, with a smattering of musicians, nurses, retired military, and folks in insurance, accounting, auto parts management, technology, and retail. Most are older than me, own a home and car, have health insurance, hobbies, and the flexibility to take a vacation each year, typically for a week or more somewhere within a day’s drive from home.

I knew my social network was small, but working the polls amplified my awareness of how small. Not necessarily in numbers, although I can count my close friends on my hands and prefer it that way. What I mean is that the people I socialize with represent only a tiny slice of experiences, ages, priorities, and perspectives. I’d like to befriend more people my own age or younger, more who work outside the helping professions like small business owners and folks in skilled trades, more whose political views differ from mine, and more from working-class and upper-class spheres.

Like my newest circle of friends, delightful women I met a couple years ago in an exercise class called Nia (a blend of dance, martial arts, and mindfulness) and who invited me to join their book group (a group I’ve mentioned before in a post about communities and retirement), I want to build these new connections authentically through a shared interest or purpose.

These lines from Alix Harrow’s novel Once and Future Witches resonated with me recently: Every woman draws a circle around herself. Sometimes she has to be the only thing inside it. I remember times when I’ve drawn my circle that close. And as an introvert, I’m more comfortable in small circles. Yet, I also aspire to live the words of the hymn “Draw the Circle Wide”: Draw the circle wide, draw it wider still. Let this be our song: no one stands alone. Standing side by side, draw the circle, draw the circle wide. This chorus has drifted through my mind many times since Election Day.

So, how can I widen my circle in genuine, meaningful ways?

First, an intention check. Why?

My wife Annette recently wrote about bursting her (social) bubble, and that’s part of my why: recognizing that spending nearly all my time with people who share similar values and policy views, most of whom do similar work, limits my understanding of the world. Developing more friendships with people whose experiences and perspectives differ from mine could deepen my understanding of what it means to be a human being and cultivate closer community ties.

I also appreciate how the postcard-writing gatherings that Annette and I hosted during the last election cycle connected us with more of our neighbors. Inviting strangers to our home for those events stretched me outside my comfort zone—yet the outcome was well worth the risk. I want to feel more of that expanding sense of belonging. Not every interaction I have as I widen my circle will turn out positive, but I bet many will.

Next question: where?

As my observations on Election Day illustrated, I don’t have to go far to meet new people or nurture new connections. I plan to start where I am.

Back in the early 2000’s, I served as secretary, then president for the neighborhood association where I lived. The association held periodic meetings, published an opt-in neighborhood directory, and held an annual potluck picnic. This week marks five years in our current neighborhood. When we asked neighbors who’ve lived here since the 1980’s, we learned that there’s also a community association here, but it’s been dormant for years. A group met in 2023 to discuss reviving it, but nothing more has happened since. This seems like a logical place to plug in.

At school, several teachers have joined the faculty over the past few years and there are many long-time colleagues I wish I knew better. Closer peer relationships could enrich my life, but unless I change my patterns, they’re not going to materialize. I focus on work at work. I’m friendly and approachable and enjoy collaborating, but I seldom meet up with coworkers after school or take time to eat lunch with anyone. When I indulge in personal conversations, they seldom last longer than a few minutes, and if they do, I’m usually listening rather than sharing.

I attend instead to the mountain of tasks and projects that need attention, a mountain that grows taller whenever I’m not working on it (and sometimes when I am). I’m not complaining. I get satisfaction from my work and feel lucky to be a teacher-librarian. Yet, I wonder how much more satisfaction, belonging, or even joy I might feel if I invested time in getting to know my colleagues—letting the peak of that mountain rise a bit higher while I do.

I’d also like to find a local group of woodworkers, kayakers, or hikers, sharing a fun activity that engages my whole body rather than just my bookish mind, an activity at which I’m not an expert. At church, I plan to join a group where I’m a beginner too (or maybe a pre-beginner if there’s such a thing): the choir. I often lip-sync hymns with high or complicated notes, so I’m not sure I can sing, and the music director has promised to tell me if I really can’t, but I’d like to step into that circle anyway.

What wisdom could help me widen my circle with care and integrity?

Theologian Parker Palmer has said of community: Community itself is a gift to be received, not a goal to be achieved. […] Time after time we try to ‘make’ community happen in the same effortful and self-defeating ways. Why? Because as long as we are the makers, we remain in control; and as long as we are in control, we will not be vulnerable to the risks of true community.

Yikes. It’s like he peered over my shoulder and saw my results on the Human Values Test I ask students to take in a program about building bridges across political differences—the more color in a slice of the chart, the more prominent that value.

My results on an interesting instrument called The Human Values Test.

With the limitations of such instruments in mind, students reflect on the extent to which their results seem accurate, what’s missing, how their values show up in their lives, and how those values have changed over time. Parker’s quote illuminates how achievement and self-direction, important to me since I was a kid, often create tension with benevolence and universality. You can’t just decide what you want to do or how you’re going to do it if you’re truly committed to doing it with other people.

So…if a wider circle and stronger sense of belonging are what I want, I must drop any designs I have on acquiring community like I might a new certification. I must surrender control, downshift my drive to complete tasks and projects as efficiently as possible, and soften my focus on achievement-related goals. Instead of seeing personal conversations at work as an indulgence, I need to be vulnerable enough with my colleagues that they might get to know me better. Ditto with neighbors and fellow congregants. I need to put myself in spaces and situations where I can experience community—and have the courage to stay open as that experience unfolds.

Such a gift emerged at last month’s Nia book group meeting. Instead of gathering in the café of a grocery store as we usually do, one of our co-leaders welcomed us into her cozy home for a delicious Greek dinner. As we sipped wine and sparkling water in the amber lamplight, the festive, grateful spirit of Thanksgiving in the air, we described the books we’d each read since our last meeting. Afterward, talk meandered, as if often does, to movies and TV. Then, a new layer of conversation unfolded as women shared stories from their past and about present struggles or joys. The box opened as we listened. The main ingredient? Trust. Trust that has grown slowly among us over time, the way roots of tall trees entwine in the gaps between them.

Despite this affirming experience, when I think about meeting new people or getting to know familiar people anew, I feel a bit queasy about all that exposure. My Mom, who knows how much I love time alone, bought me a pair of socks a few years ago that say “Go away. I’m introverting.” If the sock fits…and they do.

Socks that make me smile. Thanks, Mom. You know me too well.

Like Roz, the robot in the movie The Wild Robot who finds herself in an unfamiliar habitat ill-suited for her programming, I’ll need to override my programming, much of it my own code, to explore this wider-circle way of being. If the nearly full slice of self-direction on my values pie chart is any indication, this shift will not come naturally.

Here's a recap of my “draw the circle wider” plan:

• Purpose: To deepen my understanding of what it means to be a human being while cultivating closer community ties and a stronger sense of belonging.

• Place: Right here, face-to-face in my local community, one-on-one and in groups, including in my neighborhood, school, and church.

• Prior Programming: 55+ years of being more likely to let self-direction and achievement win the push-and-pull with benevolence and universality, and of time alone being my safe space.

• Potential Program Disruptors:

• Explore group activities that engage my whole body, not just my bookish mind.

• Enter new spaces and situations where I’m a beginner.

• Be vulnerable.

• Surrender control so I can receive the gift of community.

• Persistence: Recognize this shift won’t come naturally, nor is it necessary to abandon my love of alone time or practice every disruptor every minute. If I find myself retreating to familiar habits, pause, then stretch again.

Leaning against the radio-CD player on my desk is a bookmark emblazoned with these words from Eleanor Roosevelt: Do one thing every day that scares you. I’m grateful that I worked the polls. Witnessing the diverse rainbow of voters that showed up to cast their ballots inspired me to shape a vague desire to take more risks (something I discussed in a September post) into a plan that embraces Eleanor’s challenge.

I can’t wait to find out if I can sing.

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Here’s a poem for your pocket until the next post: “Messiah (Christmas Portions)” by Mark Doty, a poem about the transformative power of singing and community.

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