To Belong

Earlier this week, I walked out the door to run an errand.  My intentions were entirely utilitarian in nature.  What I found, instead, was a tiny slice of accidental community.

I noticed the first ripples of it as I walked the narrow cobblestone streets toward a nondescript government building.  People crisscrossed my path, carrying a bag or two, or dragging a rolling cart.  They ducked in and out of tiny shops, almost all of which are one-off, locally owned affairs.  No one was ensconced in two tons of metal.  No one was going anywhere at 60 miles per hour.  We were all just on the slow journey of everyday minutiae.  I stepped out of the way to let someone pass.  Two neighbors greeted one another in the street.  A child in a stroller babbled at a passing dog.

This way of being in the world creates an invisible but tangible web of connection.  I could feel it as I made my way down the streets.  It is local and it is intensely interrelated.  It feels like a deeply accurate way to live.

When I reached my destination, there was a line out the door and down the street.  I can’t stay I was surprised.  I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I did figure that waiting would be involved.  I’d brought a book.  

I needed to drop off a sample for a COVID test.  The whole exercise was really out of an abundance of caution.  A classmate of one of my children had tested positive and the health ministry offers precautionary testing in these cases.  

I approached the last woman in line and confirmed—from a six foot distance, behind our individual masks—that it was the correct line to join.  Then, I added one more body to its ranks.  I love that in Spanish the word for line is cola.  Or, literally, tail.  So, in exact terms, we don’t “form a line”.  We “make a tail”.

I pulled out my book to pass the time but in short order, the woman in front of me asked if I would hold her place while she went to confirm some detail.  I easily agreed, and with that, the colonizing frontier of community lapped ever more forcefully at my ankles.

I slipped my book back into my bag and simply stood in space with other people.  I let my gaze wander around the plaza.  I looked at the people sharing this line with me.  Some chatted on phones.  A few held helmets from their scooter rides here.  Others joined me in our waiting and gazing.

I noticed the line of trees, heavy with tangerines that flanked the front of apartment buildings.  I watched people exiting the side of the building, wandering off in the various directions of the rest of their day.  I read the poster plastered on the side of the garbage can.  It proclaimed in Catalan, “On está la biblioteca?  On está l’institut?  No hi ha espais per la joventut.” (“Where is the library?  Where is the institute? There are no spaces for youth.”).

We reached the front of the line and stood poised to accomplish our tasks.  The woman in front of me turned to confirm that I understood the signs and knew which direction to head.  Clearly my Spanish to this point had her worried for me.  (This was probably a fair assessment).  I assured her I did and she ducked inside.  

At last, it was my turn to enter and leave a little vial of saliva with the workers inside.  As I emerged from the exit, it occurred to me that we have so very few opportunities to gather anymore, that even the accidental grouping of strangers in a socially distanced line can feel like community.

On the way home I ducked into an organic market that I’ve often passed but haven’t stopped in before.  I discovered a second hand clothing store, where I bought a soft white and blue scarf.

Now that scarf is sitting gently against my skin.  This slip of cloth, that once belonged to someone else in my community is tangible evidence of my ever strengthening sense that this is my neighborhood.  That I belong here, not simply that I exist here.  

The Spanish phrase for to belong to is pertenecer a.  It hints of the English phrase to pertain to.  This, again, feels more accurate.  The word belongs can simply indicate ownership, as though maybe there is an exclusivity involved.  Pertaining to is about relationships and relatedness.  Slowly but surely, these spaces begin to pertain to me.