Community is Always the Answer

It takes a village (and not just for parents!): embracing vulnerability, the generosity of strangers, and the strength of community

I’ve been wrestling with my thoughts on community for months, trying to articulate anything meaningful. I haven’t figured it all out, but I know community is important; I deeply value the practice of living in community with others.

Just the other day, I finished reading a book about a major cultural and public health epidemic (more on that in next month’s book report). In one of the final pages, the author quotes, “The answer is always community.” 

You might be wondering what the book was or which current epidemic it covered. But the simplicity of that phrase stuck with me and I’ve ultimately realized it doesn’t matter what the specific crisis is; I do believe that community is always the answer. 

I’m sure we’ve all heard the phrase “it takes a village” when it comes to raising a child. But I don’t think this is a fact exclusive to parents! I think it takes a village to survive in our world—not to mention thrive. We were not meant to live in isolation and are all better when we live and work in relationship with others. 

It is much easier to rely on a community of other people when you are in a challenging season and truly have no other choice. We felt this in the spring of 2023 when our friends generously fed us for more than six weeks while my body recovered from the endeavor of pregnancy and childbirth, and we figured out how to keep our brand-new human alive. 

But long before that, we experienced the generosity of community support when we biked across the country. Very similar to our experience with a newborn, biking across the country required immense patience, physical strength and fortitude, careful communication, and grace with unexpected challenges and shifting expectations. We quite literally could not have done it alone. 

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Flashback

[excerpts from #ryansacrossamerica during summer 2015]

The first few weeks of our bike trip were humbling, to make the understatement of a century. We had navigational hiccups, hills that were longer and steeper than we had hoped, lots of rain, and way too much stuff. We spent many of our miles pedaling and searching for slivers of hope that we could hold onto and stretching our patience to work as a team.

During our preparation, we knew it would be hard early on, so we planned for shorter-milage days and coordinated with friends to stay with in Virginia. Friendly faces, showers, hot meals, and a bed did wonders for our weary spirits after those long initial days. 

However, the beginning lasted a lot longer than we had planned. Our ease-in mileage days suddenly got longer and harder, and we didn’t have any more pre-planned hospitality; we were on our own to keep our collective morale up. 

As we struggled through, we kept encountering people who offered to help us - strangers! 

In Orange, VA, our gear exploded on the sidewalk in front of the post office while we frantically tried to get rid of stuff to mail home. A kind and curious stranger walked past and asked what in the world we were doing. " It just looks too interesting not to ask," she said. After sharing our current dilemma (increased by the rapidly approaching dark clouds), she offered us a place to stay—a shower, bed, and dinner with conversation. 

Biking into Council, VA, the downhill was too steep for our heavy load and we had to stop to give our breaks a rest. This was taking forever until a kind person stopped and offered to put us and our bike in the empty bed of their pickup truck. At the bottom of the hill, he dropped us off at the public pool and park where we were camping that night. Thanks to the lift, we arrived with time to take a swim and order fried chicken sandwiches from the snack bar.

In Barea, KY, a customer service representative hand-delivered new bike cleats to our hotel after I called to order them, but we realized I wouldn’t arrive in town before the store closed. Further along in KY, a flatbed hay truck scooped us up for a respite amid incessantly rolling hills on a very hot day.  Even further into KY, a brother-in-law of a friend-of-a-friend drove us 75 miles back to our route after we camped in his backyard. 

Three weeks into our trip, when we were 60 miles outside of Carbondale, IL, we got our first flat tire. After David changed the tube, we realized the issue was far more substantial than a flat tire. The tire's rubber was shredded—a problem we could not fix.  

Hitch-hiking with a tandem bike is complicated, and AAA did not find it amusing when I called asking for "my vehicle" to be towed. While we were assessing our options, a bunch of old ladies in small cars stopped to ask if we needed help. They ultimately connected us with a retired schoolteacher with a minivan and some free time who picked us up and drove us the hour into Carbondale. He dropped us directly at the bike shop where they stayed open two extra hours to work on our bike so we could get back on the road the next day. 

Once we were ready to roll (hehe), our host for the night in Carbondale (another stranger) cooked us dinner with fresh vegetables from her garden! And as I was fixing my chacos with super glue and pink duct tape, she asked, "What size are you? I have a pair of chacos that I just can't make myself like. I've been meaning to give them away and would love for you to have them." 

they were even green -- my favorite!

It's really hard to let people help you. On all of these days, when things went wrong but ended up right because of help from others, we were reminded that we cannot do it alone. During those first weeks (and beyond!), strangers were consistently excited to help us, and those gestures of support were shots of hope during some of our most challenging moments.  

When have you felt the power and hope of community?

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Back to the present

Humility and vulnerability can open the doors for community. On the bike trip, we were often so out of our depth we were forced to admit that. It was the first time we had to work together in such an intense way and also admit where we needed additional support beyond ourselves. 

Beyond survival, life is just better when you let other people be a part of it. Letting others into our bike trip (and our newborn season) gave it more depth and richness, expanding the experience through relationships with others.

At the same time, it is really hard to ask for help or even to say yes when it’s offered. It often seems much easier to struggle along on your own than to let others see where you can’t do it yourself. But again, we’re not meant to live our lives in isolation! We were built for community, and a community shows up to help one another. 

Our bike trip in 2015 showed us a powerful community of strangers and the generosity of humanity. Much of the world has felt incredibly divisive and isolating for many years in the near decade since, and that has caused me to grow skeptical and forget the power of vulnerably sharing life with other people—friends, neighbors, and strangers. I am thankful to have a reminder of the essentialism of this benefit to our well-being.

As I learned traveling in Malta, well before #ryansacrossamerica, you're only alone if you decide to be alone— strangers only exist if you let them. Opening our lives to community makes us all stronger. 

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Hi! I’m Liz. This is the first of a multi-post series on living life in community. Subscribe to get them all straight to your inbox and access the full archive of journals on the journey.