“No man is an island,” wrote John Donne closing the poem that  gave Ernest Hemingway the title of his books For Whom the Bell Tolls.

The meaning of the poem is about connectedness, that our actions affect each other, and in this interconnection we rely on each other to survive, succeed, and to thrive. The saying goes in the film world, as in other collaborative endeavors, that “it takes a village.” Even though there may be a genus idea/person the idea would not be able to take shape without the many amazing people around it to construct, chisel, mold, and thus make the idea tangible.

Let’s face it there are a lot of amazing ideas out there and a lot of brilliant creative people. Nonetheless, great ideas will be born and die before the sun sets.

The difference is that some people will act on those ideas and muster a team around them to cradle the idea and give it the environment to flourish.

It reminds me of a game called trust fall that I played at camp when I was a kid. One person would climb six feet into a tree and stand backwards on a platform. Everyone would hide so when the person looked behind them they would see an empty field. Then the person would turn back to the tree and start counting down from twenty, cross their arms over their chest, stay as flat as a board and fall backwards on zero, trusting that they would be caught in the intertwined caterpillar arms of the other camp members. The point was the person falling backwards (which is not natural and scary under any circumstance) had to trust that people would be there to catch them. For the people on the ground forming the linked arm bridge, they had to know that they were each an important and vital strand of the bridge that kept the faller safe from smashing straight to the ground.

I used to love these games while at camp but then I’d go home and crawl back to my books and journals, in the cocoon of not needing anyone, because it was safe and warm and comfortable. Oh, and did I mention that I could be 100% in control and not have to be vulnerable. Yeah . . .

Years later, on my second meeting with my tiny blond therapist, I held up my vision board and articulated the pictures I’d chosen.

She waited for a good thirty seconds in silence before she responded with, “Have you noticed that there are no people in any of your pictures?”

“That’s not true,” I said, “There’s two right here.”

She smiled that smile I’d see many more times, like she knew something she was tentative about letting me in on, pausing before dropping a feather onto my card castle. “Yes, and the only part of them I see are the back of their heads. They are both looking away from us.”

“So,” I said squirming on the couch, slightly defensive and wishing maybe I didn’t show her my board.

“I just want to you to notice that.”

“Why, is that weird,” I said.

“It’s just an observation. Most people have more people on their vision boards, groups of people, and you can usually see their faces.”

Whatever.

For years, I had convinced myself I was strong because I didn’t need people. Don’t get me wrong, I’m friendly and warm and fun, but I just didn’t see the point of hanging out with people all the time. (I also realize a lot of the friends I attracted were extroverts and I, by nature, used to be a severe introvert).

As I moved through life the past couple years I realized that I never valued community. I had a traveler mindset- that we’d meet, connect deeply, share some awesome moments and laughs, become momentary best friends, and then most likely never see each other again. I tended not to form long-standing connections.

Then one day I realized, oh nooooo, I still operate under the lie that that if people really knew me they would see behind my glitter and deem me boring or weird and reject me. Uuuuuhhhh. Card castle toppling down from the weight of the feather. Stupid therapist, always having to be right . . .

Then one day something happened to one of my friends causing me to be freaked out in my house alone, so I said YES to every invite that I usually turned down.

Lo and behold, I realized that I had an eclectic group of amazing people in my life. I attended different church services, drank cinnamon whiskey and watched TV marathons, took late night drives, sang in a recording studio after hours, got introduced to hilarious youtube videos, volunteered to drive to hang out with friends, planned cooking/sleepover nights, took random drop of the hat beach adventures, said yes to activities with old and new friends, and was the one to suggest and follow up with plans.

It was awesome and taught me a really important lesson. I’ve been blessed to have rad people around me and I’ve been the one stubborn to stay comfortable and lazy inside my warm but isolated cocoon.

Fast forward- My vision board today has lots of people on it- people caught in wide mouthed laughter, blowing out cake candles, running though fields with hair suspended behind them, groups in that trendy mid air jump smiles in their eyes, and for the first time in my life the word “community.” As one of my new friends Alan wrote me, “I’m awesome. You’re awesome.” Yes, I agree. We are!

And so, in conclusion, (I feel like Cher in Clueless) may I please remind you that there is value in connection. We are designed for it. It takes a village to do anything of significance so get out there and create an amazing village. Let your awesomeness shine and you’ll discover there are many uber awesome people who would love to be a part of your community or accept you into theirs.

Even though I grew up on an island, (Definition: an isolated and detached piece of land surrounded by water), no man is an island and as such this should not be taken as personal platitude. Happy bell tolling.

With love,

Z ;)

No Man Is An Island by John Donne: