“[T]hat old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air … Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year’s mistakes had been wiped clean by summer.” — Wallace Stegner
Picture this: it’s early autumn in the late oughts. At around 8pm, your Mom knocks on your door to ask you sweetly if you want help picking out your first-day-of-school outfit. “Go away Mom, I’m not a baby anymore.” She sighs and walks away. Meanwhile, you’re posing in various combinations of Abercrombie shirts and jeans in front of your mirror — outfits that no person could possibly differentiate between.
Hopefully that resonates somewhat with the experience of my mostly young-millennial audience. I recall these times now, as tonight feels eerily similar to all of those sleepless nights before the first day of school. The same stomach filled with butterflies, head flipping through faces you’re excited to see again, and inner voice inventing conversations (that will never play-out as smoothly as you dream up) with strangers you’re excited to get to know.
There’s a lot that’s radically different. For starters, it’s the middle of winter at the nadir of a global pandemic. Thankfully, I’m not rocking braces and front bangs. However in a funny twist of fate, I am trying on clothes from my youth to find the ones that still fit as my grown-up clothes are stuck in boxes a few hundred miles away.
The difference that feels the most striking can not be externally perceived. It is in my state of mind. The feeling of confidence rather than insecurity about entering a new group of people. The lack of scrutiny and disgust on my face as I look in the mirror. The sense of control and autonomy, propelled by the experience of renting a car to drive somewhere to be part of a vision I had a hand in creating. A difference of self that’s impossible to perceive each passing day, but stark when jumping from one decade to the next.
Tomorrow I will be driving to San Diego to join the first members of the Co-Creation Castle, a month long social experiment in co-living, co-working, and co-creating during this terrible Covid-19 virus. The timing and location of our gathering is abysmal. We will be taking every precaution to reduce risks and fully quarantining together as a pod. Our hypothesis is that despite the chaos of the external world, participants will internally flourish, leaving the community more fulfilled in the dimensions of well-being than when they arrived.
It’s a bold project with a bold goal. Tonight, I’m convinced as ever, we may be on to something. It may not be the start of autumn or football season (although some high-school football teams are starting up in San Diego due to COVID), but the “jubilee of the annual autumnal beginning is alive.” In the absence of structure and community brought about by COVID-19 and meta trends of the 21st century, we humans need more rituals centered around our tribe. We need moments like these to punctuate our equilibrium and take a flashbulb mental snapshot of where we are when we enter, so we can recognize the self-evolution when we leave.
