One of the things Vermonters still do, often very very well, is nurture our communities. I know Vermont is not the only place to do this, that there are in fact strong communities all over the country. Yet, when I travel, it seems as those communities are more in pockets, whereas in Vermont it is a deeply held, statewide value to be part of one’s local community.
That, in turn, breeds happiness. We give, and we receive. We’re connected. We’re part of something larger than ourselves — all paths to a life with deeper meaning and satisfaction.
It isn’t always easy to be in community — there can be friction, of course, as well as joy. There’s a certain commitment; each person is expected to do his or her part. Sometimes, I just don’t want to make another phone call or finish up those deviled eggs. But I try, because I believe communities that aren’t nurtured can not thrive. And my community is just too precious to let it wither away.
Yesterday, along with hundreds of others in my community, I had the opportunity to see through the eyes of an outsider just how precious our connections are. We were gathered at a funeral for Charles, a painter, ecologist, musician, professor, husband, dad, and active member of his community. The local, non-denominational church was packed! There was much music and laughter and tears and stories. It was a moving and special service — in large part because we were saying goodbye to a special man.
Then, a stranger stood up. He announced, “none of you know me” before letting us know that he “came from the 50′s” — that is, he was a friend of Charles in elementary school. The stranger lives in another state, and was amazed at the community gathering before him. He told us that this funeral was one of the most awe inspiring events of his entire life. He marveled at our community, and reminded us in our sorrow and celebration how irreplaceable is our love and support for each other.
None of this has anything to do with GDP. The only thing measurable might have been the eggs and cooking baking supplies we purchased for the potluck reception, and the gas for those who had long drives. But it has everything to do with GNH.
Happiness at a funeral is neither an oxymoron, nor an accident. In my town, it is a reality built on centuries of people making the choices to give to their neighbors. Nobody paid me any money to make deviled eggs yesterday, but today, I am far richer than I was two days ago.