reflection
A New Season, Sans Scobeys
What I expected out of May 2020 was a tearful goodbye to Nizhoni, to move out of a place that has shaken and reorientated the foundation of who I am as a person. I expected to be leaving and to be replaced by other college students who would think they were too busy to commit to anything else and then realize what a special place Nizhoni is.
Instead I’m sitting here crying on the couch because Linnea and Nico, the bedrock of Nizhoni, are leaving to move to Los Angeles today.
I’ve been waiting for the shoe to drop for the last three weeks, trying to ignore the lasts of house dinner, meetings, Mario Kart, evening workouts, Monopoly Deal games, movie marathons. I created videos to celebrate, coordinated with church people and former housemates, and claimed the things that may have been destined for Goodwill. I tried to focus on completing the demo lesson I have to record for my teaching interview. But I can’t distract myself away from this.
[This was, in fact, a lie. I was crying too hard to finish writing this, so I went and did my demo lesson.]
House mentors are a weird role, just another in the list of weird things about Project Neighborhood (you all agree on food? And put in money to a grocery fund? And have house meetings with a minute taker? And deep clean the house once a month? And have a strong enough community to spend every second with each other for the last 2 months and don’t want to kill each other?). When I moved in, Nic and Linnea were quick to assert that they weren’t house parents and weren’t there to keep track of our comings and goings; we were all upperclassmen and therefore real adults. They were there to help build the community, get the ball rolling on things, and then sit back and just participate in whatever happened.
Nic keeps making these comments that we are going to be “free of Calvin” once they go and we can “do whatever we want,” but we have been doing the things we want. Now we just have to do it without them.
I’m worried because I don’t know what this house is going to look like starting tonight. We have to make our own structure, Greg, Noah, and I, and decide what we want this place to be and what we need this place to be. I feel like Fleabag pleading with the Hot Priest to tell me what to do, what to wear, what to eat.
But mostly, I’m sad because Linnea and Nic are stable sage-like figures in my life and it’s much easier to get into a conversation over dinner or on the way to pick up takeout than it is to pick up the phone and call. I’m sad because Nizhoni and the Scobeys are synonymous in my mind—Nic interviewed me, and I picked Nizhoni purely off of Nic and I’s vibe and the Scobey’s presentation on the Creston neighborhood—and it’s unimaginable to think of them spilt. I’m sad because they gave us presents last night—they’re the ones leaving! We should be giving them stuff!
I want to be happy for them—Linnea’s moving back home! Teaching her dream job! Nico is escaping the cold Michigan weather finally! He’s going to get to bike all year round! They don’t have to deal with college student’s problems about toothpaste!—but I’m all mixed up.
For my demo lesson, I taught a form of poetry called an aubade. It’s basically the Romeo and Juliet scene where Juliet’s like “It’s still night, you hear the nightingale, I don’t want you to leave,” and Romeo’s like “It’s the lark! I must go!”—lamenting the end of the night but celebrating the dawn (I guess they aren’t excited about the dawn… whatever). That ambivalence is where I’m dwelling today: lament that Nizhoni as PN is over, lament that Scobeys are moving out of Michigan, joy that I get to figure out intentional community in a new way, joy that Linnea and Nico are fulfilling plans that they’ve had for a long while.
“There are ruins we witness
within the moment of the world’s first awakening
and the birds love you within that moment.”
“The airplanes of America disembark.
The passengers look up, sensing the first
inch toward that next city.”
Thank you for it all, the big and small. I’ll make you popcorn anytime.
Instead I’m sitting here crying on the couch because Linnea and Nico, the bedrock of Nizhoni, are leaving to move to Los Angeles today.
I’ve been waiting for the shoe to drop for the last three weeks, trying to ignore the lasts of house dinner, meetings, Mario Kart, evening workouts, Monopoly Deal games, movie marathons. I created videos to celebrate, coordinated with church people and former housemates, and claimed the things that may have been destined for Goodwill. I tried to focus on completing the demo lesson I have to record for my teaching interview. But I can’t distract myself away from this.
[This was, in fact, a lie. I was crying too hard to finish writing this, so I went and did my demo lesson.]
House mentors are a weird role, just another in the list of weird things about Project Neighborhood (you all agree on food? And put in money to a grocery fund? And have house meetings with a minute taker? And deep clean the house once a month? And have a strong enough community to spend every second with each other for the last 2 months and don’t want to kill each other?). When I moved in, Nic and Linnea were quick to assert that they weren’t house parents and weren’t there to keep track of our comings and goings; we were all upperclassmen and therefore real adults. They were there to help build the community, get the ball rolling on things, and then sit back and just participate in whatever happened.
Nic keeps making these comments that we are going to be “free of Calvin” once they go and we can “do whatever we want,” but we have been doing the things we want. Now we just have to do it without them.
I’m worried because I don’t know what this house is going to look like starting tonight. We have to make our own structure, Greg, Noah, and I, and decide what we want this place to be and what we need this place to be. I feel like Fleabag pleading with the Hot Priest to tell me what to do, what to wear, what to eat.
But mostly, I’m sad because Linnea and Nic are stable sage-like figures in my life and it’s much easier to get into a conversation over dinner or on the way to pick up takeout than it is to pick up the phone and call. I’m sad because Nizhoni and the Scobeys are synonymous in my mind—Nic interviewed me, and I picked Nizhoni purely off of Nic and I’s vibe and the Scobey’s presentation on the Creston neighborhood—and it’s unimaginable to think of them spilt. I’m sad because they gave us presents last night—they’re the ones leaving! We should be giving them stuff!
I want to be happy for them—Linnea’s moving back home! Teaching her dream job! Nico is escaping the cold Michigan weather finally! He’s going to get to bike all year round! They don’t have to deal with college student’s problems about toothpaste!—but I’m all mixed up.
For my demo lesson, I taught a form of poetry called an aubade. It’s basically the Romeo and Juliet scene where Juliet’s like “It’s still night, you hear the nightingale, I don’t want you to leave,” and Romeo’s like “It’s the lark! I must go!”—lamenting the end of the night but celebrating the dawn (I guess they aren’t excited about the dawn… whatever). That ambivalence is where I’m dwelling today: lament that Nizhoni as PN is over, lament that Scobeys are moving out of Michigan, joy that I get to figure out intentional community in a new way, joy that Linnea and Nico are fulfilling plans that they’ve had for a long while.
“There are ruins we witness
within the moment of the world’s first awakening
and the birds love you within that moment.”
“The airplanes of America disembark.
The passengers look up, sensing the first
inch toward that next city.”
Thank you for it all, the big and small. I’ll make you popcorn anytime.
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