Ripples of stories shared

With our 4th birthday and the 150th dispatch just around the corner, I asked a few members to be part of the celebration and share what this community means to them. Last time, Jenn wrote about when she joined Uncommon just a month ago. This week, Drew (@DrewCM), one of our founding members, shares his story.

“Like all magnificent things, it's very simple.” ― Natalie Babbitt, in Tuck Everlasting

Sometimes the pressure and clamorous insistence of the digital world, is like beginnings of a migraine. It arrives at a point right behind my left eye causing me to squint at nothing. Existing at that moment of dread immediately before it might blossom and flood across my head in a vice-like grip, squeezing sense and usefulness out me. The chaotic calls of ‘Notice this,’ or ‘Attention must be paid,’ or ‘You won’t believe these 10 reasons why click bait is good for you,’ leave me anxious and enervated.

Here there is relief.

In this simple, uncluttered haven I find I can connect and reflect. There is no pressure to perform. No demands on my attention other than the meandering path I wish to track, like my hand pulled through the water as I lean out of a boat on a quiet river one Summer afternoon. The ripples and eddies of stories shared flowing to and around me as I gently explore.

I came here because I wanted something more than the hectic offer of ‘more’ that seems to underpin most social network interaction. I don’t want to broadcast. I don’t want to display. I don’t want to posture. I want the peace of un-demanded attention given freely. I want to explore that which is freely shared without expectation. I want that which is magnificent.

I want Uncommon.

— Drew

Join Drew and Jenn and neighbors near and far and become a member of Uncommon. You'll love the front porch, a place to celebrate your 10 favorite things and the stories behind them, enjoy a curated stack of insights and introductions, and much more. We've saved a spot (and a piece of birthday cake) just for you :)

Prompted

The last dispatch asked, What's your favorite season?

Clare wrote:

My favourite season? That’s easy: right now. My favourite time of year is not just spring, but this specific bit of spring: the cherry blossom is at its peak, the bluebells and wild garlic are in full flower, and we occasionally have such a beautifully warm, sunny day that you could believe it to be the summer. I love the summer — the ease of its heat, the long light days, the picnics and birdsong and rumble of lawnmowers — but this time beforehand, as spring really flowers, is my absolute favourite. Not only is the world waking up from its wintery slumber, but the full promise of both spring and summer lie ahead. Hooray!

Brad wrote:

It's not even close between the seasons for me: summer wins hands down, every day and ten times on Sunday. I would live every single day of the rest of my life in perpetual summer if I could. I love the heat, the sun, the water, outdoor eating, biking, lakes, warm nights, good friends and long days. Summer is the best thing to happen to humans and the only downside is that it ends. Until I become bi-hemispherical, that is.

Chandley wrote:

Fall. After the insanity of summer travels and rush to have all the fun at once, fall is like curling up with your favorite well worn book in your comfiest chair at the end of a hectic day.

The rest of the fantastic replies await you, celebrating crickets and breezes, fireplaces and hot tea, and all good things in-between.

Uncommon reads

Where are Boston’s invisible poems? by Cristela Guerra:

It’s unexpected art, poetry in the wild waiting to creep up and inspire. Wait for rain, or better yet don’t. Just bring a glass that’s half-full or half-empty. Throw the water on the ground. Drink up the words.

The Slow Listening Revolution by Gretta Harley:

Most of these students beat themselves up because it takes too long to understand a piece of music, and so therefore they must not be good at it. I don’t relate. I understand, but it’s just not how music ever was for me. Music represents a commitment to life. A deep understanding of something takes time. And the journey is fascinating.

What are people working on in coffee shops? by Tristan de Montebello:

Something interesting happened that we weren’t expecting. As I mentioned earlier, our brains were pleading with us not to talk to anyone in the coffeeshop. As soon as we’d finished though, the both of us were BEAMING. It felt absolutely amazing to connect with all these people who were previously part of the background. We had small conversations, shared many, smiles and laughs, and left the coffee shop overflowing with energy and raw joy.

Your turn

What was your first car?