It takes all kinds
When I was growing up, my mom used to always say that "it takes all kinds." I never really understood what the phrase meant, but my mom said it mostly whenever she was confounded by another person's behavior. I suppose it was her way of reminding herself and us that all kinds of people, even those different from us, have important functions in the world. People may be confusing, but at the end of the day, diversity is a good thing, because it takes all kinds of people to keep this earth turning. My mom is incredibly wise.
As I massage my sore, tired feet tonight, I can't help but picture the diverse group of people I've just left. I went to a community concert/dance party tonight at a location that I can't disclose. The concerts are only advertised by word of mouth, and it's an unwritten rule that no reference shall be made to them on social media. I'm probably violating some code by even telling you after the fact that I was there.
The concert was incredible.
I'm not just talking about the music. Granted, it was the best bluegrass I've ever heard west of the Mississippi, but this concert was a community event, an exercise in diversity.
As my friend, Laurel, and I parked along the pothole-ridden country road, we could already hear the music several hundred yards away. We walked up to the barn, past a group of people warming themselves by a bonfire outside, and made our way through the wide double doors into a large, wood-paneled room. Paper lanterns and white Christmas lights dangled from the ceiling. Old-style cattle brands were burned into the walls. In the center of the room, 4 musicians and 10 instruments filled a small, raised stage. A semi-circle of folding chairs outlined the dance floor, and behind the chairs, all kinds of people sipped their beers and silently wished that someone else would be the first to dance.
With a tap of his foot and a toss of his bow, the fiddler ripped into a new tune, and a man and a woman made their way to the center of the floor. Tens of people followed, and just like that, the party had begun.
The crowd was incredibly diverse. There were cowboy hats and fedoras, short crop cuts and long ponytails. There were tie-dye T-shirts, vintage dresses, and slightly unbuttoned plaid. There were patterned leggings, high-waisted skirts, and jeans. Birkenstocks, Doc Martens, and Keens. There were farmers and fishermen and car mechanics and teachers, scientists and carpenters and adventure-seekers. There were children dancing and dogs running underfoot. There were young families and old couples and single people in groups. All gathered for one purpose, for the music.
This, my friends, is the best that southern Oregon has to offer. This gathering of people from all walks of life, of humans who have built their unique lives exactly as they see fit, this is what makes Oregon unique.
I promised myself that this time around, I would appreciate Oregon for what it is. I would explore the local culture and say yes to everything, just like I do when abroad, and so far, my strategy has paid off. This state is filled with people who understand that life has no scaffold, that any pre-determined mold is an illusion, that each life must be formed and designed and tailored by the person living it. Oregonians spend every day striving to be exactly themselves. The result is the most eclectic and sincere group of people I've ever encountered, and let me tell you, it takes all kinds.
As I massage my sore, tired feet tonight, I can't help but picture the diverse group of people I've just left. I went to a community concert/dance party tonight at a location that I can't disclose. The concerts are only advertised by word of mouth, and it's an unwritten rule that no reference shall be made to them on social media. I'm probably violating some code by even telling you after the fact that I was there.
The concert was incredible.
I'm not just talking about the music. Granted, it was the best bluegrass I've ever heard west of the Mississippi, but this concert was a community event, an exercise in diversity.
As my friend, Laurel, and I parked along the pothole-ridden country road, we could already hear the music several hundred yards away. We walked up to the barn, past a group of people warming themselves by a bonfire outside, and made our way through the wide double doors into a large, wood-paneled room. Paper lanterns and white Christmas lights dangled from the ceiling. Old-style cattle brands were burned into the walls. In the center of the room, 4 musicians and 10 instruments filled a small, raised stage. A semi-circle of folding chairs outlined the dance floor, and behind the chairs, all kinds of people sipped their beers and silently wished that someone else would be the first to dance.
With a tap of his foot and a toss of his bow, the fiddler ripped into a new tune, and a man and a woman made their way to the center of the floor. Tens of people followed, and just like that, the party had begun.
The crowd was incredibly diverse. There were cowboy hats and fedoras, short crop cuts and long ponytails. There were tie-dye T-shirts, vintage dresses, and slightly unbuttoned plaid. There were patterned leggings, high-waisted skirts, and jeans. Birkenstocks, Doc Martens, and Keens. There were farmers and fishermen and car mechanics and teachers, scientists and carpenters and adventure-seekers. There were children dancing and dogs running underfoot. There were young families and old couples and single people in groups. All gathered for one purpose, for the music.
This, my friends, is the best that southern Oregon has to offer. This gathering of people from all walks of life, of humans who have built their unique lives exactly as they see fit, this is what makes Oregon unique.
I promised myself that this time around, I would appreciate Oregon for what it is. I would explore the local culture and say yes to everything, just like I do when abroad, and so far, my strategy has paid off. This state is filled with people who understand that life has no scaffold, that any pre-determined mold is an illusion, that each life must be formed and designed and tailored by the person living it. Oregonians spend every day striving to be exactly themselves. The result is the most eclectic and sincere group of people I've ever encountered, and let me tell you, it takes all kinds.
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