Читать книгу The OPA! Way - Elaine Dundon - Страница 12
ОглавлениеYesterday we visited the small traditional village of Vrisses, located in the mountainous central region of the island of Crete. We knew from past visits that there was only one very narrow road that wound through the village like a snake, so we chose to be respectful and park our car at the bottom of the village and walk. (We have rarely encountered another car, but if we had, we would have found it extremely difficult to reverse ours without leaving a dint in the wall of someone’s house!)
We climbed the first set of stairs and stopped to catch our breath when we reached the first landing. We continued our journey, climbing another set of stairs fashioned from a mixture of stones and concrete, using the handrail to pull ourselves up the very steep incline. When we stopped to rest again, a tiny old woman passed us, dressed in black from head to toe and laden with two bags overflowing with the greens she must have just picked from the hillside. She smiled and said, “Yiasas.” (This is a common greeting used in Greece and literally means, “To your health.”) We echoed her greeting, smiled, and realized that she was probably thirty years older and definitely in much better shape than we were from climbing these stairs on a daily basis in the fresh mountain air.
We continued our ascent and gave thanks to the person who installed the railing fashioned from old pipes, a necessity on rainy or snowy days, and, of course, for visitors like us. We turned the corner and finally reached our destination—the home of YiaYia (Grandmother) Maria. There she was, standing in the doorway of her small home, her eyes twinkling with life, all five feet of her. Of course, she was also dressed in black, the national color and uniform of older Greek women. Her silver-gray hair was tied back neatly in a bun, secured with numerous bobby pins.
“Welcome, welcome,” she said with a wide smile and outstretched arms, as she ushered us into her home, a one-room house of roughly four hundred square feet. The house was sparsely decorated with a single bed, a small wooden table, three old woven thatched chairs where generations before had sat, a cooking area with a single sink, a small cabinet that held dishes, provisions and teas stored for the winter, and, hanging on the whitewashed walls, a few photos of her family. In another corner were the recent additions of a television and telephone.
Everything in Maria’s home has its purpose. We always struggle with what to bring as a present for Maria—what do we buy a woman who looks like she has nothing in comparison to the goods available in our shopping malls in America, but who, in actuality, has everything she needs? We handed her the fresh fruit we had purchased in the city. We knew full well that she had access to many different varieties of fruit and vegetables only steps from her home, so we also brought her a few treats from the bakery.
YiaYia Maria had been busy all day preparing a simple feast for us and the other five relatives who had also come to visit. Her table was overflowing with fresh food to share—thinly sliced cucumbers, cubes of feta cheese, plump red tomatoes, beans, beets, potatoes drenched in olive oil and oregano, olives, slices of freshly baked bread, apples, oranges, nuts, and, of course, small cheese pies for dessert—all served with an abundance of love. Yes, we felt like we were home.
Since there were only three chairs in the room, the other “girls” (YiaYia Maria, her two daughters, and two granddaughters) sat on the edge of the bed. The conversation flowed easily with YiaYia Maria’s positive energy filling the room. As we were enjoying our feast, YiaYia Maria noticed a hole in the knee of her granddaughter’s jeans. “I will sew that for you,” she offered, but was quickly refuted.
“That’s fashion, YiaYia!” responded the granddaughter, eliciting a round of laughter.
“Do you want more food, YiaYia?” asked her granddaughter.
“No thanks,” she replied; “I’m watching my figure.” She burst out laughing again, rolling backward on the bed. She was almost eighty but had the spirit and energy of youth.
A few hours later, the gathering came to an end and we all said our good-byes. Of course, YiaYia Maria handed us a few extra cheese pies to take with us on our journey. As we descended the hill, holding onto the railing once again, we remarked to each other about what a wonderful visit it had been. We’ve been to gatherings in homes many times larger than YiaYia Maria’s was, equipped with many more so-called amenities, but we have never experienced the feelings of warmth and belonging as we did on that day. Once again, our visit to the village of Vrisses had reminded us of the value of living in and connecting meaningfully with others in the village.
Humanity
We can use the concept of “village” to define many groups of people—from a few family members to a collection of people living in a neighborhood, organization, city, or even nation. What makes a village is not the number of people or the buildings or the possessions of its members, but the energy that is shared between the people who choose to belong to that village. It’s their energy, which is breathed into the space. Importantly, their energy can be positive or negative—both good and bad can spread throughout any village.
“All is One.”
—PARMENIDES
In a deeper metaphysical sense, a collective life is created in the village. Life is reflective. Life in the village reflects the belief, “I am because of you. I am more of myself because I am connected to others in our village, be it the village where I live or where I work.” For YiaYia Maria, she is because she is a part of the village. Living her life in the village of Vrisses gives Maria a deep sense of humanity, belonging, and meaning. And like YiaYia Maria, many Greeks we met along our way shared their need to be authentically and meaningfully connected; to be a part of the whole.
“For those who are awake, there is one universe.”
—HERACLITUS
People come to Greece for many reasons—some to enjoy the serenity of the blue sky and pristine water, some to walk in the footsteps of the ancients and, of course, some to drink ouzo and indulge in the delicious food. We come to Greece because of the people. For us, the people we meet are very real.
In America, we are used to people asking us, “What do you do?” The answer to this question tends to categorize people into social classes and achievement levels. However, in Greece, we found that conversations go to the very soul of the people. In Greece, we were asked questions that focused on who we were. “What village are you from?” is a typical question that serves both to understand one’s roots but also is a means to find a common connection:
“My family originates from the village of Monastiraki in the Amari Valley.”
“Ah, Amari—you are near me—I am from the same valley.”
The conversation helps people connect on a human level. Making you feel comfortable, asking about roots, and establishing the human connection comes first; asking about work and accomplishments comes later.
During a conversation with a young woman named Violetta, who was seated beside us on an Aegean Airlines flight back to Athens, we shared that we had just traveled around Crete and loved a little village named Plaka. “Plaka, my mother is from Plaka! Did you know there are only fifteen full-time residents when the tourists leave in the winter?” she replied, her eyes showing absolute delight. During another chance meeting, this time with Iakovos Pattakos, a relative, his introduction was telling: “You are Pattakos. I am Pattakos. We are Pattakos.” With these words, he quickly established the bond that will last a lifetime!
Everyone tries to find a connection somewhere in the lineage where you might be a cousin, a distant relative, or know someone they know. Hearing the word “cousin” shouted in a crowded room results in many people turning their heads to see if you are, indeed, the cousin they are looking for. Everyone may be your cousin! If you are not Greek, the same philosophy applies: “Where are you from? Ah, you are from Chicago. I have cousins Nick, Nicki, and Niko in Chicago. Perhaps you know them?” In some way, they will always find a connection, a common bond.
The Human Touch
Throughout Greece we noticed that building relationships through conversation was an integral part of daily activity. Our business meeting in Athens began with the grandfather and son of the owner spending time with us discussing our odyssey while sharing water, coffee, and cookies—an example of “the human touch before the task.” The clerk in the local grocery store in the picturesque town of Hania, Crete, engaged in a long conversation with the young woman in front of us in line, while we and everyone else waited patiently. Although we may have wanted to pay for our purchases quickly, we all knew that the store was an important connection point in the community and that the clerk was taking an interest in her customers as people and not just as business transactions—again, “the human touch before the task.”
It’s about the conversation and the connection. Stopping to say hello to others acknowledges their presence—their human existence—and signals to them that they are an important part of the village. Every interaction is an opportunity to strengthen or weaken connections with others. Little by little, with each interaction, meaningful relationships are built.
The village is built one conversation at a time.
During one of our visits with YiaYia Maria, she shared her dislike for large cities where she felt it was difficult to connect with others. She told us she would walk down the street and look someone straight in the eye but they would just look away. She found it interesting that on one hand we all say we yearn to connect on a human level, but then we avoid the connection that is right in front of us, that is right beside us on the bus or train, that is right in our neighborhood. We choose instead to give a quick wave and disappear into our house or to simply look away.
The Plaka and the Volta
Many villages in Greece are designed around a common plaka, or public square, where people routinely gather to meet and socialize instead of sitting alone in their homes. It is both a physical place as well as a symbolic place since it serves to remind everyone in the village that they are all one, that they are connected, and that they are part of something larger than themselves.
The Greek word for the evening stroll is “volta,” which has a dual purpose of reenergizing (hence, the English word “voltage”) and connecting with others. As our friend Nikos told us, “Greeks are happy because we go out after work and connect instead of going home and watching television.” Many an evening we witnessed old men walking together, children running free while a dozen women sitting on nearby benches watched, and young men pushing their toddlers in strollers, deep in conversation.
Always Time for Coffee
Another timeless tradition is visiting the kafenio (café), the heart of the village. Rarely do people carry coffee around in a cup—they sit and relax and enjoy the coffee instead. Greek men typically meet at the kafenio up to three times a day: in the early morning, late afternoon, and the evening. In small villages there may be only one kafenio, but in larger villages numerous kafenia spring up, even if they are only the front room of a house, with additional tables and chairs spilling onto the roadway. The tables are littered with small coffee cups, filled to the rim with brown foam. In between small sips, the villagers celebrate the highlights as well as release the stresses of the day.
Regulars, usually older men, make one kafenio in the village their “home away from home,” and they go to this same location every day to read newspapers, argue politics, play cards, and discuss their lives. Some Greeks, even in the large cities, such as Athens, may have five or six coffees throughout the day as they take time to connect with various people at different kafenia.
There’s always time for coffee but, as we all know, it’s not about the coffee, it’s about the conversation and bonding that takes place while enjoying the coffee. Some say the male bonding at the kafenio—as it is mostly men who partake in this Greek tradition—is a key factor in the longevity of its patrons as they take care of one another and have trust that there will always be someone there for them. Nothing creates the meaningful connection and knowledge of shared humanity like speaking with other people and seeing the expressions on their faces. Nothing is better than knowing that we are all still human after all!
Belonging
“Man is a political animal.”
—ARISTOTLE
The word “political” comes from the Greek word “polis,” meaning “city” or “state.” Putting it in modern terms, when Aristotle said, “Man is a political animal,” he meant we are social animals or beings and we flourish best in groups or communities (villages). It is our nature to live in groups and it is our nature to want to belong. We are not at our best when we isolate ourselves. One of the causes of the increased incidence of depression throughout the world is the lack of belonging. Some say that as we age, the longing for connections with others deepens, but we disagree. Our research has shown us that the quest to connect and belong, the longing for the security and comfort provided by groups, is strong at all ages.
“I am not alone in my fear, nor alone in my hope, nor alone in my shouting.”
—NIKOS KAZANTZAKIS (author, Zorba the Greek)
We live in the global community but many people feel separate and alone. Connecting online may mean having eight hundred “friends” on Facebook, or being able to “tweet” thousands of “followers” via Twitter, yet we question whether these connections enable us to share who we authentically are or, importantly, the challenges we face in our lives. Are we just technically connected but not meaningfully connected?
The ancient Greek philosopher Thales suggested that we should “love thy neighbor,” but how can we love our neighbors when we don’t even know them? We know the names of celebrities but we don’t know the names of our neighbors. It takes effort to know our neighbors and for them to know us.
“We are all One,” espoused Heraclitus, but nowadays we often look and act separately from one another. We say we don’t feel part of a community because we aren’t. We are more mobile these days, leading nomadic lives, moving often, working long hours, commuting, and staying indoors watching television or distracted by the internet, downloading movies instead of going out. And in times of crisis, we tend to draw inward to try and isolate ourselves from outside forces, attempting to create a sense of security. But we found that even during times of financial and social crisis in Greece, there is still a strong need to reach out and connect meaningfully with others, to strengthen the sense of belonging.
Do You Know Aunt Toula?
In many Greek villages and even towns, there are no numbers on the houses because everyone knows where everyone else lives. When arriving in the village, you simply describe who you are looking for and a kind villager will either provide directions to where you must go or stop whatever he or she is doing and take you there in person. While in Crete, we wanted to visit one of our many aunts, Aunt Toula, but we weren’t sure which house in the village was hers. So we showed a photo of her to some local villagers and they brought us to her house. We wondered if someone had shown us a photo of one of our neighbors or coworkers, would we have known where to find that person?
“We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink.”
—EPICURUS
Food!
Some say everything happens around food in Greece! It may be more accurate to say everything happens around food, coffee, wine, and ouzo (or raki, the regional drink of Crete) but, in any case, it is while eating and drinking that Greeks connect. Again, it’s not all about the food—it’s about the people you eat with and the conversation and bonding that being together brings with it. Who you eat with is just as important as what you eat!
Food is the central focus of the family home, with most Greek mothers providing both food and nurturing to a home full of family and friends. No matter what time of day you arrive, there will always be food available. “Eat something. I’ll make you something special” are words we hear often. After years of being occupied by foreign powers and being deprived of basic necessities, the Greeks know very well that food is the basis of living and that people will always connect over food. Again, during the current crisis, we see the focus returning to food as the primary basic need, as well as the way for people to connect meaningfully with one another. Financial resources may be strained, luxury goods may remain on the store shelves, but food is the one thing that unites the village.
“Fifteen pounds of flour?” we asked, thinking it was a lot (almost 7 kg of flour) and that Alex’s mother had made a mistake in her recipe. “Yes, fifteen pounds,” she confirmed and continued listing the rest of the ingredients we would need to make the traditional koulourakia or Easter cookies. Oh yes, it was we who had forgotten—when baking, always make enough for the village; always make enough to share. Baking for the holidays is usually a group effort when the ladies in the village get together to socialize and make hundreds of cookies for the upcoming feast. Each person usually has her own family recipe, which was handed down to her through the ages, so it’s always an interesting affair to hear the debate: “Add more sugar.” “No, don’t add any more sugar.” “We use more cinnamon.” In the democracy that is Greece, indeed, everyone has their say.
One might say the Easter feast is the largest celebration of the year, but that is only if one hasn’t been to a local wedding that year, especially on the island of Crete where wedding parties in the city can grow to over a thousand well-wishers. It’s not uncommon to have large wedding parties with more than sixteen people in the bridal party because, after all, everyone is a cousin! It’s not unusual to go to the taverna and invite everyone in the whole village to the wedding and to put an open announcement in the local newspaper. It is the community that celebrates the wedding. There will be enough bread and cheese for everyone. There will be lamb on the spit and enough food to feed the army of wedding guests. Yes, food from many homes will be emptied onto platters and passed down the long tables set up in the village square or plateia. When, thousands of years ago, Cleobulus advised that moderation is best, he certainly wasn’t referring to the food at a Greek wedding!
“Food brings us together around the table,” explained Stavros as we shared the community table with him in a local taverna in the hillsides of Crete. “We never eat alone and we never eat in silence; well, except for the monks at Mount Athos,” he continued with a twinkle in his eye. As we looked around the rustic taverna we saw tables occupied by people of all ages—young children with their great grandparents and workmen in their overalls, covered with evidence of a hard day’s work, sharing the table with people whose attire signaled a more leisurely life.
On the community tables were a variety of large platters of appetizers (mezes or mezedes) and salads next to baskets brimming with freshly baked whole-grain breads and bottles of local olive oil. Everyone appeared to be savoring the food—sharing from common platters, not individual plates and portions. Everyone appeared to be savoring the conversations. The food and laughter were plentiful, symbolizing the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with friends in the presence of community.
The tradition of kerasmata, the buying of drinks for others, also united the taverna. The two men sitting off to the side, tossing their komboloi (worry beads) and watching a game on the television, stopped to share in a drink of ouzo or raki offered by some men at another table.
“Yamas (to our health),” said the pair as they raised their glasses. Giving a nod to the other men, they drank and resumed watching their game. Twenty minutes later, it was their turn to order a round of drinks for themselves and the other table, and the yamas exercise continued.
Interdependence
During our most recent travels throughout Greece, we observed a positive and meaningful albeit unintended result of Greece’s economic crisis: the rediscovery of the importance of the village! We’ve talked at length with both young people and older adults who not only are spending more time in their family’s village (horio), but also are investing considerable energies and resources to renovate structures and community infrastructure in the village. Besides seeking a reprieve from the chaos associated with living in highly populated areas, which are most negatively influenced by the current economic situation, these returning villagers are focusing more on the things that truly matter to them by essentially returning to their “roots.”
We asked many Greeks: “Why do you seem so resilient during this economic crisis?” More often than not, their responses centered on the beliefs that they could always go back to their villages, and that their grandparents (especially their grandmothers!) and extended families would care for them, and that they, in turn, would do the same. They knew that, at the very least, there would be food in the villages for all so that they all could survive.
Most of the food is grown or raised locally. Eggs, milk, cheese, fruit, vegetables, wine, olives, olive oil, and meat (sheep or rabbit) are all items traded amongst the families in the village. As our cousin Elsa told us, “We never bought eggs, there was always someone who had eggs to share.” For other items, they rely on traders who travel between villages in the area with large cars filled with bread, fish, and household items.
Relying on others is a shared value of the village. A woman we visited in Elounda, Crete, told us that she was going to Athens for a month. “But what about your child?” we asked. Her reply was telling, “There are many people in my village to look after my child while I am away,” she said with confidence. Her reply reminded us of the time we were in church when a small boy, probably age three or four, insisted on blowing out some of the small candles people were holding during the service. No less than three older women, all dressed in black, told him to behave. They didn’t hold back; they were active participants in shaping the character of this child and in creating the type of village they wanted. They supported the notion that it takes a village to raise a child.
The spirit of cooperation was alive and well when we visited the small, more modern village of Kalives. We were enjoying a late afternoon coffee at the kafenio on the narrow street that flows through the village, leisurely watching both time and people go by. The noise of the regional bus coming down the street broke the silence. Suddenly, the bus stopped and we realized that it was unable to pass by because a motorcycle was jutting out into the road. Three local men jumped into action. One helped the bus driver back the large bus up a few feet while the other two moved the motorcycle off the road. Then, inch-by-inch the bus moved forward and around the motorcycle and eventually was able to be on its way. The event provided ten minutes of excitement before we all went back to enjoying our afternoon coffees, reflecting on the knowledge that life requires a group effort.
“He who cares for his brother cares for himself.”
—XENOPHON
Today, instead of being connected to the others we know for the necessities of life, we rely on strangers and institutions for our survival. We seldom barter with a neighbor or even know where our food is grown or comes from; we usually rely on a weekly transaction at a supermarket for everything, including our eggs! We seldom rely on others for our news, we rely on the internet. Elders seldom stay in the family home; they are checked into “old age” homes. We also now rely more on ourselves, resulting in a false sense of security. Instead of borrowing tools from our neighbors, we simply buy our own. Instead of asking others to help us, we simply do the chore ourselves. In doing so, what have we lost? Have we tried so hard to be self-sufficient that we cut ourselves off from one another? Perhaps if we had less financial wealth and material possessions, we would have to rely on others more, like the Greeks in the village do. Survival in the traditional Greek village depends on collective strength of the villagers, not the strength of one individual. This structure gives each villager a sense of comfort; villagers know that their family and village will be there to care for them. This mentality arose out of their historical struggles—throughout many wars, foreign occupations, and changes in government regimes, they had to rely on one another for survival.
An old man gave each son a stick. “Break them,” he said to his sons. Each son easily broke his own stick. Next the old man took several sticks and tied them together in a bundle. He handed the bundle to his first son and commanded, “Break it.” Unable to do so, the first son passes the bundle to the second son. One by one each son strained to break the bundle but was unable to do so. Union gives strength. Divided we are weak and vulnerable; but together we are strong. There is strength in numbers if we “stick” together.
—Aesop’s Fables (Greece, ca 620–560 BC)
Asking for help does not show weakness; it shows a deeper understanding of the concept of interdependence and the inherent strength that comes with it.
The village is the sum of all who live there. It is the sum of all their thoughts and actions. As a member of the village, it is one’s duty to take an active role in supporting it. In good times and in troubled times, villagers rely on their shared purpose and allegiance to the village. An ancient phrase known to many Greeks is “help me so I can help you so that together we can climb the mountain.” Your success is our success and our success is your success. The spirit of the village manifests itself as a “win-win,” because villagers realize that it is in their individual and collective best interests to connect meaningfully with one another. In this way, the whole truly is greater than the sum of its parts.
We know every person influences the village, either positively or negatively, as his or her good or bad behavior ripples through the village. Everyone makes a difference and everyone has an impact. Even if someone tries to stay neutral or even disengaged, this attitude also makes a difference to the whole. The village is like an ecosystem in nature, interconnected, inseparable parts of the whole.
But which takes priority—the village or the individual? The ancient Greeks valued the individual and strongly believed that all individuals must make the effort to become the best they can be. They also valued private ownership of property and, of course, were well-known for introducing the concept of democracy (one person, one vote) to the world. To them, individual identity (and freedom) was very important and needed to be protected.
Over time, however, we have swung the pendulum so far toward the individual that some have classified our society as suffering from hyperindividualism. When we embrace too much focus on the individual, we disregard the impact that our thoughts, words, and actions have on the collective, which leads to the fragmentation of the whole and, eventually, to isolation, loneliness, and even depression. When we get lost in big cities, we no longer feel the loyalty to or connection with others, and engage in expressions of selfishness, such as graffiti, rioting, and crime. When we get lost in big companies or governments, we no longer feel connected and are less willing to make any sacrifices for the good of the group or our customers. We believe in “me first” and may even decide to make our own rules.
It’s a delicate balance to define the self within the context of cooperation with others. We need both separation and togetherness to thrive. But if we don’t emphasize what connects us, we will be divided. If we don’t look out for the village, then the benefits of the village begin to erode and the ultimate meaning of self suffers as a consequence.
“He who is unable to live in society, or who has no need because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast or a god.”
—ARISTOTLE
Summary
The urges to connect and to belong are the most basic of human needs and are central to the human experience. Aristotle taught us that we are political (social) animals—we thrive when we connect. The ancient Greeks also believed that we are all connected to the energy of a larger system, to a greater whole. Importantly, the root of many of our challenges today can be traced to a lack of meaningful connections with others. The antidote for this lack of connection, loneliness, and isolation is to reach outside ourselves and invest our energies in creating better “villages,” both at work and at home. In no small way, the depth of our lives depends on the depth of our relationships with others. Meaning is found in the context of our day-to-day lives, connecting with others. We will have meaning in our lives as long as others need us and we need them.
OPA! AFFIRMATION
I find joy and meaning in my life when I connect meaningfully with others in the village.
