Fresh off a four-year bender meant to enlighten me to be a better grown-up and to activate me for a career that I studied “hard” for, I left Shippensburg empty and ignored that after this summer of working at camp in Maryland, I would have exactly zero ideas on what to do next.
This will be a problem for Jean in the future. At present, Jean was just focused on the fun that would take place at camp with the same group of counselors who were much like me- recent grads who still had the energy to party as we did in school. Midway through our summer, I was faced with the question that haunts all recent grads- What’s next?
I spoke with my camp director who deeply cared for me and my future. We spoke, and she asked me about my plans. This would not be the last time that I heard this question. I responded as I normally did- “I’m not sure yet. I’m sure something will come my way. I applied to grad school and hope to get in, but if that doesn’t work, I’ll figure it out.”
I could clearly see the worry on her face as she tried to stifle it to be polite. I felt the heaviness that my answer placed on her. It made me a little anxious, and I was not used to this feeling. I was a very go-with-the-flow, we will figure it out, don’t worry, sort of guy. This cloud of uncertainty hung over me the following week as I tried to wrangle the group of middle school boys I oversaw.
She presented me an opportunity I had never considered. This opportunity was a year of service like AmeriCorps where I would apply to various programs across the US and get paired with a non-profit. She mentioned that this seemed like a good match for me as I decided on my next steps.
After applying to five different programs, I landed on a program in Chapel Hill, North Carolina called The Johnson Service Corps. I also learned I would be living in a house of 7 other people who were similarly trying to figure out their lives but had an internal pull to service. What’s the worst that could happen? I was part of a fraternity in school and generally social. I could adapt and fit in.
I don’t think I fully knew what I was getting into as I walked through the threshold of 215 Greene Street with grueling task of being stretched on the other side. The Journey of being a part of the Johnson Service Corps. The gifts this program gave me didn’t all come at once. It was continual transformation through the almost year-long experience in this program.
I would say that throughout the program, the pillars of this program manifested themselves in four distinct people and groups. But the one that stands out to me the most poignant was my community.
In my younger years, I was very selfish. I wanted to spend my time however I felt like, and no one would tell me otherwise. My decisions were my own, and I rarely considered how my actions would affect those around me.
Community brought me tears. It brought me vulnerability and challenge. It brought me safety and intentionality. It brought love for me and the people who come into my life.
An aspect of this program is to develop a rule of life. This dictates the way that we will co-exist. 6 women and 2 men in a house with 5 rooms. We needed this to help ground us and help us from throwing each other out of one of the many windows in the house we shared.
The idea is to be present in the moments you share with the people who will be walking alongside you in these months of exploring the unknown. To me, this was a death sentence to my freedom.
On paper, it seemed doable. I contributed too. Let us know when you have visitors. Wash your dishes. Don’t leave a mess in common spaces. Normal things.
Community, however, needed me to see deeper. To think outside of things that were directly impacting me. This required me to set aside two days for house dinners and to devote Sunday to house meetings, even though volleyball was on Sunday nights. I was furious. Why do they get to tell me how I should spend my time in Chapel Hill!? These meetings were going to be a waste of time. These dinners would be rough because we had to consider a housemate who was vegan and cook things that everyone could eat.
Community knew my weaknesses but also knew the beauty that growth brings. The house meetings were hard sometimes. If we felt that a housemate offended us, instead of letting it linger, we would handle it as a house. To the betterment of all of us. You’d think that being at a placement focused on mediation and conflict resolution would help. (It did. But not right away)
My instinct was to just say “I’m sorry” or “I won’t do it again.” But community, my guides, dragged me by my feet to be vulnerable. To be present in the weight of the offenses. To listen to what was being said. I remember one meeting in particular. I know I cried and even in thinking back to this I get a little emotional. A housemate, the one who all of us got along with. She was the sun of our house. A mom figure of sorts but one that would still have fun with us. She looked me in my eyes and said to me plainly that I had hurt her. My heart sank to my stomach.
Sharing meals was a sacrament to her. Much like the meals that were shared in bible times. To share a meal then and to her at that time and to me now meant love. It meant care. I am spending this time with you intentionally sharing myself with you. It’s deep.
She told me that she often caught me on my phone during meetings. She started to cry. She said that it felt like her presence didn’t matter to me. That she didn’t matter to me and that I didn’t care. I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. I cried. I didn’t mean for my disconnection to be taken that way. I hurt our sun. I was a bad person in my eyes. But that’s not how my community saw me. They loved me deeply and want me to be present not to feel bad.
From that moment on, I was all in. All in with my community. All in with the connections I was making. All in for the time I was sharing. Meals were sacred. My time and your time are sacred things. Community made me vulnerable. Every Sunday, I was ripped open, and my emotions were laid out for everyone to see. Community held it in their hands and lovingly healed me. I learned not to be selfish. I learned that love could mean presence.
The months that felt like years in this program were very heavy. Heavy because we were all carrying baggage. But in the end, the parting hurt. It hurt because we connected, and now my load wasn’t just mine. It was my housemates too. We went through things together. When I was off, they helped me correct it so that I would be right again.
I don’t know that I will experience something so radical as JSC, especially now, at the age that I am in. This experience was hard. Very hard. I cried often. I wanted to leave a few times. But there is beauty that comes after the groans for growth.
I learned so much of who I am, and I look back to this program with absolute shock that I stuck it out but with a profound lightness at the special thing we created in that house. I am proud of myself for doing so, and I have all the experiences following alongside me to remind me of the lessons that I still carry from those months in that house in Chapel Hill with the new family that was created.
Jean Martinez was a JSC Corps Member from 2014-2015