I think we all know it—in family, at work, at school, in any community, even at a party or a volunteer gathering. We feel the difference between living together and merely coexisting. We know it, live it every day: sometimes we're together simply because we have no choice, but something fundamental is missing. We can't find peace. We can't enjoy each other's presence.
What's missing? What vanished? What changed? What ended?
Think of the excitement with which we set up a home, form a couple, launch an organization, start a new job. We're thrilled. Life together draws us in. We dream. We imagine growth, improvement. Then, suddenly, that initial spark is gone. We search desperately for why. We start blaming each other. We find a culprit. Things get worse. We live in nostalgia, trapped in the past, spiraling into pessimism and resignation. Or we flee. Sometimes we destroy.
How do we choose the right steps to move forward? How do we shake off that creeping fatalism—the sense that there's nothing left to do?
Here are some ways—not exhaustive, and not applicable to grave, pathological, or irreversible situations. I offer them without ranking, drawn from experience rather than theory.
- In any group, some people appeal to us more than others. Some match my taste, my way of being, my education and culture. Others don't. I thought they'd be different. They disappoint me, irritate me, provoke rebellion and anger in me. Toward these "others," I should take a good step. Perhaps their way of being touches the part of me that needs to change—the vulnerability I refuse to acknowledge. From them, from their attitudes, I can receive signals that will help me become likeable to them.
- Without noticing, I may impose my authority, my power—sometimes my arrogance—on the people around me. When they disagree, I feel wounded. Instead of accepting the "loss," I attack them, demean them, accuse them. Moving toward others means rejoicing when they find good steps different from mine. To help others grow sometimes means accepting my own diminishment—and recognizing it as good for me and for them.
- Living together in peace also means accepting that antagonism, conflict, and misunderstanding are organic parts of existence. For the pieces of a mosaic to fit well, their edges must be smoothed, their roughness removed. Only then can the adhesive hold. Otherwise the puzzle shatters at the first blow.
- In families and groups, there is almost always someone apparently more fragile than the rest: children, elderly people, those with disabilities, the ill. True, they often demand attention, dedication, sometimes sacrifice. We need to take turns supporting them so we don't collapse. Yet these very people are the bond that holds the group together. Their presence—even if inconvenient, even exhausting—can draw out from deep within us the part we want to hide: our own weakness. We realize that we, perhaps more than they, need help. We realize we cannot stand alone.
Peace within ourselves and among people does not come from superiority, power, or certainty. Peace and the joy of living together spring from a single source: the recognition that we need God and each other to know how to love and forgive.
- Mariangela Bertolini, 2004