An Ode to Vulnerability & Community
Reflections At Joy Deficit
Creating art, telling stories, and sharing vulnerability opens the door for community. It has been 2 years since my May 15 accident on a ride during the 2023 Atlanta Cycling Festival. To commemorate these two years, I shared a lesson on developing community at a local show called Joy Deficit. This monthly show is held at the Red Light Cafe and is made up of skits, songs, and talent shared on a theme. As the theme for the last Joy Deficit was community, I talked about how vulnerability can help us develop community. (I ad-libbed from an outline.)
Here, I include a fuller version of my thoughts.
On Vulnerability & Community
As a country, we are in a state of shock and facing deep uncertainty. The actions of this administration have targeted and isolated many vulnerable communities. It is enough to make a person want to clam up and hide from the world. But by refusing to remain silent in the darkness, we can move towards deepening our ties to community. By acknowledging our vulnerability, we can counteract the stubborn myth of rugged individualism in our culture. None of us is radically independent. We are all interdependent.
Atlanta roads illustrate our city’s car-supremacy model. There are potholes on the roads, aggressive and entitled car drivers, and poorly maintained infrastructure. Riding bikes here is an act of defiance. Cycling in this physical space requires care. As we band together, our power grows.
In my early cycling days here, I saw how groups of bikes are larger than the sum of each individual cyclist. It is easiest to see this cohesion on the monthly Critical Mass ride. On the last Friday of every month, we ride together in a pack that can easily go into 300+ people. A group like that causes a bit of a stir. Together, we form a critical mass on the street. Collectively, we make our way through the road like a school of fish.
This community ethic shines through the “no drop ride.” When a ride is designated this way, it is an acknowledgement from the ride leader that they intend to ride together with the group. If you are at the back of the pack of cyclists, in a no-drop-ride a ride leader will adjust the pace. If there are mechanical issues, the group will pause or provide support so that no one “drops” from the ride.
Two years ago, when my cycling crash left me in a state of shock, I could have disappeared into the silence. Yet, while I was still in the hospital, one of the M+M organizers discussed with me a GoFundMe they created. Considering the litigious nature of our country, it was a bold and kind step for them to offer.
At first, I was a bit embarrassed to receive help. It went against the boot-strappy nature of my immigrant upbringing. Nonetheless, for the four days I was in the hospital, I saw that my visitors sincerely wanted to support me.
Many people did not know how to help but wanted to show moral support. I found that by asking sincerely for what you need, you are giving others a chance to honor your situation. Some people saw it as paying karma forward; others answered a calling within them. One cyclist, Reid, whom I first connected with on Twitter, visited with two of his daughters. In that moment, I could see that this dad’s compassion was sowing the seeds for a kinder future.
Through the genuine warmth I found in those early days, I found the courage to ask for support publicly by writing about the experience. Sharing the details of my accident helped inspire some groups to create guidelines like “no trick riding” on group rides. In developing a different ride protocol, Midweek Roll tried to create a safer group ride. Seeing these attempts at prevention reinforced for me the importance of dialogue. By writing about my struggle, I shared the human consequences of being thoughtless in such a unique group setting.
Beyond material support, I felt understood and seen. These individuals turning towards one another showed that we are strengthening the community web each time we turn towards one another. I suspect that our social networks operate as a spider web. As we turn our attention towards one another, we spin a web of caring. As we magnify someone’s light by seeing them, we deepen our threads of care. When someone returns our call for support, it brings us all closer to one another. Our individual cares connect us to a large, interwoven web of connections. Through many iterations of turning towards one another, we develop a robust, interwoven community.
In caring and serving one another, we do deepen the bonds of community. We are not lone wolves. As I recoil from the ugly actions from our country’s leaders, I return to the lessons of my wreck Together we can reject the ideologies of hyper-individualistic capitalism. By sharing our vulnerabilities, we reject isolation. By sharing our difficulties, we become stronger together.
A few days after my talk, Midweek Roll celebrated it’s fourth anniversary. This group embodies what I appreciate about our community. See more photos of the MWR 4th Anniversary here. This celebration was focused on acknowledging the volunteers in our community. I feel blessed to be part of this crew.
"As we turn our attention towards one another, we spin a web of caring. As we magnify someone’s light by seeing them, we deepen our threads of care." I love this imagery, Sabrina. It's not easy to ask for support, but it is a great gift for those who respond when we ask. People think helping has be to be a grand gesture, but it's not the size of the support, it's the love behind the act. Small acts strengthen and expand the web of caring you describe. Thanks for all you do to build community every day.