How are you doing?
I hope you are well. I hope you are healthy. I
hope you are in good spirits.
The only thing I am sure of right now is that, in some form
or another, you are isolated. This is hard. Let’s be honest.
Being the amateur etymologist I am, I had to look into the
word origins of “isolation” and discovered that it is a rendering into English
of the French isolé, from Italian isolato, from Latin insulatus
"made into an island," from insula “island.” Well, that
makes sense.
Do you feel like you’re on your own little island,
disconnected from the world around you? You might have some immediate
family around you, but all the members of the community which usually make up
your “world” are “over there.”
It reminds me of one of my favourite hymns when I was a
child, “Jesus Bids Us Shine."
Jesus bids us shine with a clear,
pure light,
Like a little candle burning in the
night;
In this world of darkness, so we
must shine,
You in your small corner, and I in
mine.
How are you doing in your “small corner?” I really do
hope you are well. I hope you are finding ways to “shine.”
Being isolated, being restricted to your small corner, your
island of the world, can feel overwhelming at times. I won’t bother to
share platitudes about how “it will all be over some day.” Comments such
as this are usually unhelpful at best and, in some cases, make the hurt of “right
now” more poignant. We need to find ways to live here and now, and to
live with meaning and purpose.
I don’t have answers, but I do have experience to share.
As a Newfoundlander, I have learned that there are both disadvantages and
advantages to being on an island.
Isolation means being “distanced.” We hear the word used
every day, social distancing and physical distancing…. Growing up, I was
acutely aware of a “distance” that separated me from the rest of the world.
To go anywhere “else” meant a 9-hour car ride followed by 7-9 hours on a
ferry, or for those who could afford it, at least an hour by plane (and I grew
up relatively close to the Mecca of St. John’s). Everyone who was not
from “The Island” was a “CFA-er” (Come From Away-er) no matter how long they
resided there. Even the TV affirmed our distance from "the mainland”
when announcing that the program we wanted to watch would start “a half-hour
later in Newfoundland.”
On the other hand, this distance was not all bad. It
provided us with a sense of safety. I remember the song “Thank God We’reSurrounded By Water” (written by Tom Cahill and performed by Joan Morrissey - https://youtu.be/nloH_akwNWc).
I would happily sing along to this tune as it played on the radio most Saturday
mornings. Even when the world felt like it was going crazy around us, we
could distance ourselves in some way. This distance has also affected our
culture significantly. Not only were we surrounded by water, but each
small community was itself isolated for the majority of the year. This
isolation incubated the hodgepodge of dialects and traditions which we now lump
together as “Newfoundland Culture.” Trust me, many Newfoundlanders can
still identify which part of the island you come from by YOUR accent, and don’t
get me started on traditions. Get three Newfoundlanders in a room and get
them to agree on the rules to the game of "120’s” or the correct recipe
for a "Jiggs Dinner" and I’ll eat my hat! Isolation helped to
preserve (keep safe) important things.
Isolation means being “alone” in one form or another.
This generally sucks. My family is spread out over much of mainland
Canada. This is the reality for most Island families. When I was in
my first parish on the Great Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland I saw
communities disappear due to out-migration. In two cases, the last family
simply moved away. In the case of Great Harbour Deep, the population of
around 100 was resettled all at once to multiple communities, often many hours
apart, isolating former community-members even from each other. Isolation
deeply challenges our identity. We are social creatures after all.
On the other hand, this isolation has produced a fierce
identity and pride amongst us. People find it funny when I make the
comment that we were generally glad to have Canada join Newfoundland in 1949.
It isn’t a joke. We tend to identify as Newfoundlanders first and
Canadians (grudgingly) second. This is not a slight, but a point of honest
pride. Members of Great Harbour Deep who made their way into my parish in
the early 2000s were quick to identify their heritage and tried to find ways to
work together to integrate their customs into local communities. One of
my personal heroes, Mr. Rick Mercer, is a Canadian icon, and has done so as a
proud Newfoundlander. Isolation has led us to enter into the community of
Canada without losing who we are. Canada is NOT a melting pot, but a
multi-faceted, rich, deep, and colourful kaleidoscope. Isolation provides
an opportunity to celebrate who you are, right here and right now, regardless
of whether or not you are blessed to be a Newfoundlander.
Isolation means being “unsupported” in many ways. Who
can you turn to when you are alone? Who will watch over you when there is
no one else there? This can be very scary, especially for our vulnerable
populations. Newfoundland’s history is almost completely made up of
stories about vulnerable persons. Even the richest and healthiest member
of Middle Barachois could find herself penniless and dying in the midst of a
harsh winter. Our Island history is primarily made up of communities
which were small, poor, and, generally, unsupported.
On the other hand, we are still here. How did we
survive? I believe that there are two factors. First, a brute
determination to survive together. And second, a sense of humour (dark at
times) which allowed us to put yesterday behind us, see the future as unwritten
(open to interpretation), and live in the present. Many are the stories
of communities coming together in creative and selfless ways to ensure that
everyone had not only the necessities of life, but knew that they were “a part,”
even when apart. Being community can be challenging at the best of times,
but isolation pushes our active role in maintaining community to the forefront.
If the “easy” way of being community is no longer an option, then we will
find other ways! I need say little about the Newfoundland sense of humour
that has not already been said better by others. What I will add is this:
I have found that at the heart of our humour is a realism which keeps us
grounded in the present, while “making light” of past hurts or future promises.
I hope my ramblings have rung true with some of you.
Do you feel the "distance,” the “alone,” or the “unsupported?”
How have these aspects of isolation been a part of your story?
I invite you to share some lessons from my heritage.
Isolation can also mean “safety.” Be safe, keep others
safe. Focus on preserving what is really important.
Isolation can also mean “maintaining your pride.” Take the
time to focus on “you” and those isolated with you. Celebrate who you
are.
Isolation can also mean “relying on each other."
The community can no longer be made up of only those who “show up.”
Reach out. Reach out in need and reach out to offer help.
Isolation does not mean that we are helpless victims.
Isolation offers us a challenge to be the best people we can
be.
You in your small corner...
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