How many past selves do each of us carry? And what would we say to our past selves if they messaged us on Twitter or showed up at our house wanting to talk about their day? In a world which glorifies continuous self-improvement, it’s easy to cast away our “worse” versions like they’re outdated tech. Simultaneously, in a youth obsessed culture, it's easy to romanticize our version 1.0’s⎼our simpler and more carefree predecessors. But what about the space in between? The space where we see our past selves in all their complexity and say I can hold you now.

Emeshe here, and I’ve been thinking a lot about intergenerational friendship and the ways in which it can help us connect not only our past selves, but our future ones.

Since moving to DR in 2021 I have made friends, real friends, who range in age from seven years old to their late 60s. Real friends meaning we organically spend time together, we both get something out of our connection, neither of us is obligated to be nice to the other for financial reasons, and the constraints of professionalism do not heavily mitigate our interactions. I would say this is a rarity for many people in their mid-20s living in our modern, age-segregated context.

Some scenes from the last few months of life here include:

• Me embarking on a, perhaps ill-advised, chopstick whittling project with some kids from Red Earth Farms; small pairs of eyes watching me in awe as I split a piece of oak wood down the middle with a hatchet.

 

• Me sitting down to tea in a quiet, white farmhouse with my friend in her mid-60s, getting to wonder at the twists and turns of her life and all the pleasures and sorrows that got her here.

 

• Me speaking vulnerably about my fears and self-doubt to a room of women ranging from 10 to 40 years older than me at our weekly Women’s Circle. The experience of being held and seen by people who have been young and raw and idealistic like me, yet not looked down upon by them.

 

• Me and 14-year-old Althea embarking on a week-long trip to Colorado ⎼ windows down, pop punk blaring out of my Bluetooth speaker, wind blurring the words into an unintelligible wail of hope and pain. Me wondering if they felt the way I would have at that age, the day cracking open with freedom.

Today, so many of us, young and old, feel confused about our place in the world. It seems that every person has a reason to feel devalued. We either have too little life experience, or irrelevant life experience, are either too naive or too old-fashioned, too optimistic or too jaded, our internal technology is either untested or already obsolete. And what does feeling devalued trigger? Either we turn inward and devalue ourselves (shame) or we turn outwards and devalue others (blame). Young turns against old, old turns against young, and we lose the most valuable thing: the knowledge that every age has wisdom and something valuable to offer.

I remember walking down the road with Althea, who was then seven, and Arthur, who was then two on a swampy summer evening in 2018. It was your average gravel road ⎼ very white, very dusty; I was stepping tenderly, annoyed at how sharp the rocks were: Who’s idea was it to put this crap down in a village where people walk barefoot!? when the kids became fascinated by what was beneath our feet. They squatted down in the road and began sorting through the stones. I drew closer. Look! they said, jewels. Sure enough, on closer inspection, many of the stones were crystalline; pink under the dust. Where I could see only road, they could see treasure, and being in their company I was gifted the opportunity to tap into a different time, to use the sight of my own inner child.  

That day I was privy to the wisdom of childhood ⎼ the easy creativity, the ability to see beyond the mundane⎼but on many days I get to see the non-wisdom of childhood: the confusion, the disorganization, the helplessness. I get to be the grown-up, the teacher, the person who knows magical stuff like how to cook noodles, and this is naturally empowering. I get to experience my own maturation and have that maturation benefit others. It reveals to me my own growth and wisdom; Wow, this thing that would have really upset me ten years ago, doesn’t anymore. Now I can hold space for someone else who is upset. Whether it’s the loss of a Pokemon card, or the devastation of a friend not reading your text message for five hours, supporting someone who is younger than me allows me to make meaning out of my journey. Simultaneously, being close with people older than me allows me the opportunity to fast forward and get insight into wisdom I may not yet have access to. 

Intergenerational living is one of my roads to reawakening meaning in the context of 21st century ennui. It is a way that I can meaningfully integrate my painful experiences of growing up into support for those that follow me in that journey. A way that I can learn from those who have walked before me. It is also a way for me to realize how similar we are despite age differences. It’s a powerful realization to sit in conversation with someone who has been alive for 30 more years than me and think: Dang, you’re still just figuring this whole thing out too. It kind of takes some pressure off. And maybe, it is also a way I can eventually come to neither romanticize nor demonize any part of my own lifecycle, loving myself and others for whatever gifts we bring to the table at every age.

Emeshe Amade works primarily for the CSCC nonprofit at DR, as well as being a crew member of a strawbale building project called The Hub.