Life on Iona

The grassy hills, heather covered rocks, and sandy coast of Iona tell me I’m in Scotland but the visitors and volunteers from America, Canada, Scotland, England, Sweeden, Denmark, Germany, South Africa, New Zealand, and other countries make this island feel like it could be located anywhere.

This is the beach in front of my house. 

For a total of 9 weeks I will be volunteering in the housekeeping department of the MacLeod center of the Iona Community. “Housekeeping” here at Iona is different than other places. As part of Iona’s commitment to shared work and community building, guests staying in the center are divided into 3 groups to help with the daily cleaning, setting tables for meals, and washing dishes. Those of us volunteering in the housekeeping department ensure that the center is cleaned and prepared for the guests arrival but spend the rest of the week completing tasks along side rotating teams of guests.

Kite Flying

My days at Iona are marked by tea breaks, lunches, dinners, and services in the Abbey. A typical day begins with a 9am worship service. By 9:30 I’ve arrived for work in the MacLeod center. The beginning hours are spent setting out cleaning supplies and preparing tables for tea break. Guests staying in the center complete short cleaning tasks in the morning both to build community and to help in the upkeep of the center. At 11am guests and staff break for tea together. My hours between 11:30am and 1pm are spent washing the dishes from tea break, washing rags the guests used to clean, hanging laundry to dry, and setting out dishware for lunch. At 1 guests and staff sit and have soup and bread together. After guests have helped the housekeeping staff clean the lunch dishes (usually at 2:30) my workday takes a pause. From 2:30 – 5:00 myself and many vollies are free to spend our time as we wish. At 5:00 I report back to the “Mac” to begin setting up for dinner and checking on the continuous flow of dirty dish towels and cleaning rags. At 6:00 staff and guests join together for the evening meal; the kitchen continually fixes delicious dishes and dessert. My work day ends around 7:30 when the guests have helped the housekeeping staff clean and dry the dinner dishes. 7:30 – 9:00 is usually filled with games, chatter, or a hike with other vollies. At 9:00 most people attend the evening service. 9:30 – late into the evening is filled with a variety of activities: ceilidh dances, visits to the pub, vollie socials, star gazing, and game nights.

The beginning of the Ceilidh

At times I feel like I am living in a post card. The morning sunrise is a vibrant pink and the stars at night are so clear it is easy to spot constellations and the wispy glow of the Milky Way. Limited internet and low phone signals make people more willing to fly kites, take hikes, enjoy game nights, and attend dances in the village hall. Life here is fast paced, but includes many joys of slower times. At the end of the night I head down the only road of the island to my house. It often feels like I’ve hardly reunited with my bed when it’s time to start again.

Iona is home to cows, sheep, seals, and dolphins. 

Taking Flight

I’m awaiting my flight to Scotland in the JFK airport and am host to a range of emotions. My stomach holds excitement for adventure ahead, fear for loosing my way, anxiety for the unknown, and unease that my expectations may go unmet. It’s the ideal recipe for strengthening the senses and weakening the muscles.

This swirling blend of anticipation and apprehension acts as a key to other memories. I am brought back to the beginning of other experiences: arriving at our new home in Ohio, move in day at John Carroll, and my first day as a Boston resident. Each memory reminds me that the meekness and unfamiliarity I feel now eventually give way to familiarity and comfort.

If experience can be trusted, my anxieties will be unfounded and at the least unhelpful. This makes me wonder, what if I could separate these emotions turning in my stomach? Allow those that heighten my senses to stay and bid farewell to the occupants dissolving my calm. After all, shouldn’t my emotions respond to me rather than the other way around?      

Rest for the Word "Nice"

Rest for the word “Nice”

Not too long ago, a high school friend described me as, “smart and nice”. These descriptors left her mouth as compliments and entered my ears as confining titles.

Smart—a term used for a dull, lack-luster friend with academic achievements.

Nice—a descriptor reserved for obedient persons who meticulously follow all unwritten rules of society. Generally pushovers.

While I felt neither of these encrypted meanings fit me, I was most plagued by the term “nice”. My thoughts turned from what my friend had said to society’s general overuse of the word “nice”. As children we are continuously told to be nice, to play nice, and to hold our tongues if the words on them are anything but nice. So what does that tell us of the word nice?

Nice appears to be a socially acceptable way of behaving. To be nice is to pay lip service to the general public. To be nice is to be pleasant, regardless of your true feelings. Nice is a cage within which a person must act.

I am not nice.

Nice is an insult to the true essence of my being. At my core, I deeply value our human race. My actions spring from this foundation. I open doors, I give my full attention, I extend invitations, and I lend a hand not because these actions win me favor in society, but rather because I care. I act this way because people must see that they are loved and valued.

Nice is an insult. Nice implies that my acts of love are interpreted as well played charades, a facade of politeness. Who can detect the true feelings of a practiced nice person?

I therefore declare a rest for the word “nice”. Let us stop covering our conversations with this tired adjective hoping it’s implied meaning will come alive in each sentence. Lets put “nice” back where it belongs and give it an opportunity to recharge and regain its squandered identity.