Carry it Forward: No Man is an Island

No Man is an Island--by John Donne

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee. 

While reading and discussing Orlando this week, I began to think back to poem read among my first days in Academy as a freshman, called No Man is an Island. In the face of rejection by a woman, Orlando in turn rejects the world and retreats back within his own thoughts and words on a page, thus not making himself a "piece of the larger continent, / A part of the main." The fictional character's isolation, and his resulting emotions and insights, made me think hard about what it means to be truly alone and how, if possible, we can incorporate these loners into the larger continent and become part of the main.

High school is no easy place, nor is any school truthfully. Oftentimes I see my peers surrounding themselves with large groups of friends, maybe with whom they may not even be that close, in order to secure their self-esteem. When I see it in passing, hear about it in conversations, and am assaulted as I sense the fickle nature of "friendship" as I walk through a group of mere acquaintances, I can't help but think that what they anchor their security in is the equivalent to a stack of cards or a piece of land where deep fault lines run to and fro, waiting to separate from the larger mass at any point.

 

Yes, I sound bitter and critical toward the norm of our society. That's accurate because I am at certain points. Do I have these particular thoughts EVERY time I walk through a hallway or hear a conversation? Truthfully, the answer is no. However, as I think about my role in a group, which requires me to do the same about the other members of the group, whatever that group that may be, I am constantly trying to estimate to what degree people actually feel a part of that group. After all, that is all a group is: a perception of the degrees of human relationships with others somehow spun so that everybody has a connection with each other, leaving no man or woman, girl or boy, to be an island. 

The dynamic of a group aside, all I wish is for people to be able to experience the love and care that I have been so graciously granted most of my life. I may be saying this with the basis that I don't have a surplus of friends or a multitude of people with whom I can party on every weekend as opposed to what I do have –a small network of people on whom I can depend and act as my hand and footholds as I climb over the many obstacles which life will place in front of me. I have people that every eye contact we make, every word we share, and every moment we spend with one another has a value so great that one couldn't possibly do its nature justice with words, but only by means of laughter and smiles. In hopes of spreading this attractive friendship and wealth of relation to other people, I long ago vowed to myself, and encourage others to do so as well, to involve stragglers dangling off of society's coast to become contributors to the massive and always-growing landmass of relationships. With this in mind, I feel as if I will be landlocked for the rest of my life.