target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#fb3_img_img_944266e9-c57f-504c-bca1-e9a1ade72d64.jpg" alt=""/> Asking for help does not show weakness; it shows a deeper understanding of the concept of interdependence and the inherent strength that comes with it.
The village is the sum of all who live there. It is the sum of all their thoughts and actions. As a member of the village, it is one’s duty to take an active role in supporting it. In good times and in troubled times, villagers rely on their shared purpose and allegiance to the village. An ancient phrase known to many Greeks is “help me so I can help you so that together we can climb the mountain.” Your success is our success and our success is your success. The spirit of the village manifests itself as a “win-win,” because villagers realize that it is in their individual and collective best interests to connect meaningfully with one another. In this way, the whole truly is greater than the sum of its parts.
We know every person influences the village, either positively or negatively, as his or her good or bad behavior ripples through the village. Everyone makes a difference and everyone has an impact. Even if someone tries to stay neutral or even disengaged, this attitude also makes a difference to the whole. The village is like an ecosystem in nature, interconnected, inseparable parts of the whole.
But which takes priority—the village or the individual? The ancient Greeks valued the individual and strongly believed that all individuals must make the effort to become the best they can be. They also valued private ownership of property and, of course, were well-known for introducing the concept of democracy (one person, one vote) to the world. To them, individual identity (and freedom) was very important and needed to be protected.
Over time, however, we have swung the pendulum so far toward the individual that some have classified our society as suffering from hyperindividualism. When we embrace too much focus on the individual, we disregard the impact that our thoughts, words, and actions have on the collective, which leads to the fragmentation of the whole and, eventually, to isolation, loneliness, and even depression. When we get lost in big cities, we no longer feel the loyalty to or connection with others, and engage in expressions of selfishness, such as graffiti, rioting, and crime. When we get lost in big companies or governments, we no longer feel connected and are less willing to make any sacrifices for the good of the group or our customers. We believe in “me first” and may even decide to make our own rules.
It’s a delicate balance to define the self within the context of cooperation with others. We need both separation and togetherness to thrive. But if we don’t emphasize what connects us, we will be divided. If we don’t look out for the village, then the benefits of the village begin to erode and the ultimate meaning of self suffers as a consequence.
—ARISTOTLE
Summary
The urges to connect and to belong are the most basic of human needs and are central to the human experience. Aristotle taught us that we are political (social) animals—we thrive when we connect. The ancient Greeks also believed that we are all connected to the energy of a larger system, to a greater whole. Importantly, the root of many of our challenges today can be traced to a lack of meaningful connections with others. The antidote for this lack of connection, loneliness, and isolation is to reach outside ourselves and invest our energies in creating better “villages,” both at work and at home. In no small way, the depth of our lives depends on the depth of our relationships with others. Meaning is found in the context of our day-to-day lives, connecting with others. We will have meaning in our lives as long as others need us and we need them.
OPA! AFFIRMATION
I find joy and meaning in my life when I connect meaningfully with others in the village.
We have a weakness for fresh seafood, and during one trip to Greece, we had what we referred to as a spiritual experience, indulging in the best octopus we’d ever eaten. Our evening began with a leisurely stroll along the beachfront into the historic old town of Rethymno, where the narrow streets and alleyways take one back in time. We stumbled upon Cavo D’oro, a tiny restaurant nestled in the picturesque old harbor. Comfortably seated with a view of the pristine water, we noticed that a small blue and white boat moored in the water close to the restaurant was for sale.
“Should we buy it?” we joked with each other. When our waiter, Giorgos, stopped by our table to welcome us, we ordered several small dishes, including the now famous grilled octopus, and added, “And we’ll take the boat!”
That began an evening of conversation with Giorgos; Petros, the owner of Cavo D’oro; and his father, Vasilis. The evening flew by as we all laughed and shared stories from our lives, savoring the impressive food, the soothing atmosphere, and most of all, the hospitality. As we walked back to our hotel in the cool night breeze, we remarked how wonderful our adventure to Cavo D’oro had been, especially in comparison to other dining experiences when we simply ordered, ate, and left.
Early the next morning, we chose to skip breakfast and set out on our journey to the beautiful Amari Valley, located in the central mountainous area of Crete. As our car weaved through the small village of Thronos, we decided to stop, stretch our legs, and take a look around. A few yards ahead we saw a sign, “Aravanes,” that was painted on a piece of wood, with a large arrow pointing straight ahead. Curious, we followed the narrow pathway and arrived at the back of a building that appeared to be a small hotel, and gasped at the magnificent view of the Amari Valley that was laid out before us. We wandered inside and were greeted by Lambros, the owner.
“Yiasas, welcome,” he said. He was busy setting up the restaurant for the day, but within a few minutes following our introductions and establishing that we were visiting Alex’s homeland, he set three shot glasses on the bar and quickly filled them with homemade raki. (The offering of raki is a symbolic gesture welcoming one in from their journey as well as a gesture of celebration or friendship.)
“Yamas,” we said in unison before downing the raki in one gulp and slamming the shot glasses back onto the bar.
Later, when we informed Lambros that we had to be on our way, he said, “Wait, I want to give you something—here is a book about the region.” Returning to our car, we reflected on what a wonderful man Lambros was . . . and that we really should have eaten breakfast before setting out; a little bread and honey would have been good protection against the raki in our empty stomachs!
Continuing on our journey, we arrived at a crossroads where a small kafenio was located. As we weren’t sure which road to take, we decided to stop and ask the men gathered together in front of the kafenio. We introduced ourselves and shared that we were looking for the road to the village of Monastiraki, the birthplace of Alex’s pappou (grandfather).
“Please sit,” gestured one man as the other yelled something into the kafenio. Soon the shot glasses and raki arrived at our table and the round of “yamas” echoed throughout the kafenio. We thought to ourselves, once again, “We really must have breakfast before we set out on our adventures!”
