I wrote the following comment on an article on Reddit – a former website that was previously assigned to so-called social media – in a group about intentional communities about “the fear of encountering toxic people in a community and the resulting anxiety about joining communities”:

Fear is an evolutionary mechanism that prepares the body for fight or to escape. If fighting or escaping doesn’t follow, it triggers stress, aversion, powerlessness, and other symptoms.

Going into a community with fear, especially with a fear based on the perception of a threat within that community, is probably not a good idea.

In anxiety therapy, one tends to recommend exposing oneself to the source of fear. This is often an invitation to externalize this source. In fact, oneself is the location of the event. Looking for the solution outside is a mistake.

If one faces one’s own fear and asks oneself where it comes from and whether it is truly justified, one will come to realizations (about oneself). Fear is a rationalized emotion. It is based on experiences in the area of self-perception. If you can’t easily distance yourself from the desires of others and repeatedly experience how you suffer from a lack of respect, then a pattern easily develops. Anticipating the emotional consequences of this danger then becomes the basis of observation and frames perception. There’s the beautiful concept of “self-fulfilling prophecy.”

If we generalize “toxic people” to “incompatible people,” then the fear somehow disappears. Because you don’t want to have much to do with incompatible people anyway. Right? Then we don’t need the fear anymore. Right? What remains is the balancing act. If I stay in my comfort zone because I’m afraid of the saber-toothed tiger, I won’t be eaten, but I’ll starve. Then it’s a matter of waiting until the hunger is so great that the chemistry of fear in my own body disappears, and the chemistry of hunger prevails.

Often, the fear isn’t even felt as such; instead, it must serve as a social construct of justification, generally accepted. “I’m staying in the cave because it’s too dangerous out there!” – That’s what the roommate likes to hear. There’s more food left for him out there. Still afraid?

This is the story of a man who planted trees. This is the story of a search for the right place. This is the story of a journey to oneself. It is the story of art, creativity, uncertainty, hesitation, courage, and wisdom. It is the story of three people who meet for the first time in this story.

More than 100 years ago, in 1913, a young man set out on a hike in Provence, France. He hiked away from towns and settlements for days. One evening, he found shelter with a shepherd he had met, who offered him water to drink. The young man asked for a place to stay for the night and received it. The next day, he accompanied the shepherd, who had carefully selected 100 acorns the evening before. That next day, the shepherd drove an iron rod into the ground 100 times, turned it a few times, and placed one of the acorns in the hole. He repeated this throughout the next days. The shepherd had time.

Perro Martin is a bon vivant. He lives in Teruel, a barren and predominantly dry region. But where the bon vivant has lived since childhood, a river flows through the village even in summer. The river is called Guadeloupe. It is fed by large dammed lakes and, in parts, cascades into the narrow valley of his village. Perro Martin lives on little money. Art is more of a passion than something that provides a steady income. In recent years, he has planted a forest, and in this forest, he has planted fruit trees. And between the trees, he has created many small gardens. Perro Martin has time.

Jennifer and her two children came to the lower Maestrazgo (Castellon province, Spain). There were many reasons and causes. The journey took them through many stops and many countries. She chose to send her children to a very special village school. The school in Cervera del Maestre has only 26 students, but six teachers. That in itself is extraordinary. But even more extraordinary is that more than half of the students were not born in Spain. At school, they learn Valencian and Castellan, and English. And they speak their mothers’ language. Jennifer’s children were also born in another country. She speaks Swedish with them.

The hiker then said goodbye to the shepherd and moved on. Somehow, however, this encounter had touched him, and he resolved to visit the shepherd again later. A war broke out. The hiker postponed his plans. After the war, he was drawn back to this lonely landscape and visited the shepherd. Something wonderful had happened. Many of the acorns had grown into small, strong trees. The once barren and barren landscape turned green. Grasses, ferns, and flowers spread everywhere under the shade of the trees. Birds could be heard. Bees buzzed. And still the shepherd took his iron rod and rammed holes into the ground. He had moved a bit further and thus had shorter routes to the places where he hadn’t yet planted anything. The shepherd has time.

Perro Martin had collected building materials. He reclaimed what others had thrown away during demolition. A stately home was created from a ruin. He exhibited some of his sculptures on the ground floor. He set up a workshop in the basement. The house stands on a slope. This allows him to access the cellar through a door on the valley side. He digs into the mountain. A storage room will be created. With a small hoe and a bucket, he carries the earth out of the cave. He uses it for bricklaying and plastering. When he’s not working in his gardens, he builds his sculptures; when he’s not working on his sculptures, he makes music. When he’s not making music, he plants more trees. Perro Martin has time.

Jennifer is a single mother. That’s not uncommon these days. What used to be the exception is becoming the rule. Children are often a reason for separation. The extended family has been falling apart for 100 years. Now, the small family often begins to deteriorate before the children even leave home. The elementary school in Spain keeps the children for over five hours. That’s a long time. They also receive freshly prepared meals. The cook lives in the village. Everyone knows where she lives. The food is delicious.

The hiker has visited the shepherd in Provence repeatedly. The trees are well developed. There have been setbacks with some tree species, but overall, the forest has continued to grow. The shepherd no longer has any sheep. But he still plants trees. His actions are being noticed by public authorities. People are resettling in abandoned hamlets. There is water, firewood, timber, and animals to hunt. The shepherd has grown older. But he still takes his stick in the morning, rams it into the ground, and plants trees. The shepherd has time.

Perro Martin welcomes guests. You can visit him in his small village. He likes to show you his gardens. He has plenty of food, far too much for one person. The river brings large amounts of water into the valley. The soil is very fertile. The trees grow very quickly. They provide shade and help the small trees growing in the undergrowth. The fungi attach themselves to the roots and distribute the food, keeping some for themselves. Some beekeepers speak of the bee colony as an organism. The forest is also an organism in this sense. Everything is connected to everything else. When you walk into his forest with Perro Martin, there are no paths. He walks slowly so that guests can follow. He explains, demonstrates, waits, and answers questions. Perro Martin has time.

For people like Jennifer, it would be good if she had a large forest full of fruit. It would be good if she could harvest what others had planted before. It was probably like that in earlier times, too. One generation devoted its lifetime to creating the conditions for the next generation. Jennifer wants to plant a garden, but she’s also considering how to secure her long-term financial future. Her day, too, only has 24 hours. The children demand attention and care. Society remains reserved. Most people have their own problems and prefer to console themselves by blaming single parents. This offers the opportunity to remain morally at peace with themselves. Everyone is the architect of their own happiness.

Manel is a contemporary witness. He, too, spent most of his life in a small village in the Maestrazgo Mountains. He worked as a photographer. His love was always black and white photography. As a son of the village and a companion to the few families in the village, he repeatedly found opportunities to portray the people. The desire to capture the strength and beauty of everyday life, no matter how hard and expendable, in a photograph is easily recognizable. These photos will endure the test of time and tell the stories of life for years to come. Manel feeds the village cats. The cats live wild, but in the village. They keep the rodent population low and demand additional food as tribute. Manel always feeds at the same time. The cats arrive. They eat. The place where they eat together isn’t assigned to a cat territory. Otherwise, they go their separate ways. Life in a mountain village has its own rhythm. Manel feeds the cats first. Then his wife hands him lunch, always at 1:30 p.m., every day. Manel moves slowly and takes a seat. Manel has time.

The hiker and the shepherd are part of a novel and thus fiction. The other three people are real and actually live in the Maestrazgo, a very mountainous region of Spain. They live in three small villages. They have only been connected so far through this story. And they are connected by a bench on which they sat. This bench allows them to choose a desired interaction with their fellow humans.

Perro Martin wished for “a smile,” Manel for a “hug.” What the hiker would have wished for remains hidden from us. Jennifer wanted someone to talk to her!