Tribe

A striking Trinidadian girl who works at Cambridge Savings Bank misses her family. "You know," she told me, "I'm just tired. Everything was fresh and exciting when I first got here. But now I want things that I never really noticed when I had them. Like my sister cooking me dinner. Or my mom doing my laundry."

"I get it," I said. "You want to be with your tribe."

I'm a revivified native species. After 6 1/2 years in Oz, I'm happily kicking cow patties in Kansas. Life in San Francisco could be chaos or merriment, but I never sensed the ground under my feet. My social network might spurn me at any second - or I might get tired of them. What was our bond made of? Often, of silly string.

This past weekend my extended family - uncles, aunts, cousins, cuz-nieces, cuz-nephew - the whole kit and caboodle - we had ourselves a family meeting. And it wasn't simple or entirely pleasant. But I found myself thinking: Okay, this might get ugly -- oops, there it just did -- but these people cannot kick each other out of the party. Or un-friend on Facebook. Or send-straight-to-voicemail and hope the other guy takes the hint... This is a FAMILY. We're stuck with each other.

I love that.

In the age of 10-minute marriages and high-speed internet break-ups and blocked profiles and websites for ranting about your crappy ex-FWB, people you cannot shake off are a sober blessing. We are so far from the thatched village compound and the shamans and the whole primordial thang (and I'm not saying I want to go back, mind you)... But tribe is still crucial.

Sure, you need both for healthy development. Like rotating the plant so it doesn't bend over trying to reach the light source. But there's no place like home.