Steve North

The exuberance of the young girls is infectious, commanding smiles from faces too often imprisoned by cynicism and thoughts of reputation-building deportment. As I watch them dance, an answer to a question I’ve been asking myself all week suddenly comes into focus. The question is, “Why do people who live in or near such sorrow and struggle, do so with such expressive joy and energy?”

I lived near Holmes County Ohio’s Amish country for nearly 20 years. Ohio’s number one tourist attraction is, ironically enough, the world’s largest Amish community. It seems odd that these relative ascetics would hold such a powerful attention from a society that voluntarily left its simple life long ago, and yet many would assert this phenomenon’s predictability. As U.S. culture has drifted—no, sped—towards a more and more complex way of life, a pervasive longing for a simpler time nags at the soul of the nation. So, we visit those who live the way we wish we could—and experience by osmosis the tranquility to which many wish we could return. It’s not uncommon to hear tourists say something like this: “I think we would all be better off if we could go back to this way of life.”

But there has always been something that nags at me about Amish culture—something that would keep me from ever adopting that kind of life, no matter how much I might long for its simplicity.

That something is the lack of color. Everything in Amish life is black and white and dark blue, and the reserved nature of their life—not the same as its simplicity—is in perfect keeping with the color scheme of their wardrobe. It’s not that there is something inherently wrong with this; it’s just that it is less appealing to me than a life that has more panache.

Like these girls. These dancing, singing girls are not just dressed colorfully—they seem to live colorfully. Their joy and exuberance are reflections not of prosperity, but of a zest for life and its adventures. I am certain that these delightful girls will go home to very simple—maybe very poor—surroundings. It is likely that they will eat beans and rice and fruit for their supper, and that they will not have their own spacious room in which to lie down to sleep tonight.

Watching these little ladies and listening to their songs makes me want to be like them in many ways. I would like have their innocent joy in the simple things of life: things like songs and friends and laughter. I would like to not worry so much about what I need to get done and what I don’t have, and live in the moment more.

In fact, the whole of this culture seems to live colorfully. One cannot escape the colorful landscape, buildings and homes, clothing and music. Stepping into Dominican life is like Dorothy twirling out of black and white Kansas and waking up in the full color world of the Land of Oz.
These people live a simple life, made so by socio-economic circumstances and other things they can’t control very well. But these circumstances do not color their life. They’re not living in black and white and dark blue hues of self-pity or self-deprivation. They want like we want. But the colors of their life are determined by their love of God their love of each other.

I’m not kidding myself about their circumstances. Many of these people suffer under economic oppression and may never escape it, no matter what others may do on their behalf. I can’t—we can’t—just fix it.

But the rest of the world could learn some things from the Dominicans. No, we don’t have to paint our houses purple or orange, and we don’t have to throw decorum to the wind. But I think it is possible to take a lesson from the dancing girls of San Pedro: to let go what cannot be changed at the moment, to step out of the black and white and dark blue world of self-deprivation and self-pity, and step into the world of simple joys in which they seem to live. We could probably all take their cue and find great joy in doing life together—in living color.