The End of the World
Lessons in community from a remote island
I spent the New Years Eve holiday at the End of the World.
Really.
Last year a friend from Montana moved to the small, sparsely populated, wind-swept island of Ile de Molene, off the coast of Brittany. This part of northern France is called Penn ar Bed in the local Breton language, which literally translates to ‘End of the World.’
Geographically, that’s what it feels like. The westernmost province of France – nothing between here and the coast of North America -- this area is home to rugged coastlines, relentless winds and waves, and remote and wild spaces, including the aforementioned Ile de Molene. In addition to its 150-odd year-round inhabitants and a colony of wild cats, the island and its surrounding sea is home to a variety of birds, dolphins and seals. The unforgiving currents and jagged geography have led to shipwrecks over the centuries. I’m glad I wasn’t aware of this until after stepping off the ferry from the mainland.
Culturally is where this truly feels like the End of the World, at least the known world of which I’ve been a part. To start with, cars are not allowed on the island except for a few owned by businesses that rely on them for their operations. Fortunately, the island is small, so lugging one’s goods from the ferry to home is manageable, especially with wheelbarrows and the assistance of good-hearted neighbors. One small-but-well-stocked grocery store serves the entire island (my friend is vegan; she has no problem maintaining her eating style). The ‘no cars’ thing means the inhabitants are in general good health, since mobility is a daily necessity. A basic all-purpose facility includes an area where exercise classes convene, for those for whom daily walking routines aren’t sufficient. Two nurses serve the island; each taking turns to tend to those in need at the local clinic and make house calls to the less mobile. Doctors and other medical professionals visit the island on a regular basis. Medical emergencies are served by a helicopter which can get from the mainland hospital in 7 minutes. The island’s school currently has 11 students, ranging from pre-school to grade 9 (highschoolers go to boarding school on the mainland; probably good for them and the rest of the islanders!). One teacher caters to all students, who de facto get individualized attention. Subject specialists visit the island weekly. Some classes are available online, taught simultaneously for students in this and other remote schools. COVID was not a problem in this regard. The student’s playground is … the island. No artificial play structures needed. And get this: no organized sports teams that take disproportionate time and attention from kids and parents, so they can spend time on other things like … appreciating the nature around them. Perhaps best of all: no stores (besides the grocery) mean no commercialism. Ahhhhh. If this is what the end of the world is like, sign me up!
What most struck me is the sense of community on full display on the island. The inhabitants know that they are reliant on one another to survive. Therefore, the local restaurant proprietor is also a volunteer firefighter, along with several of his island mates. Others are trained EMT and sea rescue volunteers. Islanders with flexible hours greet the ferries with their wheelbarrows, carting neighbors’ goods back home for no charge. Everyone knows what’s up with everyone else; they either respectfully ignore the annoying-but-tolerable or intervene as appropriate. The friend I was visiting? Her husband died after a swift bout with cancer 3 weeks ago. He’d only lived on the island for a year. The islanders helped care for him to the end, providing practical and emotional support to him and still to his wife. According to my friend, this does not mean everyone agrees with one another’s politics or different ways of living; it’s simply a practical stance taken on an island that recognizes we are all in this together.
And that’s what makes it truly feel like the End of the World, at least the End of the World as I’d like to think of it. Which to me means communities of people looking out for one another, even when the main thing they have in common is the space they occupy. And this gives reason to make this space as accommodating as possible for everyone finding themselves there. Think about how you can apply this concept to: schools, workplaces, families, organizations, any group activity, any civic community. We don’t have to see eye to eye on everything. We just need to co-exist peacefully and look out for one another. It’s in everyone’s best interest.
With that Penn Ar Bed philosophy as inspiration, I will continue to offer opportunities to come together in support of one another through 2025. Here’s what’s in store so far:
· Sidecar Rally, Spring 2025 Edition. If you are new to the Rally concept, these are monthly virtual meetups with small cohorts (no more than 6) of fellow female leaders, where we discuss the opportunities and tricky passages women face in navigating the leadership landscape. This season offers options for a similar format as in the past (Sidecar Rally: Classic) as well as two new focused options for those seeking small group support for those involved in recruiting, whether as job seekers or as seekers-of-female-talent (Sidecar Rally: Recruit) and for those keen on gaining more solid financial footing (Sidecar Rally: Financial Freedom).
Here’s the link for more information and to register for rally participation. Sign-ups through January 17; Rally groups assigned by January 24. First rallies take place 2nd week of February.
· Sidecar Summit Spain, Spring! – Due to current regional instability, the venue for Sidecar Summit Spring has shifted from Egypt to Spain, and from February to April. What isn’t shifting: our focus on Wonder. We are currently finalizing a contract with a truly inspiring location north of Barcelona. Details to be announced within the next two weeks. For now, save the dates: April 28-May 1. And watch this space!
· Sidecar Salon: Loved Ones with Memory Loss. Originally scheduled for Sunday, January 12, I am postponing this session for a few weeks. Because, as it happens …
My own such loved one, my mother, has recently entered hospice care. I’m going to be with her in Montana as she enters this final stretch, her own personal Penn Ar Bed. She has led a full, rich, adventurous life, one that has inspired me to do the same.
I will be in Mom’s sidecar for her final weeks of rambling the earth. And since the contours of that are unclear, like any grand adventure, I remain available for, and passionate about, accompanying you other adventurous souls as you navigate life’s awe-inspiring landscapes and stormy seas. So don’t go quiet on me.
Indeed, I will greatly value those of you who can show up on this Penn Ar Bed island with me, reminding me that I’m amongst other souls who look out for one another, and who carry on, no matter the weather.
Yours in exploring parts unknown, in community with each other,
Bridget
