I used to believe in the American dream that meant a job， a mortgage， cable， credit，

1）warranties， success. I wanted it and worked toward it like everyone else， all of us separately chasing the same thing. One year， through a series of unhappy events， it all fell apart. I found myself homeless and alone. I had my truck and $56.

I scoured the countryside for some place I could rent for the cheapest possible amount. I came upon a shack in an isolated hollow， four miles up a winding mountain road over the 2）Potomac River in West Virginia. It was abandoned， full of broken glass and rubbish. When I pried off the plywood over a window and climbed in， I found something I could put my hands to. I hadn’t been alone for 25 years. I was scared， but I hoped the hard work would distract and heal me.

I found the owner and rented the place for $50 a month. I took a bedroll， broom， rope， a gun and cooking gear and cleared a corner to camp in while I worked. The locals knew nothing about me. But slowly they started teaching me the art of being a neighbor. They dropped off blankets， candles， tools and canned deer meat. And they began sticking around to chat.

They asked if I wanted to meet cousin Albie or go fishing， maybe get drunk some night. They started to teach me a belief in a different American dream， not the one of individual achievement but of neighborliness. Men would stop by with wild berries， ice cream， truck parts and bullets to see if I was up for courting. I wasn’t， but they were civil anyway.

The women on that mountain worked harder than any I’d ever met. They taught me the value of a 3）whetstone to sharpen my knives， how to store food in the creek and keep it cold and safe. I learned to keep enough for an extra plate for company.

What I had believed in， all those things I thought were the necessary 4）accouterments for a civilized life， were nonexistent in this place. Up on the mountain， my most valuable possessions were my relationships with my neighbors.

After four years in that hollow， I moved back into town. I saw that a lot of people were having a really hard time， losing their jobs and homes. With the help of a real estate broker I chatted up at the grocery store， I managed to rent a big enough house to take in a handful of people. We’d all be in shelters if we hadn’t banded together.

The American dream I believe in now is a shared one. It’s not so much about what I can get for myself； it’s about how we can all get by together.

我以前信奉美國夢(mèng)就是指有一份工作，有一套按揭房，裝上有線網(wǎng)絡(luò)，有信用，有各種保修單，同時(shí)事業(yè)有成。我希望如此，并且像其他所有人一樣為之而努力，我們所有人都分別追求著同樣的目標(biāo)。有一年，經(jīng)歷了一連串不幸事件后，夢(mèng)碎了。我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己無家可歸，孤身一人。只剩下我的卡車和56美元。

我走遍鄉(xiāng)村，尋找能夠以最低價(jià)錢可以租到的容身之所。在一個(gè)偏遠(yuǎn)的山谷里，我找到了一間小屋子。這個(gè)地方位于西弗吉尼亞，在距離波拖馬可河四英里的一條蜿蜒山路上。那是一間廢棄的屋子，里面滿是碎玻璃和垃圾。當(dāng)我撬開一扇窗戶上的夾板爬進(jìn)屋里時(shí)，我發(fā)現(xiàn)了一些我能做的事。我已有25年沒有形單影只過了。我很害怕，但我希望艱苦的勞動(dòng)能轉(zhuǎn)移我的憂思，為我療傷。

我找到屋主，并且以每月50美元的價(jià)格租下了這個(gè)地方。我拿出一個(gè)鋪蓋卷、一把掃帚、一柄槍和一個(gè)煮食爐，我還邊干活兒，邊清理出了一個(gè)角落以便居住。當(dāng)?shù)厝藢?duì)我一無所知。但慢慢地，他們開始教給我與人為鄰的藝術(shù)。他們放下毯子、蠟燭、工具和腌制的鹿肉。他們開始常來看我，跟我聊天。

他們問我是否想見艾爾貝表親或者去釣魚，或是某天喝個(gè)酩酊大醉。他們開始教給我另一種美國夢(mèng)的信念，并不是那種關(guān)乎個(gè)人成就的哲學(xué)，而是關(guān)乎鄰里友善。男士們會(huì)帶著野漿果、冰激凌、卡車部件和子彈來看我有沒有這些需要。我也不怎么需要這些東西，但不管怎樣，他們都會(huì)有禮相贈(zèng)。

那座山上的婦女比我曾經(jīng)見過的其他女性工作得更努力。她們教會(huì)我一塊磨石的價(jià)值，讓我把刀子磨利，教會(huì)我如何在小溪里儲(chǔ)藏食物，既具冷凍效果也安全保險(xiǎn)。我學(xué)會(huì)了為同伴多留一份足量的飯菜。

我曾信奉的一切——那些我認(rèn)為在文明世界的生活中所必需的裝備，在這個(gè)地方卻不存在。在這座山上，我最有價(jià)值的財(cái)富就是我與鄰居們的關(guān)系。

在那個(gè)山谷生活了四年后，我搬回鎮(zhèn)上。我看到許多人過著十分艱難的日子，失去了工作和家園。在一位地產(chǎn)經(jīng)紀(jì)的幫助下——我曾跟他在一個(gè)雜貨店閑談過，我成功租來了一所足夠大的房子來接納一些人。若是我們沒有團(tuán)結(jié)在一起，我們現(xiàn)在全都已經(jīng)住在庇護(hù)中心了。

如今，我信奉的美國夢(mèng)是一個(gè)與人分享的夢(mèng)。它更多的不是在于我能為自己爭(zhēng)取到什么；而是在于我們所有人如何一起好好生活下去。