I love my neighbors.
I think this all the time, but I rarely say it aloud. I should say it more.
I have really good neighbors. Really nice, caring people who act in a friendly way. Even the ones I don't know well or see often are neighborly. Sometimes we gather because a hawk looks hurt and we are all concerned; sometimes it's to shake our heads at the teenagers who like to use our street as a by-way to their party place by the river; sometimes it's at a social event some other neighbor has thrown.
Two of my neighbors are good friends of ours. Most of our time spent together is organic, occurring naturally as our kids play together or we just head over to one of our houses to have a glass of wine and a chat. We rarely schedule activities, except in times of snowstorms, hurricanes, and other natural disasters, and then it's just to confirm who bought the wine and who bought the cheese. I think that says something about people - who are you picking to play cards with when the winds howl and you pray your trees don't fall on their house. I love these people dearly and I think it a lot, but I don't say it enough. I'm lucky with them. We are lucky.
My neighborhood at large is pretty special, too. This is the kind of neighborhood that has a yearly Halloween party and parade, the sort of place where you end up talking to friends in the middle of trick or treating without worrying about where your kids went because the parent up ahead has your kids with her. I could tell you all kinds of stories about how the people come together for good and bad events, but instead I will just say: it has a book club. This neighborhood has a book club. I mean, if you are going to judge a place, judge it by its love of books.
The women who live here have no real reason to know me and care about me - my kid doesn't go to school with their kids, I don't socialize in that way, and frankly, I'm not super friendly - but they do. When my mom died, they showed up with food. They have sent cards, gifts, and meals for me during this time. They check in with me, ask me if I need anything, and mean it.
I think this all the time, but I rarely say it aloud. I should say it more.
I have really good neighbors. Really nice, caring people who act in a friendly way. Even the ones I don't know well or see often are neighborly. Sometimes we gather because a hawk looks hurt and we are all concerned; sometimes it's to shake our heads at the teenagers who like to use our street as a by-way to their party place by the river; sometimes it's at a social event some other neighbor has thrown.
Two of my neighbors are good friends of ours. Most of our time spent together is organic, occurring naturally as our kids play together or we just head over to one of our houses to have a glass of wine and a chat. We rarely schedule activities, except in times of snowstorms, hurricanes, and other natural disasters, and then it's just to confirm who bought the wine and who bought the cheese. I think that says something about people - who are you picking to play cards with when the winds howl and you pray your trees don't fall on their house. I love these people dearly and I think it a lot, but I don't say it enough. I'm lucky with them. We are lucky.
My neighborhood at large is pretty special, too. This is the kind of neighborhood that has a yearly Halloween party and parade, the sort of place where you end up talking to friends in the middle of trick or treating without worrying about where your kids went because the parent up ahead has your kids with her. I could tell you all kinds of stories about how the people come together for good and bad events, but instead I will just say: it has a book club. This neighborhood has a book club. I mean, if you are going to judge a place, judge it by its love of books.
The women who live here have no real reason to know me and care about me - my kid doesn't go to school with their kids, I don't socialize in that way, and frankly, I'm not super friendly - but they do. When my mom died, they showed up with food. They have sent cards, gifts, and meals for me during this time. They check in with me, ask me if I need anything, and mean it.
I ascribe my entry into this community to my aforementioned neighbor and good friend. She is one of those people that can talk to anyone, anytime, in any place. She's excellent at making connections between people - she literally does that "introduce people with thoughtful details" trick. I almost feel like our nation is wasting her talents - surely she could be brokering peace somewhere.
She walks in and talk to everyone. I tend to smile vacantly and try not to make eye contact because I am overcome with shyness at these large gatherings with 50 people that all know and see each other regularly. The mass amount of people is so intimidating. There is something about walking into a place where everyone knows each other better than you do that just tweaks my insecurities. Nick and Emily are on the same footing but he just grabs a beer and starts talking to people and she runs off and plays - and there I am, hoping someone I know walks by.
But then something amazing happens. People walk up and talk to me. They ask how I am. They know my story - which is frankly a bit of a relief, because it's never fun if someone finds out you had cancer recently in the middle of a social chitchat - so it saves me all this awkwardness. They are all predisposed to liking me, even if I am standoffish and unsocial and can't remember how old their children are.
I was puzzling over this recently until it dawned on me. First, these are seriously nice people in this area I live in. Two, it's my friend. She speaks well of me, and so they look at me and see something good.
What a gift that is, to have a friend who speaks well of you. This says a lot more about my friend than it does about me. And with the kindness my neighbors show, their interest in me, that too says much more about their character than mine. Every single time I make my way through lawns and around corners from a neighborhood gathering, I think two things:
Well, you should stop being scared of this.
and
I have the best neighbors.
But then something amazing happens. People walk up and talk to me. They ask how I am. They know my story - which is frankly a bit of a relief, because it's never fun if someone finds out you had cancer recently in the middle of a social chitchat - so it saves me all this awkwardness. They are all predisposed to liking me, even if I am standoffish and unsocial and can't remember how old their children are.
I was puzzling over this recently until it dawned on me. First, these are seriously nice people in this area I live in. Two, it's my friend. She speaks well of me, and so they look at me and see something good.
What a gift that is, to have a friend who speaks well of you. This says a lot more about my friend than it does about me. And with the kindness my neighbors show, their interest in me, that too says much more about their character than mine. Every single time I make my way through lawns and around corners from a neighborhood gathering, I think two things:
Well, you should stop being scared of this.
and
I have the best neighbors.
Ready for the storm
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