My 80-year-old mother lives in a neighborhood most people would envy. It’s not fancy or desirable in a material sense, but it is rich in a sense of community. Her neighbors share home-baked bread and extra veggies from their gardens. They pet-sit for one another and chit-chat about their kids and grandkids. They borrow tools and shovel snow from one another’s sidewalks. It’s a beautiful thing.
My family’s neighborhood, just a mile away, isn’t like that. We live on a busy street. We don’t even have sidewalk in front of our house. Several homes around us are rentals where college students stay for less than a year. In the decade we’ve been here, we’ve only met three neighbors total, one of whom has since moved away.
We can’t have block parties because our road is an arterial. People can’t park on our street, so everyone parks behind their homes. There’s almost no natural opportunity to even see, much less talk to, most of our neighbors
The Anxiety
I’ve relied on “our block is just different” to explain away the contrast between my mom’s neighborhood and ours. But in reality, someone at some point took the initiative to create that community where she lives. There was no reason we couldn’t do the same with our neighbors.
So, why hadn’t we done it? Social anxiety. Simple as that. We’d have to physically go up and knock on our neighbors’ doors to meet them, and no one in my family felt comfortable doing that. We love people as a whole and want our neighborhood to feel like a community. But we would rather do almost anything than randomly knock on a stranger’s door and introduce ourselves.
So, we sat in that conflicted space for years, feeling silly about wanting to know our neighbors but avoiding taking action out of fear.
The Decision
Inspired by friends who had visited their closest 15 neighbors when they moved to a new neighborhood, we decided it was time to kiss our comfort zone goodbye. We made an ambitious plan: Instead of starting small with just one neighbor, we’d spend one afternoon visiting the 10 houses we could see from our front porch. And instead of just introducing ourselves, we’d invite them all to a brunch at our house the following Saturday morning.
We made flyers with the brunch details and talked about what to say. We decided we’d just lay out how we’d been feeling:
“Hi! We live in the house with the white fence over there. We’ve lived here for 10 years and hardly met any of our neighbors, and we’re feeling kind of silly about that. So we wanted to introduce ourselves and invite you to a neighborhood brunch at our house on Saturday. Super casual. Bring something if you want, but don’t feel like you need to. Would love it if you could come. Our phone number to RSVP is on the flyer. Let us know if you can make it.”
We prayed for courage, gathered our wits, and set out with flyers in hand.
(Those who don’t struggle with social anxiety may wonder what all the fuss is about. Let me put it this way: My family is not unsocial. We have lots of friends. But I would rather give a speech in front of 50,000 people than walk up and introduce myself to someone I don’t know. It’s hard to explain why that specific act is so difficult, but taking this step was a very big deal.)
The Response
No one was home at the first two houses. At the third, we met a man and his wife in the yard. As soon as we said, “We’re your neighbors,” and pointed out our house, their faces lit up. They were so happy and grateful we were reaching out. We had a lovely chat, and they said they’d try to make it to the brunch.
Of the remaining seven houses, three had people at home. One was a young family with a preschooler and twin newborns. Next was an older man who said he and his wife had lived there for 15 years. The last was a young mom with a two-month-old baby.
Again, as soon as we told them we were going around to meet the neighbors, their faces lit up with beautiful expressions of recognition. Yes, we’ve been wanting that, too. Yes, thank you for going out of your way to come by. Yes, we’ll try to make it. Yes, yes, yes.
We left flyers on the doors of people who didn’t answer and returned home, exhausted from the effort but invigorated by the response.
The What-ifs
As the Saturday brunch approached, the anxious what-ifs kicked in. What if no one comes to the brunch? What if people do come and it’s just weird? What if we run out of food? What if we unwittingly just invited a bunch of psychos into our home?
Anxiety excels at two things: Making excuses not to act and forecasting catastrophy once you do. We knew this, thankfully, so we sat in the uncomfortable uncertainty of what might happen and hoped for the best.
The day before, we received RSVPs by text from the first couple and a woman who’d found the flyer on her door. Okay, three new-to-us neighbors, two of whom we knew were easy to talk to. Totally doable, right?
The Result
About 30 minutes before brunch time, our doorbell rang. It was the husband of the mom with the two-month-old, who wanted to thank us for the invite. They had hoped to make it but couldn’t, but he at least wanted to come by and introduce himself. He and my husband chatted for a few minutes. Before he left, they had already talked about swapping tools.
Those who had RSVP’d arrived shortly after 10:00 a.m., one with homemade bread in hand. As we were eating and chatting away about 30 minutes later, the doorbell rang again. A woman holding a plate of apple muffins introduced herself. She’d found the brunch invite on her front door, but accidentally texted the wrong number to RSVP. She apologized that she couldn’t stay, as she had company at her house, but she at least wanted to stop by and say hello. She came in for a few minutes to meet everyone, left the muffins, and returned to her house just across the street.
It’s a small detail, but I happily noted that she brought the muffins over on a real plate. Now I get to return her plate to her, like a true neighbor.
About an hour into brunch, the couple’s teen son showed up to join us. We were tickled to find out he’d been at a rehearsal for the same community concert our adult daughter was performing in the next day. We were already connected in ways we didn’t even know about.
The Takeaway
Brunch lasted a couple of hours. It was leisurely, friendly, and wonderful to see how the conversations flowed. It was also a good reminder that people actually want this. People want to know their neighbors. They want community and connection. Even if we have our own established social networks outside of our immediate neighborhood, there’s something special about getting to know the people who live around us.
I know some people already have this kind of neighborhood, which is great. And I know it all could have gone another way, too. Sometimes neighbors don’t get along, and in some neighborhoods, it might not make sense to do something like this. But most Americans don’t know any or only know some of our neighbors and we have a hard time trusting one another. A Pew Research survey found that most people say they would help their neighbors with various tasks, but far fewer believe their neighbors would do the same for them. Perhaps our perceptions of one another would be different if we actually knew each other.
My family is thrilled with how meeting our neighbors went and excited to make opportunities to meet the ones we missed. It feels like a solid first step in building that sense of community my mom and her neighbors enjoy so much. My only regret is that we waited so long to make it happen.
