A few weeks ago, a friend chatting at a Christmas party mentioned that she had recently gotten new neighbors. This brought out a few looks of concern in the group, but she assured everybody the new family seemed nice. And if worst came to worst, she could always lock the gate at the end of her driveway. (Whew, crisis averted. ;)
The conversation -- though a fairly standard one, I'd say -- was odd to me, and I said aloud, "I can't remember ever worrying about what the new neighbors would be like." Not because I'm some sort of non-judgmental saint. I mean...when I do go up for my sainthood, it will be probably be on the resume. ;) But no, I couldn't place my finger on why.
Then I realized, "WE were always the new neighbors!"
I've been thinking about this since, about the path our lives have taken, where the journey's paused and how many people we've stressed out along the way when we moved in next door. From an extremely dumpy little duplex in Centreville, Md., Shane and I have gone on to live in a tiny rental house in Newark, Del.; the first home we ever bought (and the biggest mistake we ever made ;) in Greenville, N.C.; and three houses in Falls Church, Va., each a little bigger and nicer than the last. And then we landed here, New Zealand.
We've befriended an incredible number of incredible people over those years: from quirky bosses to Shane's grad school buddies, coworkers that became family and neighbors that became best friends. We've welcomed so many good people into our orbit, and they've welcomed us right back. Did the neighbors always like us? Oh, probably not. But I like to think we made things a bit more interesting for awhile.
(I guarantee watching the boy -- wild and always half dressed -- grow up was good entertainment ;) And until very recently, we exchanged Christmas cards with neighbors at all but one of the homes we lived in. A language barrier kept us from really getting to know the Sri Lankan family that lived on the other side of that first duplex, though Shane did help them with their immigration forms. :)
There's another part of our journey too, the part that happened before Shane and I met and started our around-the-world jaunt together. I can't really write about Shane's path (that's his story to tell). But for me, that leg was more about grounding than moving.
I spent my first 17 years living in the same house in the same town, surrounded by mostly the same people. The neighbors -- Topsy, Phyllis, Donald -- never changed. Heck, our family even sat in the same church pew every Sunday for many of those years.
The people who cared for me and about me during that time were some of the most important in my life -- and I think about them often. (Some days my head spends more time in the past than the present, a sign of aging perhaps?)
I think about my longtime best friend who surprised me this week with a package that contained a special-made ornament with the outline of West Virginia and New Zealand and the phrase "True Friendship Knows No Distance." I think about her mom and dad and brother, the adventures we all had together growing up and how thankful I am they were in my life.
I think about my sister's babysitter, who became a surrogate mother and adopted us all into her fun and loving family. I treasure those many days and nights we spent sitting around her kitchen table, drinking sweet tea and laughing at her and her mother's stories about crazy characters from the old days.
I think about the older woman, a nurse friend of my mom's who called me "her first grandchild," asked me to play the piano whenever I visited and told me stories about her college days, how meaningful they were and how I needed to experience college one day, too.
I think about the retired couple that supported me and gave me a safe place to land during my last years at home, when home wasn't always the easiest place to be. Every week after my piano lesson, I would hang out in their kitchen and talk about whatever stuff seemed important to a teenage me, and they would listen and laugh and keep me going for another week. I'm so, so grateful for them.
And there's so many more: The good teachers who made up for the really crummy ones. The moms and dads of my friends who had as much of a hand in helping me grow up as my own parents. The coaches, the librarians, the piano teachers, the newspaper editors, the church ladies -- so many good people played a role in my journey to here. And I'm grateful for all of them.
Which brings me back to now -- and the conversation that started this whole thing.
The new neighbors.
I've never been scared of the neighbors, new or otherwise. In part because -- in recent years, at least -- we've always been the new kids on the block. It's easier, perhaps, to be the one moving in, rather than the one always staying, peeking out through the window shades as the world changes around you.
More than that, though, I think my feelings come from seeing the best in people, searching for the good and honoring what I find. Certainly not everybody I've met on my journey fits the bill, but many do. And rather than being disappointed or scared off by those who don't, I choose to keep moving forward, keep searching for the good -- because I know it's out there. It always is :)
From my journey, from our journey, I've learned the value of a good person, a good neighbor.
And I've seen the relationships that can grow from leaving the gate unlocked.
