I currently find myself in a neighborhood devoid of friends. Zero. Zilch. None. And to be honest, that’s kind of how I like it… sort of.
When my daughter, Mia, was born, we resided in a new urban community that felt like a whimsical version of Mayberry. Every house was meticulously maintained, with charming front porches inviting you to relax. We could stroll to parks, pools, restaurants, and even the cinema. It was a picturesque paradise just off the highway. Yet, as delightful as it was, the charm quickly faded. The houses were so tightly packed that they might as well have been one giant dwelling. I found myself yearning for some privacy, space, and the comfort of my own little secrets.
Then we moved to Tennessee, where I adored my neighbors. It was fantastic to have a safe haven for Mia when I thought my son, Jake, might arrive earlier than expected. We would share a bottle of wine on the steps while our kids slept peacefully inside, blissfully unaware of our grown-up coping mechanisms. The open-door policy meant children could wander freely between homes, enjoying snacks and a little discipline at whichever house they found themselves. Most of the time, it was delightful. However, there was that one morning when my dear neighbor called at 4:57 AM just to chat, having spotted me feeding the baby through my window. Again, I craved a bit of distance.
Now, we find ourselves in a subdivision filled with cul-de-sacs and communal mailboxes. This time, I made a conscious choice to keep my distance. My previous neighborhoods had wonderful neighbors, but I was ready for some solitude. During our first week, the local socialite, Brenda, handed me a list of neighbors complete with little notes: #2703 hosts the Easter egg hunts. #2708 is navigating a divorce, but it’s amicable. #2714 babysits and throws epic Fourth of July parties. I could almost hear her expectations: Would I host the Halloween pre-party? Would my kids join for daily Popsicle breaks? Not quite. More like: #2701 wears black yoga pants all day, lets her son roam the deck in the nude, and hasn’t exchanged more than five words with anyone.
For the most part, I actually prefer this arrangement. I have friends who are just a quick drive, phone call, or email away. I can reach out when I desire, and no one barges into my home unannounced. However, it’s not without its drawbacks. When I need a cup of sugar or an egg for last-minute cookies, I have to make a trip to the store. My kids lack neighborhood playmates, making playdates a logistical challenge. And yes, it felt a bit lonely hearing the fireworks from the Memorial Day block party while lounging on the couch with my trashy magazines as my partner and kids were away.
Perhaps one day I’ll find that perfect balance in a future neighborhood, but for now, I’m content with the setup. And I make sure to keep extra sugar and eggs on hand for those cookie cravings.
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In summary, while my current neighborhood life is marked by isolation and distance, it grants me the freedom and peace I sought after my previous experiences.
Keyphrase: neighborhood solitude
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