Neighborliness

I have always struggled with how to answer the question, "Where are you from?" I really shouldn't complain because I haven't lived too too many places; I have another friend who has to choose between four continents when asked that question, and I'm really only choosing between states. I've found, however, that I cannot fit seamlessly into either northern or southern culture. I am northern in that I walk, talk, and drive quickly; own three pairs of long underwear, ten scarves, and a heated mattress pad (which may be the best invention ever); and assume everyone from the car mechanic to the tailor is probably out to cheat me. I am southern in that I love fried food way more than all this organic nonsense they can't get enough of up here; do not know how to communicate directly (as my sweet roommate from North Carolina told me recently, "You are way too passive aggressive to be from Boston!"); and like to smile and make eye contact with people as we walk by on the street.

This last item (character trait? preference?) has really posed a problem up here. No one--and I mean no one--makes eye contact and smiles while they pass on the street. You know how you turn your head to the side and pretend to be really interested in some little speck of dust on the sidewalk when you're passing someone who you hope doesn't see you? Everyone does that up here with every single person they pass. It's kind of remarkable, particularly given that I live in one of the busiest pedestrian areas of the city (it's called Central Square), but I really can walk around for 30 minutes and not even make eye contact with a single person (except if they are asking me for money; they have great eye contact).

I find I am left with several options when I am walking around town. I can search for those brief moments when a passerby--unwittingly--looks up, and catch him or her with a smile in this unguarded moment. I try this method regularly, and get some smiles, some mildly embarrassed looks, and lots of awkward stares. (One day in particular, I was convinced I must have spilled something all over my shirt because I couldn't believe people would look at me that way for any other reason.) If I don't want to be dependent on moments of unguardedness, I can also just call out greetings and see if the person looks up; I've found, however, that normally he or she doesn't. Meanwhile, the people across the street actually do look at me--but only to see who that crazy girl is who is talking to herself. Or finally, I can just accept this as a cultural norm that I am not going to change, and start averting my eyes like everyone else. (Or better yet, look straight forward; no one else is, so at least I won't trip.)

But herein lies a larger problem: how do I get to know my neighbors? Because this was one of my goals when I moved here, and I do not believe that the inability to greet people on the street means that Bostonians are actually unfriendly. I just think they (we?) are not randomly friendly, and there is a difference. My neighbors will sometimes sit out on their porches and return a wave or two, but they never seem to invite more than that and I still haven't totally figured out how to bridge that gap. If I had a puppy or a baby things might be different, but unless my life circumstances change really quickly, I am going to have to learn new ways (besides sweet southern charm) to get to know the people who live around me.

So, I have begun praying about it. I know many of you don't believe in prayer, and while I don't necessarily believe that it always works in the ways we want it to, I do believe in a God who hears prayers; furthermore, I believe that He does respond, albeit sometimes in divinely mysterious ways. Case in point: yesterday, in a fit of frustration after another awkward walk home, I prayed that God would find some way--any way--for me to strike up a conversation with my neighbors. Later that afternoon, after running some errands in my car, I pulled up to park...and slammed, hard, into the curb. I immediately looked to see if anyone had seen, and sure enough, one of my neighbors was sitting across the street in her car, smirking. Our street is only about the width of one car, and she wasn't pulled all the way up to the curb, so she was close enough to me that I probably could have reached out and touched her. It was fairly humiliating. I fumbled with my keys in my lap for a moment, and then stuttered out my car window, "You'd think it would be easy to pull up to a curb..." Immediately her smirk turned to a softer smile, and she replied, "Oh honey, I don't think anyone knows how to do it well; we're all so worried about getting close enough." (This is a real problem up here since the police ticket you if you're too far off the curb; I have always been bad at this, but I didn't bother to tell her that.) I smiled back and didn't even think to try to prolong the interaction--I was too embarrassed--but as I was pulling books out of my backseat she began asking me what I know about the new school opening on our street. I don't know why she assumed I would know anything about it, but as it happened, I went to the community meeting with the principal last week (in another desperate--and failed--attempt to meet neighbors), and so we started up a conversation about the school, where she had gone to school, where I worked, her family, etc. At the end we introduced ourselves and I found out her grandmother lives a few houses over from me, and her son comes and stays there some afternoons.

Now, you can go the spiritual route and believe this was a surprising and perhaps unconventional answer to prayer (which I do), or you can go the psychological route and conclude that northerners respond better to displays of human weakness than to outright friendliness, which is perceived as overconfidence (and I think this might be correct as well). Either way, in spite of all my best efforts, it turns out that my southern charm is not actually that charming, whereas my crappy parking skills might actually be one of my assets in practicing neighborliness.

And if I ever do learn how to park, I know for a fact that I am very good at baking cookies. It doesn't matter where you're from or how organic you like your food; everyone likes cookies.

[Two random additions: First, I have a personal blog as well and I have been cheating and using some posts (like this one) twice just because I know different people read them. The only reason to tell you this is so that no one ever reads my personal blog and thinks they "caught me." Second, I am choosing books now for 8th grade English and would love any suggestions of books you loved or hated in 8th or 9th grade. So far, I am going to be using The Odyssey by Homer; The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros; A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry; and probably Hiroshima by John Hersey, in addition to various short stories and poems. I'm also considering using Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya; To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee; and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. (I could likely only do one of those, or another book in place of all three of those.) Perhaps this only appeals to "literary types," but I firmly believe that everyone at some point in their life has been moved by some book, so if yours was in middle school and you want to send me the title, I'd be much obliged.]