Will You Be My Neighbor?
She walked into the room, and her smile captivated my soul. Actually, she shuffled in, bent carefully over her walker. Each step seemed negotiated with time itself. She and her partner found a seat for dinner while I watched from a distance, quietly wondering about her story.
I found myself imagining who she might have been. Was she once the girl whose laughter filled a room? Did that smile open doors? Was she popular, confident, radiant in her youth? I imagined dances, photographs, admirers. And then I caught myself.
—
—
Because there she was not a memory, not a faded photograph but a woman still carrying that same beautiful smile. Yes, her body was stooped. Yes, her skin carried the map of years. But the smile
was untouched. The light was still there.
And I wondered how many people still see it.
Last night our neighbors had a BBQ and brought us a plate to enjoy. We've been neighbors for over 20 years. We've shared meals, attended birthdays, stood together in sad seasons, and celebrated joyful
ones. We've watched their children grow up. We've had hours of "over the fence" conversations that turned into friendships.
Those kinds of relationships don't happen in a hurry. They are built in small, ordinary moments waving from the driveway, lingering a few extra minutes outside, asking one more question than
necessary.
All of this made me think about what it means to be a neighbor.
Not just the kind who lives next door, but the kind who sees.
A friend a Merced native wrote a book 20 years ago called The Revolutionary Communicator. I'm rereading it, and the first chapter is about attentiveness. It struck me deeply. We live in a busy world. We are often so focused on getting our message across that we forget to truly listen. We skim people.
We rush past stories. We miss the quiet joys and hidden sorrows.
Sue Atchley Ebaugh wrote, "The greatest gift that we can give one another is rapt attention to one
another's existence."
Rapt attention. Not distracted listening. Not polite nodding. Not waiting for our turn to speak.
But the kind of attention that says, "I see you."
After dinner, I walked over to the older woman. I told her she had a beautiful smile. It wasn't a long conversation. It wasn't profound. But I watched her face light up in a way that told me it mattered.
It made me wonder: how many people move through rooms unseen? How many smiles go unnoticed?
How many stories sit quietly beside us while we scroll or hurry or think about the next thing?
How can we be better neighbors in a world that is always rushing? How can we slow down enough to greet someone, to really look at them, to ask about their story and actually listen Maybe it begins with lifting our eyes. Maybe it begins with one sincere compliment.
Maybe it begins with lingering instead of leaving.
We are losing something sacred if we forget how to see one another. And perhaps the hardest part for
me to admit is this: I am writing this to myself. I am busy. I am driven. I often move quickly from one task
to the next, one conversation to another, thinking about what needs to be solved or built or organized. In doing so, I sometimes miss the quiet humanity right in front of me.
—
may be one of the most
But last night reminded me. A smile still shines, even when the body bends. A neighbor is built over
years of small conversations. And attentiveness — simple, rapt attention
revolutionary acts left to us.
So today, I ask myself: Will you be a neighbor?
Will you be my neighbor?
She walked into the room, and her smile captivated my soul. Actually, she shuffled, bending over her walker. She and her partner found a seat to have dinner, as I kept wondering about her from a distance
as we ate. I wondered what a beauty she must have been in her earlier years, I wondered if her smile opened doors for her, if she was popular, if she was homecoming queen. Now, she was a shell of a person, and nobody saw her, but her beautiful smile was still there, despite the wrinkles, despite the
stopper.
Last night our neighbors had a BBQ and brought us over a plate to enjoy. We have been neighbors for
over 15 years and have enjoyed meals together, attended their daughter's quincenera and have been together during sad moments. We have seen their children grow up and have enjoyed hours of 'over the
fence' conversations.
All this made me think of being a good neighbor, being a person who sees the other, who notices the
smile, or the sadness, who engages in hearing people's stories. A friend, and Merced native, wrote a book 20 years ago called 'The Revolutionary Communicator', and I am rereading it, and chapter one is all
about attentiveness. We live in a busy world and often want to get our message across but never take the
time to listen well, to hear about people's experiences, about their joys and their sorrows. Sue Atchley
Ebaugh said, "The greatest gift that we can give on another is rapt attention to one another's existence."
After dinner I went over to the older lady and told her what a beautiful smile she had, I think I made her
day.
How can we be better neighbors in a world that is always in a hurry? How can we take the time and smile, greet someone, or start a small conversation? We are losing humanity if we don't!
PS, I am writing this to myself. I am probably the worst at not seeing people.