How I Came to Love My Neighborhood After First Thinking “NO!”

I was pregnant when we moved into this neighborhood. I brought my baby into it, and have built a life here.

14 years ago, I stood in a generic apartment in Reston, Virginia, unpacking my belongings, shocked at what the packers had wrapped in paper. A dusty stray pencil from under my bed? Wrapped well.

My favorite mirror? A table sat on top of it. I didn’t love that. I didn’t love my neighborhood.

I had no friends here, really.

My only friends were people I worked with, including my boss. Can a boss be your friend? I didn’t know it then, but it turns out, a boss can become one of your best friends.

I’d moved from Denver, Colorado, where, when you move, a neighbor comes over because they notice you have a dog, and within an hour, you’re friends who have already agreed to swap dog-sitting days when you each travel.

On the east coast though, walking your dog means you might pass somebody on a path, say “hello,” and they don’t even look at you. Who doesn’t say “hello” back? East coast people, that’s who. 

But this isn’t a sad sap post about how east coast people are colder than west coast people.

How I came to love my neighborhood after first thinking “NO!”

So I’ll get to that. First, a little more of the early days (years) of thinking “NO!” part.

I lived in Reston, and then in Alexandria. The neighbors were the same not-saying-hello-types. “It’s the east coast,” people said. “It’s just not as friendly as out west.”

And then, we were in Oakton, and I’d quit my job four days after Tucker was born.

I was ready to join the local mom clique. It wasn’t as easy as that though. I’m shy to begin with, and was (and am) older than most of the moms with kids his age.

When Tucker was bald and brand new, I walked. A lot.

“Hello, Community!” I thought.

“I’m ready to join your mommy clique now!”

I walked with my baby and said hello to neighbors who didn’t reply and to others who did. I went to the small playground, and to the larger one, searching for my neighborhood mom village.

I ended up writing about how I didn’t find it for years, for an anthology.

The first day Tucker and I went to the elementary bus stop for kindergarten, I was confused. One group of moms stood about 40 feet away from another group. Where should I stand? I had no idea, and spent a lot of mornings on fake phone calls walking home alone to look less freakish.

At some point, something changed. A mom said “Hi,” and told us to join swim team with her daughter.

I can’t tell you how grateful I was that she reached out. Having her smile gave me the bravery to befriend some of her friends. Some other moms.

It was like when one mom saw me, other moms did. Even the haughty ones (although some of the more haughty ones remain so).

And all of a sudden, I had friends in my neighborhood.

Today, almost four years later, I love this neighborhood and can’t believe we’re leaving it to move to Colorado.

The way my neighbors do Halloween doesn’t hurt.

It’s more than that though. The how I came to love this neighborhood part.

Today, I had lunch with a good friend. Another good friend came over after school to help me sort items for a yard sale. I posted about the yard sale and another friend said she’d be there. Yet another told me that anytime I need somebody to watch Tucker, she’d be happy to host him at her home, or at our community playground.

I have friends here. I love these people.

I love that I can stand on my front porch and watch Tucker walk to one of his best friend’s houses. That I can trust his eight-year-old self to get there without me. That I can drink wine with a friend over dinner and walk home. That she can drink wine at my home and walk home, too.

I love this neighborhood, although I didn’t always. I’m going to miss it. Mostly, I’m going to miss the people who live in it.

I’ll miss that on nice days, we walk to the playground and see friends.

That the playground is so close that if we didn’t bring a Nerf gun, or a particular ball, we can go home to get it, and everybody is still there when we get back.

I love this neighborhood. I’m going to miss it. But, we might be back, remember?

Also, I’m only sorta kinda sobbing. I love this neighborhood!

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s sentence is “My favorite thing about my neighborhood is…” I host each week along with the fabulous Kenya G. Johnson of Sporadically Yours. Join us!