Be a first-class neighbor (DE Wave)

One of the highlights of my week is the quiet morning when I sit down with a cup of coffee and confront my glowing computer screen. It stares blankly back at me, and I know what it wants: The first words of next week’s column. But I’m distracted, because I’m looking forward to dinner with my next-door neighbors. In spite of all my commentary about boundaries, privacy and the like, there’s something special about spending time with people who live close to your personal space and have become trusted friends.

Columnist Liz Leibold McClosky writes: “Whether one has children or not, there is no debating that it is good to have nice neighbors who will smile, help you out, or respectfully leave you alone.” Note that “respectfully leaving you alone” is right up there with “smiling” and “helping you out.”

Respect for one’s personal space is as essential to a friendship as any other expression of kindness. It’s as gratifying to wave at my neighbor as she drives by as it is to NOT feel obligated to repeatedly acknowledge her as we work in our respective yards. McClosky is right: Respect is as important as all the smiling or waving you can do. The old saying, “Familiarity breeds contempt” should probably be rewritten to read, “Familiarity without respect for boundaries breeds contempt.”

To that end (and because our back yards are adjacent to one another), my neighbors and I have devised some simple understandings to short-circuit any likelihood of discomfort. For example, one evening while sharing a smooth California white, we agreed that there would be no obligation to invite one another over just because we both happened to be in our respective back yards at the same time. Each of us can enjoy our deck and our grill, exchange small talk — all without the slightest bit of unease. The upshot is that when an invitation IS extended, we know that it’s sincere, and not because of duty or obligation.

The proximity of balconies, porches and back yards here at the beach can sometimes be a little too up-close and personal. A preemptive strike against these potentially awkward circumstances can turn a would-be uncomfortable situation into a delightful afternoon.

Of course, not all neighborly relationships work out this way. I would venture a guess that each of you reading this has a story about unhappy encounters with neighbors; neighbors whose “rights” and “boundaries” (or the lack thereof) were more significant to them than the respect that could have been the foundation for a new friendship.

I lived for almost twenty years in a neighborhood where each resident went about his or her business as if theirs was the only house on the block. No hostility, mind you, but no acknowledgement either. Admittedly, I didn’t make any attempts to connect with anybody either, and truth be told, I never really noticed the difference until I moved to the beach. Now I know everybody’s name within a four or five house radius. Some are acquaintances with whom I exchange a smile, and others end up being counted as friends.

At what point does the chance co-location of two houses develop into a warm and fuzzy friendship? Maybe it’s the ceremonial exchange of keys and alarm codes. Or perhaps it’s the first time you really need something, and your neighbor goes out of his or her way to help.

For me, I think it was when the people next door showed up on my doorstep after the moving van had finally gone. With a grand flourish, they presented me with a basket containing a loaf of fresh bread, a box of salt, and a bottle of wine. They then proceeded to make a proclamation that I will never forget: “Michael, for your new home: Bread, that this house may never know hunger. Salt, that life may always have flavor. Wine, that joy and prosperity may reign forever. Welcome!”

So you can see why I’m distracted over this evening’s get-together. But first I’ve got to get down to business and write this column.