In my current neighborhood, I find myself without any friends—none at all. And you know what? That’s just how I like it, sort of. When my daughter Ava was born, we moved into a new urban development, a picturesque community that felt like a modern-day Mayberry. Every house was immaculate, complete with charming porches, and we could easily stroll to parks, pools, restaurants, and cinemas. While I initially enjoyed the convenience, the charm faded quickly. The homes were so tightly packed together that it felt like they were practically fused. I quickly grew weary of the neighborhood gatherings, block parties, and playgroups; what I longed for was personal space and a sense of mystery.
Then we relocated to Tennessee, where my neighbors became like family. It was comforting to have someone to entrust with Ava when we thought my son Leo might arrive sooner than expected. We’d share bottles of wine on the porch as our little ones slept soundly inside, unaware of our adult coping mechanisms. The open-door policy allowed the kids to roam freely, enjoying snacks and discipline in equal measure from whichever house they wandered into. But then came that memorable morning when my dear neighbor called me at 4:57 AM to chat because she noticed I was awake feeding the baby. Again, I yearned for a bit of distance.
Now, we’ve settled into a subdivision with cozy cul-de-sacs and shared mailboxes. This time, I made a deliberate choice to maintain my distance. I had enjoyed wonderful neighbors before, but I was ready for some independence. During our first week, the self-appointed leader of the neighborhood handed me a list detailing our neighbors. Each name came with a description: #2703 hosts the Easter egg hunts. #2708 is experiencing a divorce, but it’s amicable. #2714 babysits and throws a Fourth of July bash. And then there was my entry: #2701 wears black yoga pants daily, allows her son to run around naked on the deck, and has exchanged no more than five words with anyone.
For the most part, I appreciate this arrangement. I have friends I can connect with via car, text, or email, and no one barges in uninvited. However, there are downsides. If I find myself in need of a cup of sugar or an egg for last-minute cookies, I have to head to the store. My kids lack neighborhood friends to play with, and coordinating playdates can be a hassle. I recall feeling a bit isolated while listening to fireworks from the Memorial Day block party as my partner was away with the children. Still, I found my stack of light reading far more engaging. Perhaps my next move will strike the right balance, but for now, I’m content. I always keep extra sugar and eggs handy, just in case anyone feels the urge to bake cookies.
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In summary, I have chosen to embrace solitude in my current neighborhood after experiencing the ups and downs of community living. While it can feel lonely at times, I find comfort in my independence and the friendships I maintain from afar.