If Your Heart Whispers to Stop and Meet the Neighbor, Please Listen
I don’t know how many times I have ignored this thought: “Stop and introduce yourself” as I pass a particular house coming and going to my own home.
This thought has been with me for years. On Saturday I finally determined not to ignore it anymore, and so I stopped. A “No Trespassing” sign is clearly posted on the fence and I questioned my intentions for a moment. What am I even going to say to her when I knock on the door? I pulled into the driveway anyway and my heart beat a little prayer. I didn’t feel nervous, I think because I’ve stood on this porch in my mind many, many times before. I turned the car off, opened my door and before I could get to the porch the front door opened and out walked a woman, all of five-feet-tall, beautiful straight grey hair worn just past her shoulders and glasses.
In a way, I could see my reflection in her. She gave me that “what do you want” look and I can’t blame her. She is strong and I’m a stranger, but I pressed on, trying to quiet the thoughts flooding my mind. I called out a sing-song “hello neighbor.” She is my neighbor, sort of. I can almost see my house from where I’m standing as I gesture to where I live and say, “My house is just over there.”
And then all of my thoughts just began to spill out of my mouth. It went something like this: “I don’t want anything...I have driven past your home for years, and for years I’ve thought to myself, ‘Stop and say hello.” And for years I have ignored myself, but today I couldn’t do it anymore...” and I rambled on a bit about my family.
“My name is Jennifer, what’s yours?”
Her face softened, perhaps her shoulders too. She introduced herself and then said “I just got over Covid a few weeks ago, and the doctor told me I have about three months of immunity, would you like to come in?” Without hesitation I answer “I’d love to come in!”
A few hours later I’m leaving with a jar of pickles and a borrowed book. A few hours later I’m leaving with some of her stories, her husbands untimely death, her dogs, her horses, her empty garden and her grief. We laughed too, good laughs, not polite I-don’t-know-you kind of laughs, but hearty I’ve-been-there-too laughter.
I listened to her perspective on growth in our town. She was born and raised here, she’s witnessed so many changes, to which I’m a part of. We have 25 or so years that separate us, but it’s irrelevant. I know a friend when I meet one, and I feel like I’ve just gathered something that is uniquely mine, a meant-to-be and I know it and I will honor my knowing.
A few hours later I stepped off her porch to leave, but from behind me she called out “Thank you for stopping. I’m so grateful you did.” I turned around as I swallowed the lump of gratitude in my own throat before I could respond with “You’re welcome, I’m so happy I finally listened.”
I’m so excited to return her book, to talk about her big Elm tree and the herons. I will bring her something in this empty pickle jar, something to say thank you for stepping out onto the porch and giving me a chance.
This isn’t a “do-gooder” story. It’s just a reminder that we are all neighbors and if your heart whispers to you to stop, please stop. Don’t let it take years before you listen.
