Ah, the joys of neighborhood life—where “zero friends” can feel like a badge of honor. That’s right, here in my current neighborhood, I’m flying solo. Not a single buddy in sight. And honestly, that’s pretty much how I like it… most of the time.
When my daughter Mia was born, we were nestled in a shiny new urban development, a picture-perfect place that could’ve been straight out of a Disney movie. Think manicured lawns, adorable front porches, and everything within a short stroll—parks, pools, eateries, and cinemas. It was a little slice of heaven, but soon the novelty fizzled out. The houses were so packed together that I might as well have shared a wall with my neighbors. The constant block parties, progressive dinners, and playgroups made me crave some solitude and a few secrets of my own.
Then we relocated to Tennessee, where I found joy in my neighbors. It was comforting to have a go-to for babysitting when we thought our little one was coming early. We often shared a bottle of wine on the porch while our kids slept inside, totally unaware of our late-night coping mechanisms. The kids could roam freely between houses, snagging snacks and discipline from whichever home they stumbled into. Most of the time, it was bliss—until that one early morning when my favorite neighbor called at 4:57 AM just to chat, having spotted me feeding the baby through my window. Yep, I started wishing for some space again.
Now, we’ve settled in a subdivision filled with cul-de-sacs and communal mailboxes, and I’ve made a conscious choice to keep my distance. My first week here, the self-proclaimed queen bee handed me a list of neighbors, complete with little notes: #2703 hosts Easter egg hunts. #2708 is going through a divorce, but it’s amicable. #2714 babysits and throws a big 4th of July bash. As for me? It was more like: #2701 wears black yoga pants daily, lets her son run around naked on the deck, and has never exchanged more than five words with anyone.
Honestly, I prefer it this way. I have friends I can reach out to via car, phone, or email whenever I wish, without surprise visits. Still, there are moments I miss the convenience of neighborly favors. Need a cup of sugar or an egg for an impromptu cookie batch? Off to the store I go! And while it was a bit lonely hearing the fireworks from the Memorial Day block party while Jeff was away with the kids, I found my stack of guilty pleasure magazines far more riveting, anyway.
Maybe in my next neighborhood, I’ll find that sweet spot between community and solitude. But for now, I’ve got my system down, and I always keep extra sugar and eggs for those spontaneous cookie cravings.
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Summary:
Navigating neighborhood life can be a mixed bag, especially when it comes to finding the right balance between friendship and solitude. After moving from a buzzing community filled with eager neighbors to a quieter subdivision, I’ve learned to appreciate my solitude while still keeping in touch with friends from afar. While there are trade-offs—like missing out on spontaneous favors—I’ve found my rhythm and a stash of cookie-making supplies to keep things sweet.