When the World Tilted

In 1996, with the help of my parents, I bought my first house. I was twenty-two.

Over the years, I’ve moved in and out of this small, simple bungalow several times. But at 45, I’m back again. Newly Single. Starting Over. Home.

In the 90’s the neighborhood was mixed. Lots of elderly folks who built these houses in the boom that came after WWII. They were old-school, blue collar, and hard-working. They certainly weren’t wealthy but were proud of what they had. The houses were neat. Yards had lot of flowers. Snowball bushes and peonies were points of pride. People baked cookies and pies for new neighbors. A little too poor for a true American fairytale — but charming. The perfect place to start out a newly-married life. We were optimistic about the future and ready to change the world. It was the perfect place for a young GenX couple. Just enough grit to feel “real” but enough charm to feed our “white picket fence” dreams.

As those older neighbors began disappearing to nursing homes and graveyards, they were replaced by young families. Yards were suddenly full of toys, bikes, and swing sets. Springtime was always noisy. Everybody was coming out of winter hibernation and firing up lawnmowers and tillers. Kids were screaming and playing. Everybody knew everybody. We shared beer and barbeque, plant starts, gas for lawnmowers…we were neighbors.

I’m not sure when that stopped. I think I was busy living my life. Working on the road. Spending less time home. My marriage fell apart. I quit planting flowers. Cell phones happened. Netflix. We moved our lives inside. No more kids playing in the streets. Less laughter.

Over the last few weeks, the world shut down. Tilted on its axis. Time expanded and contracted. And I began to hear…laughter. Lawnmowers. Conversations through open windows.

I started running again last fall. At the gym. But the ‘Rona closed that too. So, to fight some of my own anxiety, I started going outside into the neighborhood…sometimes twice a day to stay calm and focused. Unexpectedly, I’ve had a front row seat to the rebirth of something amazing. As the trees started blooming, so did the neighborhood. We started talking again. We’ve shared meals and “socially distanced” drinks, mowed each other’s lawns, and people are playing with their kids outside. I planted flowers in long-empty boxes.

Recently, while out on a run, one of the kids yelled for me to stop and watch. He’s been learning to ride his bike. His driveway is steep and he finally made it up the hill. He wanted to show me because I’ve been cheering his progress each day. We’ve bonded in our struggles against body weight, bikes and gravity. I cheered for him and we did an “air five” of celebration.

As I turned to run away I felt a tear on my cheek. I realized that something beautiful has been happing in the middle of the darkness of a global pandemic. We have lost jobs, daily routines, some even loved ones …but we seem to be finding each other. Community rediscovered.

It’s a beautiful damn thing. I hope we can hold on to this. Remember these sweet moments when the world tilted and time slowed down.