Nearby Neighbors

Original post date: Friday, September 10, 2010


I'm not a writer. Never have been. But something is so inspiring tonight. I'm sitting in my bedroom, most roommates out for the night. It's Friday. I'm probably going to watch a movie and do some reading until I fall asleep. I haven't been home much this summer. But summer is almost over. It's September 11 tomorrow. Today was the first day I felt fall. It was literally tangible. My toes were tingling from being exposed all day. If I took a snapshot, you'd find me in pink sock-slippers, sweats and a T, entirely wrapped in a pink bathrobe. And I don't even like pink.

The air is so Rear Window this evening. Not as if Alfred Hitchcock wrote the scene outside, but the feeling of watchability is present. (I just made up a word.) Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly experience their neighbors lives in that movie. They can hear them, see them, almost feel what each of their neighbors is going through. The music they play, remember the pianist? The laughter they encounter, can't you just see that teeming party on the top floor? If I reached my hand out my bedroom window and my neighbor did the same, we could probably high-five. The houses are so close together in the city. Right now, I hear a movie drifting through my open window. I'm not sure what it is... sounds like a classic. Or at least a black and white film. The sound is crackly; the speech calculated. Can't you just hear it? It's one of the last warm nights where I can keep my window open. This has been one of the things I've loved moving into the city. I honestly like having my neighbors so close. At times its annoying, especially when your neighbors cigarette smoke travels into your room while you are trying to sleep, but most of the time I hear life. Isn't hearing life wonderful? The movie next door. The kids playing on the side walk. The baby screaming. The car door slamming. The Sarah Bareilles music coming from my roommates bedroom. It's all so delightful. And city-ish. I can just imagine Audrey Hepburn leaning out her window and beginning to play Moon River on her guitar. It's not like New York where I can really see anybody seeing that I face the side of my neighbors house, but I hear it. And feel it. And live it. And it's wonderful. And I am so glad I chose to make the move. And be here. Now. In this City of Irishmen. In a neighborhood of everyone. Listening to life, not go by, but being experienced. Whether its the Korean pop from next door, the Italian sway from my own bedroom, or the hip-hop pounding from the screeching car flying down the one-way road.

Do you get it?

I'm most likely not going to write often. I don't like forcing myself to diary, in a sense, if I'm not living or feeling it. But when the time is right, I'll be here. Contemplating. Channeling. Wondering and maybe even philosophizing. (That is a real word.) What I experience, I want you to be able to understand. What I don't understand, I want you, oh invisible internet community, to not understand with me and sympathize. Because aren't all blogs just creative narcissism? I hope they are more than that, though. I hope they lead beyond what I'm hearing and typing to connecting and relating. For that is the reason I am here. Not this city, but in this life. In my life. And I'm good at it.