From Airbnb Superhost to Novice Neighbor
Taking Cues from a Refugee Family as We (Re)Learn How to Be Neighbors
The floor drain in the alleyway beside our Richmond, Virginia row house used to clog about once a month.
This would not have been a huge problem, except we were Airbnb hosts, and the entryway to our basement rental apartment was accessed by way of that alleyway.
So that rainfall would not pool and prohibit easy access to the apartment, I would clear the grime from that drain every couple of weeks.
Sediment and sludge.
Caked mud and soggy moss.
Each clearing inevitably brought about an odd kind of host-pride: How lucky all these Airbnb neighbors are to have such a thoughtful host! Indeed, we were official “Superhosts” on Airbnb’s website.
But in the course of those two years where we easily had a couple hundred guests….you know what never once crossed my mind while kneeling in that alleyway?
What about our next-door neighbors with whom we share this alleyway?
(The alleyway. You can see the neighbors who shared this alleyway were all of four feet from our house. And the neighbors on the other side shared a wall with us!)
Daily, I thought about the neighbors paying to be in our house. Not once in the six-and-a-half years that we lived in that house did it cross my mind to invite our actual next-door neighbors over for a meal.
Or coffee. Or a beer. Or just…I don’t know. To hang out?
A strange irony to spend one’s days so close to other people and never once share a meal.
Recently I saw one of those headlines about alien life being out there, and a thought crossed my mind:
Imagine if said aliens looked down upon us from outer space.
(Photo by Breno Assis on Unsplash)
They could see that our home was located all of four feet from our neighbor’s home.
They could see how our feet walk all over the small plot of our house-and-alleyway, maybe like thermal-imaging or something.
They could see that not once do our feet (or their feet) ever cross into the other’s box.
You walk there. We walk here.
You eat there. We eat here.
Your box. My box.
Do they not like one another?! The aliens marvel in confusion about how our footprints get oh-so-close but never once cross the plane of the other’s home.
Don’t get me wrong, I really like my own space. I cherish time alone! But in a society where we regularly lament our sense of disconnection, loneliness, and division, it is a painful irony that so many urban and suburban neighborhoods are packed full of people all of a few feet apart - and neither of them has ever knelt down to try and clear the clogged, relational drain that has built up between them.
Some of the accumulated sludge is our busyness. Many of us are so busy (or believe ourselves so busy) that it feels a heavy lift to invite the neighbors over.
Some of the accumulated sediment is the messiness of vulnerability. How will they respond? What if it turns out the whole conversation is awkward? What if our place (our person) is not put together just so?1
Some of the accumulated sediment is simply the sheer weight of mud piled from years of not trying to create an easy path to and from one another. This is going to be work!
No wonder grime-clearing requires kneeling. Making our way back to our neighbors is a humbling thing.
And no denying, it takes time. Even routine.
A bit like the refugee family from Afghanistan who recently moved to our neighborhood.
“Every time I give them a ride they invite me in for tea,” one women recently remarked as she talked about her experience driving the family to various jobs and appointments.
“Very true. Morning, afternoon, or evening. They invite you for tea every time,” another chimed in immediately.
I myself went by their place a couple weeks back, and during my short drive over to their house I kept thinking What if this is bad time for them? What if they are busy?
Hot tea, warm smiles, and cool living room immediately invited my two-year-old and me through the front door.
It would be difficult to overstate the profound lack of busyness that existed in the space. The sense of peace and kindness and connection made known there was really quite sublime. It was like water to a soul that didn’t know itself parched - and then suddenly did not want to stop drinking.
Yes, the family holds down multiple jobs, the children attend the local schools, and they are regularly FaceTiming with their husband/father/head of the household who is still trying to get out of Kosovo and join them here.
And yet, it was plainly evident:
Hospitality is as natural to them as busyness is to me.
Attentiveness is as natural to them as distractedness is to me.
In fact, it is obvious they are so routinely in the presence of neighbors that there is simply no time for sludge and sediment to build up.
I really do not know what that is like. But I’m eager to discover a bit more about it. I even wonder if this whole hospitality thing isn’t a significant part of the road back to one another in these challenging times - particularly for those of us who live in neighborhoods of decidedly mixed ages, politics, ethnicities, and/or economics.
In the meantime, the overwhelming sentiment I have these days is this: How lucky I am to have such hospitable neighbors!
—
We spent twenty years trying to clear significant sludge weighing upon a nation - imagine if it were people from that very nation who showed us how to do such a clearing over here?
A strange irony, indeed. Also a timely irony that has had me kneel down a couple of times very recently. I’m trying to make some new clearings on my own street.
What about you? Which alleyway could use a fresh clearing?
(A 2020 story of Barbara Gold, 84, and Nandita Shenoy, 48, and their NYC across-the-hallway friendship)
Not sure where to start?
Look for the refugees and immigrants.
The elderly and the children.
I promise, there are people on the margins in every direction who are great at this whole hospitality thing - and super gracious to those of us trying to (re)learn.
As a recent study underscores, usually we underestimate just how much we will enjoy conversations with strangers.
Thank you for sharing this story. I currently live in a neighborhood where we have block parties, walk together and eat with our immediate neighbors, even the road rage idiot. But, 12 years ago we lived in the suburbs and rarely spoke to our neighbors - why - well when we first moved in one of the neighbors said “we like it quiet here” turned her back to me and we didn’t speak for 10 years. The neighbor across the street thought the Muslims on our street were part of a sleeper cell - so I’m glad you are connecting now with your neighbors. Keep on writing.
This story was so timely and inspiring and hopefully motivating.