Every time our neighbor, John, drives by our house he beeps. It’s two short, “Beep Beep’s!” every single time. Sometimes a couple times a day, sometimes 6 or 8 times a day. He’s so consistent with it that we feel the absence when he’s away for the weekend or can tell when he’s having a really busy day. My Mom doesn’t feel like she’s fully arrived here until she’s heard those friendly beeps.
As the years have gone by these beeps have begun to feel like a little hug and I’ve realized that they belong me to this place. Even more than a friendly gesture, it’s an acknowledgement that we are here, that we are cared for. “Beep Beep” becomes “You belong, you belong.”
To belong. Is there any more guttural need we have as humans than the need to belong? Yet many of us don’t have it. Through childhood and adolescence, college and adulthood I had this nagging feeling of not belonging.
Then we moved to Vermont and almost suddenly it was there. It was the people who belonged me here first. The 30 or so neighbors who pulled over to say hello while we built fences our first year. The little welcome gifts of dilly beans and maple syrup. The way our neighbors helped us build fences and lent us equipment. How we were invited to a party before we even arrived. Those friendly beeps. Each gesture weaving me into a sense of belonging.
Then something happened. One of our neighbors asked us for help for the first time. Over that first summer we went to pick up our neighbor Robert’s (now Robbie!) new dairy cow, we raked hay with our tractor for a day, I helped to trample down the haylage in the giant silo on our neighbors dairy farm. While receiving help is a magic of its own, being asked for help and feeling needed here is what cemented my sense of belonging.
Belonging is an act. Something we must participate in rather than something that happens. Or maybe it does happen for some people when they’re babies and children. But for those of us that didn’t have belonging as babies or for those of us that lost it somewhere along the way, we can find it again.
Recently Ben, Hazel, and I were in Rhode Island at my Mom’s house. I opened her fridge and saw Organic Valley butter and milk. Our neighbor, John, is an Organic Valley farmer, and my Mom said, “I only buy Organic Valley now.” Those beeps have belonged her too. I texted him a photo and he replied, “Aww, tell your Mom I love her!”
Belonging is a fabric, invisible of course. Woven together daintily through small acts like buying butter. There are things that tug at this fabric. Things like too much time on social media, the illusion of opposing political views, being too scared to knock on your neighbors’ door.
Recently one of our Airbnb guests happened upon our neighbor Eugene while out walking. She reported back to us that he loves going on walks, and he thinks the world of us and Hazel. I had no idea he liked walking and though I knew he liked us, I was touched to hear that. I often go on walks through the neighborhood and I’ve begun a habit of knocking on Eugene’s door to ask if he wants to join me for a portion. Let me tell you, it’s not easy for me to do. Every time I walk up his short driveway I’m afraid he will be annoyed that I’m bothering him. He has never said no.
Now I find belonging in the smallest things. Eating spaghetti squash or canned green beans that I grew last summer. Overcoming my fear of being annoying to stop on my walk and ask Eugene if he wants to join. Knowing where most of the ingredients in our meals came from. The way I rejoin my Mom at the farmer’s market to find Hazel gone from her arms. She’s with my friend and her daughter at their booth. I walk over to find smiley faces and precious snuggles happening.
Belonging isn’t just something we can find, it’s something we can give too. Yesterday Eugene stopped by with a book of old photos of our town. He sat with us, showed us the photos, held Hazel. He mentioned a conversation with his daughter that involved our hard water struggles. I realized that we have woven Eugene into our web of belonging. If belonging is one of our deepest longings, and it’s something we can give, perhaps asking for help or stopping by to ask a neighbor to join you for a walk is one of the most precious gifts you can offer.
Belonging is one of the deepest and most important things in our life and yet our modern society seems to un-belong us at every turn. We spend more time looking at screens than at each other, we often look first at what divides us instead of what unites us, and we have become afraid to knock on our neighbors’ doors. But each of us are as hungry as the next for belonging and together we can weave this invisible fabric back into our lives. Beep the horn, buy the butter, knock on the door. You may be surprised at how much your life will change.