By Amanda Lamb
Everyone sang as 2-year-old Gwen giggled, spinning around in the lobby of our downtown Raleigh condominium in her pointy paper birthday hat that sat perched atop a mass of blonde, sweaty curls.
Gwen is not my granddaughter. In fact, I’m not related to her in any way, nor is anyone else in our building with the exception of her parents. But she is the youngest member of our community, and it felt fitting for all of us to celebrate her birthday.
I remember when I first moved downtown from the suburban Cary neighborhood where I raised my children. People would ask me, “Aren’t you worried about losing your connection to your community?” The truth is, I was a little concerned. We had raised our family in a cul-de-sac where neighbors watched out for each other. We gathered to celebrate holidays. Our children grew up playing together in the stream behind our houses, building forts in the woods, and dangling from a tire swing. But my kids are grown now. We are empty nesters and ready for a change.
I knew that my Cary friends would always be in my life no matter where I lived, but I also embraced the opportunity to build a new community, one forged in the shared experiences of urban living, which is more elusive in side-by-side homes where it’s easy to silo ourselves.
What I quickly learned when we moved into our building, which is home to 20-somethings just starting out in life up to 70-somethings enjoying the fruits of retirement and nearby grandchildren, is that your neighbors define your community no matter where you live.
I got involved with the social committee, where I helped arrange everything from the twice-monthly social gatherings with themes ranging from game night to charcuterie making, to the summer cookout and the winter holiday party. But more than just gathering socially, we have a thread where neighbors in the 56 apartments share concerns (a water leak), needs (a vacant parking spot or help moving a piece of furniture), and items (books they are donating to the community). The speed at which neighbors step up to help other neighbors in need here is unprecedented. Whether someone needs a tape measure, an egg for a recipe, or an Advil, the request is met with multiple replies of: “I’ll leave it by your door.”
Currently, we only have two children in the building. We got to know Gwen during the inclement weather this past winter when we would meet in the lobby for impromptu breakfasts and hot cocoa. She would run around, interact with all of us, and laugh out loud as she careened in her half-on, half-off snowsuit from one surrogate grandparent to another. Her parents thanked us profusely for giving her some attention and activity during the cabin fever we were all experiencing.
As I watched her, I found myself thinking about children who grow up in New York City. People often lament the lack of a yard to play in. Thankfully, we have a great deal of green space on our property and plenty of parks nearby. But I realized that for a child to grow, for any of us to grow, we don’t just need green space. We need the sustenance that comes from our human connections. Like fertilizer, community feeds us in unseen ways that nourish our souls.
I would argue it’s just as important as the air we breathe.
Amanda Lamb is an award-winning journalist, author, and podcast host best known for her decades covering crime and courts in North Carolina. A longtime reporter at WRAL-TV, she has written 13 books and now focuses on storytelling through podcasts, public speaking, and her media company, Stage Might Communications. Follow her at facebook.com/stagemight or visit alambauthor.com.
