A good neighbour
It’s the first time I’ve lived on my own - albeit in small stints - as my ex-partner and I are taking it in turns to occupy the flat we own together until it sells.
I’d been nervous about my first month of solo living, imagining myself being cripplingly lonely and a social recluse. I’m here and neither of those anxieties have come to fruition. Instead it’s one I didn’t see coming that weighs on my mind more anything: the fear of getting locked out.
I’ve been locked out the house before, of course. But when the door slammed behind me and I’ve been without a key, the price I paid was minimal.
Growing up, I’d walk ten minutes to one of the three people in my hometown who I knew had a key and the whole debacle would be over in under 30 minutes. In house shares, someone would usually be home to let me in or, worst-case scenario, I’d have to wait for a housemate to return from work.
If I were to give my key to the friend that lives closest to me now, it would require a two-hour round trip for me to fetch it. Possibly even longer.
So aware of the inconvenience this easy mistake would cause me, I’ve been taking my door key with me everywhere. I only pull the door shut when I’m holding the key in my hand. I slip it in my sock when taking the bins out, keep it in my back pocket when I open the door for a delivery or grab something from my car. Wherever I go, the key goes.
Spare keys to my flat exist. Two sets, actually. And I have friends and family I could give them to. It’s just that none of them live close enough to help me resolve a lock-out in a reasonable time frame.
Naturally, I’ve thought about befriending my neighbours. If we were better acquainted, maybe they’d water my plants, feed the cat (when I had one) and come to the rescue when I lock myself out.
We live in very close quarters so it would be easy. I hear the upstairs couples’ alarm each morning; I wake up to number 66’s baby when it cries in the night. I hear number 62’s door every time she goes outside for a cigarette.
Despite our situational intimacy, I haven’t felt inclined to strike up anything close to a friendship in the year-and-a-bit I’ve lived here. I smile and nod when we see each other but still leave them hand-written notes if I take a parcel in. It’s mutual, neither of us wanting to cross that line where we swap phone numbers.
The anonymity that comes with this living situation is a relief when life gets busy, and I don’t want that to change. I think it’s a similar thing to friends of mine who choose to live in house shares with acquaintances that share their space. They actively avoiding becoming friends with them because they don’t want an added layer of responsibility.
I also know people who live with friends but feel a real need to carve out solitude, away from others in the house.
Loneliness is often brought up in conversations about millennials and young people who have moved away from their hometowns. I think there’s another side to that coin where for some of us, an ‘always on’ culture at work and among friends leaves us overwhelmed and craving a space where we can go unnoticed.
It means that our communities look different to the traditional ones older generations might have nurtured - and they are impractical in many ways. When I had a cat, I struggled to find someone local enough to pop by and feed her. When I went on holiday, a kind friend did a two-hour round trip from her flat to mine to water my house plants.
But we’re choosing to live this way and willing to find ways to overcome the impracticalities, using companies like Plant Sit, Cat in a Flat, Borrow my Doggy to find solutions to all the things that traditionally you might ask a neighbour to do. It means that we can prioritise communities elsewhere - in our friendship groups, at work, online or through our hobbies and creative pursuits - just not on our doorsteps.
If I were to get locked out of my flat tomorrow it would be a huge inconvenience. But not enough of one for me to try building a more meaningful relationship with my neighbours - because that would mean sacrificing the freedom of the under-the-radar existence that we all seem to be enjoying.