Building bridges this last year was difficult. In March of 2020, the peak of covid, I moved into a garden apartment. I didn't know anyone and isolation and a lack of connectedness to a person, pet or thing evaded me with the usual depression and isolation associated with lockdowns. However, I got to know my next door neighbor who's from Trinidad and we discussed ways she could smoke at the designated smoking spot to avoid triggering my allergies and coughing fits and make it easy for me to step outside. During the year got to got to talk and got to know one another. Not deeply but on the surface as one would with a neighbor. She mainly kept to herself but found enjoyment in telling me about her father who's dementia was worsening, and how her sister was taking advantage of her in many ways. I listened and understood her problems and set myself up for an enjoyable neighborly relationship as I was more of a loner prior to moving there. This year, a few weeks ago, she began to light her cigarette at her door and step out. My window was opened at the time and a wad of smoke filled my space enough to make me uncomfortable and cough. I texted her and asked her to please light up on the sidewalk so the smoke wouldn't come into my window. I couldn't say she couldn't smoke as the law says you have to smoke fifty feet away from the building. She knew that. She didn't answer. I texted her again and asked her if she was angry with me. No answer. I know I worked to be neighborly and become a friend for her. I bought her batteries when she needed them during a blackout and baked and laughed with her many times. I thought we were friends as my pastor's messages always included to take care of our neighbors, and I certainly was on board with Jesus' message. I'm very sad and I've tried to reason in my mind why she would ignore me, turn her head away when she comes back from smoking and I'm sitting outside. It hurts me as I embraced her totally and enjoyed the company we shared. I thought I'd built a bridge to another culture but the bridge is blocked from traffic and requires major repairs. I have to find another way to get across,, but it won't be on this road.
The part about intellectual hospitality and moral imagination reminded me of this quote from Vigen Guroian's "Tending the Heart of Virtue: How Classic Stories Awaken a Child’s Moral Imagination": “The richness or poverty of the moral imagination depends on the richness or the poverty of experience.” I think your essay speaks to how we build a rich experience, of life and of the mind: by engaging with others and the world with openness, curiosity, and humility.
"We grow intellectual hospitality through deep, varied reading" is also exactly right. I've recently resolved to read more fiction for precisely this reason. The majority of my reading is nonfiction, which is stimulating and satisfying and deep in its own way. But as my friend Steve has said: "I feel like I learn a lot about the world from nonfiction, and I learn a lot about myself (and my relationship to others) from fiction."
Building bridges this last year was difficult. In March of 2020, the peak of covid, I moved into a garden apartment. I didn't know anyone and isolation and a lack of connectedness to a person, pet or thing evaded me with the usual depression and isolation associated with lockdowns. However, I got to know my next door neighbor who's from Trinidad and we discussed ways she could smoke at the designated smoking spot to avoid triggering my allergies and coughing fits and make it easy for me to step outside. During the year got to got to talk and got to know one another. Not deeply but on the surface as one would with a neighbor. She mainly kept to herself but found enjoyment in telling me about her father who's dementia was worsening, and how her sister was taking advantage of her in many ways. I listened and understood her problems and set myself up for an enjoyable neighborly relationship as I was more of a loner prior to moving there. This year, a few weeks ago, she began to light her cigarette at her door and step out. My window was opened at the time and a wad of smoke filled my space enough to make me uncomfortable and cough. I texted her and asked her to please light up on the sidewalk so the smoke wouldn't come into my window. I couldn't say she couldn't smoke as the law says you have to smoke fifty feet away from the building. She knew that. She didn't answer. I texted her again and asked her if she was angry with me. No answer. I know I worked to be neighborly and become a friend for her. I bought her batteries when she needed them during a blackout and baked and laughed with her many times. I thought we were friends as my pastor's messages always included to take care of our neighbors, and I certainly was on board with Jesus' message. I'm very sad and I've tried to reason in my mind why she would ignore me, turn her head away when she comes back from smoking and I'm sitting outside. It hurts me as I embraced her totally and enjoyed the company we shared. I thought I'd built a bridge to another culture but the bridge is blocked from traffic and requires major repairs. I have to find another way to get across,, but it won't be on this road.
The part about intellectual hospitality and moral imagination reminded me of this quote from Vigen Guroian's "Tending the Heart of Virtue: How Classic Stories Awaken a Child’s Moral Imagination": “The richness or poverty of the moral imagination depends on the richness or the poverty of experience.” I think your essay speaks to how we build a rich experience, of life and of the mind: by engaging with others and the world with openness, curiosity, and humility.
"We grow intellectual hospitality through deep, varied reading" is also exactly right. I've recently resolved to read more fiction for precisely this reason. The majority of my reading is nonfiction, which is stimulating and satisfying and deep in its own way. But as my friend Steve has said: "I feel like I learn a lot about the world from nonfiction, and I learn a lot about myself (and my relationship to others) from fiction."