In a piece at The Federalist the writer tells a sad, lonely story:
Let me tell you about my Southern California neighborhood. I have lived in this one for 22 years. I don’t know anyone, but it’s not for lack of trying. Each time a new neighbor moves in I bake a loaf of bread and take it to them. They thank me at the door and then close it. That is the last I see of them other than when they go to their cars.
One neighbor was pregnant and her husband was employed, so I gave her my phone number just in case she needed anything. She thanked me and didn’t give me her number. We spoke over the fence occasionally, but not in any way that would turn us into buddies or even casual friends. They moved.
Our newest neighbors dropped a card on our front porch before their bread was baked to tell us their names and gave us their phone number. I still have it four years later. I baked the bread and the mister thanked me at the door. I have never met the Mrs. in person.
I hosted a coffee klatch and made up fliers and put them on the 12 nearest homes. I got donuts, cut up fruit, and made coffee and tea. Six people came, drank the tea, and no one touched the donuts or fruit. They chatted about who all used to live here in this neighborhood over the years, said thank you and left. No one asked a single question of me. I have never been to their homes or had a conversation with any of them since.
By way of comparison let me tell you about my Chicago neighborhood. In my neighborhood we know each other, know each other’s children’s names, and care about each other. We exchange Christmas cookies. We hold block parties. On occasion we exchange the keys to each other’s homes. We watch each other’s homes when someone goes out of town. We shovel each other’s walks when it snows. We share the produce from our gardens. We talk with each other over our backyard fences or sitting on the stoops in front of our houses or when walking our dogs.
Maybe what the author of that article has experienced is the well-documented collapse of community in the United States chronicled in Bowling Alone. But I think there may be something else at work as well.
We’re choosing our communities differently than we used to. It’s far less common that we’ll have a geographically-based community like a neighborhood or the things that go along with that like block clubs. We’re also less likely to form communities around our work. There are fewer company bowling leagues or baseball teams than there used to be. Bowling leagues and baseball teams aren’t being replaced by company videogame groups or cosplay clubs or something else more 21st century.
Our communities are much more likely to be virtual ones—our Facebook friends or people on Pinterest or what have you—or based on other affinities, e.g. shared interests like canine agility or collecting stamps or some other interest. It will be different than the communities of the past and I don’t know what the implications will be. It may be cold and lonely as the author of the piece believes. I don’t think it is reversible.