brian on Nostr: Nostr is better when you tell stories. Read Sam's ...

Nostr is better when you tell stories. Read Sam's

quoting nevent1q…h4y9

I’ll never forget when my parents sold my childhood home for many reasons, but one moment has really stuck with me.

A little background: I grew up on a cul-de-sac. My house had a front porch that was perfect for watching sunsets. As such, I often sat out there and played guitar in the evenings. I usually just messed around, finger-picking some melodies. Think peaceful, relaxing stuff.

So, the family next door didn’t speak much English and mainly kept to themselves, but every night the husband would come outside right around the time when I typically played.

He always did the same thing every time, like clockwork. He would come out, flip out a lawn chair on the side of his garage, sit down, look up, and lit up an unusually long cigarette. Same spot. Every time.

It’s hard to put into words, but I could just tell that this was a moment out of his day that he cherished. A moment of peace and solace away from the stress of work and family life.

He used to take these really long, slow drags on his cigarette and look up at the sky before he slowly exhaled. It was almost like with each breath he was letting go of all his worries.

Despite the fact that we were often only yards away from each other, we never spoke. I knew he was there and he knew I was there. There was this mutual understanding. I would play, he’d smoke his cig, and then he’d go back inside. This went on for YEARS.

There were times when I wondered if he actually cared about my playing at all. He never acknowledged me. Never said a thing. He would just come out for 15 minutes like clockwork and go back inside.

But then came the day when my family moved out…

I was the last of my family to leave the house and when I did, I turned around to look at my childhood home for the last time, taking in all the memories.

Then out came my neighbor, with his usual long cigarette stuck between his lips. But this time, instead of going to his usual spot, he slowly walked up to me, reached out his hand, and in broken English said, “I’ll miss your playing. You very talented. Good luck to you and your family.”

When he shook my hand, I could tell he was genuinely going to miss me, and in that moment, I realized that I was going to miss him too.

You see, my neighbor was a part of what made my home special. He was a part of it, just like my favorite Willow tree, the front porch, and the pond in the backyard. I became overwhelmed with gratitude for the strange little connection we had developed over the years.

There were countless evenings where we shared a few minutes together, watching the sun go down, without ever speaking a word to one another. Nowadays, I think back to those nights playing out on the front porch and smile.

I suppose sometimes that’s all we really need…someone to share a moment with.