Your Space

The days are cool, the air sharp and crisp. There is just enough tilt left for afternoons to be passingly warm. A few days ago, I enjoyed the bright colors from the curb in front of my house, a habit developed in childhood that adulthood hasn't yet bested.

It is strange to consider how my neighborhood has changed. A decade and a half ago I would sit on the curb reading the book currently serving as my constant companion while all around me I could hear the screams and laughter of children playing. The older kids playing street hockey, the younger ones tumbling around in front yards and back yards, playing with sidewalk chalk and bubbles and popsicle stick swords. Now my neighborhood is old, the children grown with children and lives of their own.

A young family recently moved in right next door. As I sat on the curb (bookless), reveling in the warmth of the weak sun, a small neighbor child ran around the fence dividing our yards. He was headed to my backyard to retrieve a lost ball, something I did countless times as a child. Each time I would carefully knock on the neighbor's front door and ask politely if I could retrieve the lost ball from their backyard. I was stunned and dismayed when the lady of the house once again gave me permission to retrieve my lost ball and then fairly begged me to stop knocking on her door. I was welcome to retrieve my ball anytime. She would make a point of leaving the gate to her backyard unlocked.

My siblings soon learned that sending me for the lost ball was hopeless. That didn't help me when I played by myself. As soon as I realized my ball was headed for the dreaded backyard my stomach would flip over and my chest would hurt. I would walk slowly, resolutely to the neighbor's front yard, determined to do what was necessary. Despite my determination, my courage always failed me. I would stand in front of the backyard gate and dither. She said it was okay. But I don't want to just walk into their backyard for my ball. What if I'm interrupting something? But she does not want me to come back to the door just to ask if I can get my ball. I should get it. But what if they are back there? What if they see me through the window? They'll think I'm a sneak! But I can't leave my ball. That would be rude. But I can't go get it and I can't go to the door either. What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

It was heart rending. As I would stand there, hands sweating, jaw clenched, tears gathering in my eyes, I would curse myself with all my childish heart. Why hadn't I yet learned how to keep my play things to myself!?

Sitting on the curb, I could see my small self standing in front of the neighbor's backyard gate. I couldn't help smiling, remembering that lost, little person. I envied the easy swagger of the neighborhood child as he nonchalantly jogged into my backyard to retrieve his ball.

I still struggle. I cannot interrupt others' space without an inner dialogue of encouragement and positive affirmations. There is nothing more difficult for me than convincing myself that I have it within my heart to be a space disturber.

This is why my greatest ambition is to become an independently wealthy hermit. Space disturbing would belong to my past and never again would I be the small child gathering every shred of my courage to open the gate into your space.