On the street I lived in as a child, all the families knew each other. A small close with a dozen houses, four down the side and four across the end. Even now I can remember the family names that occupied each house. I am not going to write them out for you. That would be a bore, you will have to trust me.
My mother would chat to all the neighbours, and I played with all the children within five years of my age. During the jubilee in ’77 the street got drunk, and stoned – thanks to my father – in celebration. Aside from my father’s van only two families had cars. Whether it was to maintain the elite status, or the paranoia of an attack, the two cars blocked the entrance. And the three eldest boys positioned by the cars as pseudo sentries.
I was young for that party. The party went on into the night. My sleepy head watched from the bedroom window as my mother and father laughed and kissed. Even the oldest, the Morgans were snogging as the party intensified. It was a joyous night. I fell asleep on the windowsill, my head in my arms.
The girls from that Close were my best friends till I reached eleven and went to a different senior school.
There are those that would point out that that was the beginning of the separation.
There is more to it than that. No cause is ever a single event. No nature is fundamental torture.
This shift is societal.
I may have disconnected with the children I shared a close, but I connected with others, instead. Children always abhor friends’ void. Children find friendships easy. That is why sometimes that void sucks in monsters, the abusive ones.
Over the years like me, community has become transient. Shifting allegiances as we shift jobs. After leaving university I worked in enough places for short times as to not remember more than an impression of them. There I met people like me, that talked like me and desired the same success.
Like University where we were all leaving the familial support for the first time, these places were the first steps into the serious workplace. Pubs and retail outlets when we were students were just for beer money and the treat while waiting for financial support. We worked at our own consent. If the manager annoyed us, we left and the void quickly filled by another just like me.
As serious as these jobs were, we still found time for socializing like we did in university. But those people were different from those I started life with.
Once when I was being a corporate star, I had friends in abundance. Every one of them worked in ‘the industry’ either they worked in the office, or I met at those networking gigs. At times of crises, the devoted friend is there for you.
Except: Does devoted friend really mean that much?
The loyal friend. I had an acquaintance called Marlene. I barely knew her. We worked in the same office, but had nothing much more than a ‘hello, how you doing’ relationship. Yet when I needed to talk to someone, she saw that and was there. Every night, she would sit and talk with me. She was married, had children, but because I needed someone she was there. None of those I thought of friends were anything but sympathetic.
People are just flighty. Are your friends supposed to be there for you in times of anxiety? Is that the job of someone you are social with. Friends are just the people you mix with socially. Not everyone has the free time, the knowledge of what to do. Yet they are still close friends. There is always an emotional attachment. It is like love. Another of my friends defines friends as people that they love, everyone else he defines as mates or acquaintances. He openly admits love for the males in his life, a love for me. That unnerved me at first, but I grew to understand that there were never any sexual feelings with that love.
Here I am living in another street. The houses a little further apart but in essence the same as I started. Except I have no names for any of my neighbours. One couple did approach when the removal van parked outside my house and the workman carried the precious of my life inside.
I did the handshaking and the introductions, promptly forgetting the name when I turned my back. Where was my focus and dedication to please?
This was the new world. The world dedicated to the digital screen. Dissipated around the world you find your ‘tribe’ as those like you defined with such width you cannot see the edge. Gone are the days that your people thrust upon you by who lived next door, drank in the same pub, talked the same contextual language.
My desire is the comfort of my home.
I’m done with society. Immensely fed up of living the life I expected when I was that young girl. Except I had no expectation when I was a child. My life is a captain free ship with just enough power to keep moving but not enough to protect from the currents and tides, the eddies and weather. I managed to live a comfortable life – if money is your drive, I was phenomenally successful – but that life was as shallow as a wishing pool I used to throw pennies in when I visited my maternal grandparents.
On the street where I live now, I am as happy as I have ever been. I can sit in my study, my box room, in a chair staring out the window while I pretend to write. The occasional distraction is real; a delivery van enters and slowly drives to the house. Most have names, mine has a number. I watch the neighbours walk their dog. None of them ever clean their cars – that is hard labour. They do tend their gardens through the summer. I watch them chat as they pass each other. They pat each other’s dogs. Most come and go in cars.
I have a good life. A life I deserve. A life I earnt.
The life of the introvert who fought her nature and won. My prize was the happiness I have found here in the street where I do not know names.
The Author
Medular Sinclair Writes introspective British non fiction that explores identity, memory, and the quiet resilience of introverted lives. Her work blends emotional clarity with a sharp eye for for the subtle distances between people. She captures the private worlds we build to survive and thrive. Medular’s voice is calm, observant, and deeply human.
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Thank You. We Hope to See you Again.
You’ve reached the bottom of the page: thank you for joining me here.
Life is about connection. On a planet of billions, there are only two – you and me.
For a moment nothing else matters. In that moment we have seen each other. In that moment we cared. Life moves on for us now. The two are not each other. Our attention has moved.
For other connections click my link tree, perhaps there are more places we can be.
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