I never knew it would take a snowstorm at the beach to meet my neighbors.
Over the last several years since moving into my current neighborhood, I admit that I haven鈥檛 been the most outgoing neighbor in the world.
Sure, I鈥檓 kind. I smile and wave like the next guy, and I鈥檓 your go-to guy if you want the best four-second small-talker when we pass each other on a morning walk. I鈥檒l ask you how you鈥檙e enjoying the weather, and if it鈥檚 a particularly great day, I might even tell you I like your new walking shoes.
I like to think I鈥檓 the perfect 鈥 quiet and to-myself 鈥 neighbor.
But on Tuesday evening, as the snow was falling across our area for the first time in recent memory, I got the urge to step outside and take a walk. I hadn鈥檛 been in the middle of a snowstorm for quite some time, and I wanted to take a few minutes (to myself) to take a peaceful walk in my quiet neighborhood and enjoy the rare winter weather.
It turns out, I wasn鈥檛 alone.
At about 10 p.m., the normally noiseless street circle was filled with sights that I had forgotten don鈥檛 only exist in Hallmark movies. Within the stretch of a quarter mile, our little beach neighborhood had it all.
Couples were walking their dogs while FaceTiming their families back home.
The southern neighborhood kids were 鈥 maybe for the first time in their lives 鈥 throwing snowballs and building snowmen like they were granted a one-time ticket to an amusement park they could have only ever previously dreamt about.
I even saw an older couple 鈥 who must have been in their late 80s 鈥 sitting on their porch, bundled with every layer in their coat closet, sipping something warm from a mug and watching the action unfold.
And keep in mind, all of this was taking place as the midnight hour quickly approached.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen in person before.
The most standout part of this experience was a fact that I am somewhat embarrassed to admit: for the first time in several years living within footsteps of these people, I stopped and had real conversations with my neighbors.
We smiled, ear-to-ear, for minutes on end, talking about the snow and why we were all insane enough to be outside and watching it all unfold. Most of us had a shared understanding that this was all probably a bit crazy and that we could鈥檝e just waited until the morning to see the winter wonderland, but what fun would that have been?
House by house, it seemed like I met a new neighbor who was as filled with joy as I was to be experiencing a Hollywood-like moment right in front of our eyes.
And as soon as I realized that, the moment hit me like a ton of bricks.
Joy.
In a shared moment together, what connected us was joy.
We weren鈥檛 worried about getting into the house to get dinner started. We weren鈥檛 rushing out of the garage to get to work to make sure we were on time and we had the right coffee-to-cream ratio for our morning commute. We weren鈥檛 frantically pulling weeds to impress the soon-arriving vacationer guests who would be at the house in the matter of hours.
Instead, we all were still.
There was nothing else to do but to stop, take in the moment, and share in the joy that God had offered up on a random Tuesday night in January.
Maybe there鈥檚 something there.
As I finished my walk 鈥 a usually quick stroll that turned into something much more than that 鈥 I couldn鈥檛 help but wonder 鈥 was this what it was like 鈥渋n the good ol鈥 days鈥?
No phones, only genuine conversations.
No stress over the worries of tomorrow, but the joy of the moment.
No informal 鈥渉ow ya doin's" but meaningful connections over a shared joy 鈥 SNOW!
For a few minutes, it felt like I was plucked from the chaotic pace of 2025 and placed into the simple and present-focused world that I have only ever heard discussed by my grandparents.
On Tuesday night, I learned that I have some wonderful neighbors. And along the way, at the risk of sounding too dramatic, I think I learned a lot about myself.
Life is a fast-paced world, and I am blessed to live in it. But maybe it鈥檚 time to let the winter weather teach me a lesson.
Right before I went to open my garage door and head into the house for the night, I tried to stop and look around at all the houses that have surrounded me for several years. Lit by just streetlights that illuminated the falling Carolina snowflakes, I wondered what 2025 might be like if I made more of an effort to create intentional neighborly moments like the ones I had just experienced.
Maybe I will, maybe I won鈥檛. I sure hope I will.
But, regardless, I hope it teaches me a lesson that I believe is beneficial for everyone.
Life is short. And joy in the seemingly mundane and 鈥渓ittle things鈥 exists all around us every single day.
Let the snow be a reminder to stop more often and to share in the joy of this world with the people around us.
Who knows 鈥 maybe in some unique ways, it will allow us to transport back to those good ol鈥 days and reclaim the joyful, simple moments that filled the lives of those who came before us.
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