THIS IS WHAT REAL LIVING FEELS LIKE...
THE NEIGHBORHOOD WE LOST AND THE HOME I FINALLY FOUND
There was a time when life felt warmer, slower, and more connected. Growing up in America—especially in the 1970s—felt like being wrapped in a shared understanding that everyone mattered. Those years weren’t perfect, but they were rich with something we don’t talk about enough today: community.
As a child growing up in New York, especially Queens, the neighborhood felt like a small town inside a big city. Everybody knew everybody. Faces were familiar. Names were remembered. Respect was expected, and kindness wasn’t rare—it was normal.
Summer was the heartbeat of it all. Kids played outside from morning until the streetlights came on. Baseball, football, laughter, and freedom filled the air. The entire block felt like one extended family, and every yard felt like it belonged to all of us.
Adults watched out for every child, not just their own. Parents knew each other well—where they worked, how they lived, and what they stood for. That closeness created a sense of safety that can’t be duplicated by locks, alarms, or cameras.
Looking back now, I realize how special that time was. At the time, it felt normal. Today, it feels like a rare gift—one that slowly faded as the world around us changed.
If you came home from school and lost your keys, it wasn’t a crisis. You simply knocked on a neighbor’s door. Any door. You were welcomed in like family. You could sit on the couch, do your homework, take a nap, or even eat a home-cooked meal. You were safe, and your parents knew it.
Neighbors let you use their phone to call your parents at work. No suspicion. No fear. No hesitation. Just trust.
There were rules back then—unspoken ones. If you walked past an adult carrying groceries or shoveling snow, you were expected to help. Walking past without offering was a violation. Respect wasn’t optional; it was taught through example.
Adults handled disagreements quietly. Even if parents didn’t always see eye to eye, they showed unity in front of the children. That taught us discipline, boundaries, and emotional maturity without lectures.
As the years passed, things began to change. Long-time neighbors moved away. Some retired to quieter places down south or to the countryside. Others moved because of divorce, growing families, or life simply pulling them elsewhere. Some passed on into the next phase of existence, something none of us can escape.
Slowly, the faces disappeared, even though the buildings remained. The neighborhood still looked the same, but it no longer felt the same. What once felt alive began to feel hollow.
Then came the businesses. Big corporations. Industrial growth. Commercial expansion. That was the final blow. Small communities that felt unbreakable faded away, replaced by traffic, noise, and strangers passing through without connection.
Like many others across America, I found myself saying, “It’s just not the same anymore.” And it wasn’t nostalgia talking—it was truth. Something human had been lost.
Wherever I moved along the East Coast afterward, I felt like someone who arrived at a house party too late. I enjoyed a few moments of warmth before the music stopped, the guests left, and the cold returned.
I began asking myself hard questions. Was this just how the world was now? Was community a thing of the past?
Fast forward to today. I’ve been living in Ghana, West Africa, for over five years. I live in the mountains outside Accra, and something unexpected happened—I felt that old feeling return.
The people around me are warm, open, and engaging. They greet you with genuine smiles. They see you. They remember you. The feeling is familiar in a way that reaches deep into the soul.
Recently, after some work was done at my home, I took a walk to the nearby village. The businesses are simple—mostly small, family-run shops. Nothing flashy. Nothing corporate. But everything felt alive.
Everyone knew each other. Conversations flowed easily. Shop owners, cab drivers, passersby—all connected through daily interaction. That twenty-minute walk filled my spirit in a way no luxury ever could.
I felt like I had known these people my whole life. The sense of belonging was intense and deeply fulfilling. This wasn’t forced friendliness—it was natural connection.
What made it even more meaningful was becoming a Ghanaian citizen. Holding dual citizenship strengthened that bond. It wasn’t just where I lived—it was where I belonged.
You don’t need a mansion or a million dollars to feel at home. Connection doesn’t come from status—it comes from shared humanity and grounded living.
In America, life felt rushed. Like a race that never ended. Here, I move at my own pace. I enjoy each day fully—from the moment I wake up until the moment I rest.
My body feels lighter. My sleep is deeper. My spirit is calmer. Surrounded by nature and real people, anxiety fades.
The idea that America is the only place to live a fulfilling life is propaganda. Travel shows you the truth. Some places agree with your spirit. Others don’t.
Most lists of the best places to live on the planet don’t include America—and there’s a reason. Life isn’t meant to feel like constant pressure.
Living here brought back the joy I felt as a child in Queens during the 1970s. That sense of community, warmth, and peace returned—just in a different place.
And if traveling across the world is what it takes to feel whole again, then it’s worth it. Life is made of small moments shared with others.
That’s what truly matters.
MY CLOSING THOUGHTS…
Community is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. When it disappears, something inside us fades with it.
The world didn’t become colder by accident. It lost its human connections piece by piece.
Finding that warmth again reminded me that it still exists—it just isn’t everywhere.
Sometimes, you have to move to find what your spirit remembers.
For that blessing, I remain deeply grateful every single day.
Thank you for absorbing my thoughts, it means a lot to me to know that you’re enjoying my expressions.
Much Love & Respect Always.
SCURV
