13 November 1997 (2)

I've been here about a month, and I'm just now beginning to feel comfortable: settled in to my room as though it's a home, and into the neighborhood as though I'm now allowed to stay; welcomed into the neighborhood not necessarily by the people, but by the streets, the buildings, the air.

Oddly, it was only when I began to sense that I was now familiar to the residents here that I became aware of what the situation was before: all eyes upon me, a curious and suspicious character; a stranger who needed to be watched. It was only when they relaxed toward me that I realized the personality of the neighborhood toward newcomers. But now that I sense that they are changing, I now notice from what they are now changing. This is definitely a neighborhood where you should talk to your neighbors.

Though this sort of scrutiny can feel daunting, I must say that I admire it. Instead of feeling my personal doings intruded upon - my own business interfered with by people who have no business in my business - through this sense of the neighbors monitoring my comings and goings, I perceive a sense of community that I've never felt in San Francisco. There, espying neighbors would be thought of as snoops; here, people are simply demonstrating the sense of nativism that transient San Franciscans only pretend to have.

When San Franciscans say "neighborhood," they refer only to the overall personality of the district as arises out of the type of shops and the general class of people who live there, not to any active participation with or concern for each other. (And when San Franciscans say "community," they mean a political group who share narrowly-defined interests, regardless of in what "neighborhoods" all members of that group live.)

Funny, I hadn't begun to feel any of this until I brought home this old chair that I'm now sitting in. I took in the chair, gave it a new home, and now the neighborhood is giving me the same. It's true: you get what you give.