Loving my neighbor ... or at least learning her name.

I voted this morning, which in general was an exciting experience. I've always mailed my ballot--first, because I lived in Washington where voting by mail was quite common, and later because I was a military spouse living in Georgia but retaining my Washington residency. It was a cool experience to actually go wait in line and vote with others from my community.

I did have a rather convicting moment, though, when I realized the girl checking voters in was my next-door neighbor. My next-door neighbor who I've never spoken to, beyond an occasional "hello." We've lived in our apartment for 2.5 years, and I don't know a single neighbor's name. (OK, that's not entirely true--I do know Bill, the old man who loves to talk--but that's just because he likes to talk so much).

I've thought many times that I should make an effort to get to know my neighbors, but I've never actually done it. I think and talk a lot about affecting the community and loving people, and I do look for ways to volunteer and get involved, but I haven't taken the simple step of really meeting my actual, literal, physical neighbors. Much of it is just plain shyness, some of it is the fact that I've never looked at our current apartment, or even our current city, as a long-term home. It's just sort of where we sleep, while we work, go to school, go to church, and do almost everything else in other cities. But all reasons and excuses aside, I should be making a real effort to love my neighbors. And I'm pretty sure a good first step would be saying hello, and maybe even, you know, asking their names.

My neighbor, whose name I still don't know, greeted me at the polls with a "Hi, Neighbor!" and quickly found my name on the list--because, after all, we have the same address. I guess she knows my name now, at least. And at least now I have a conversation-starter.