When I read the first edition of “On Tyranny” last year, I thought I had understood the meaning of Lesson 12. I had always been distant towards my neighbors. Not curmudgeonly,mind you. I was pleasant enough. Then when the February 2021 freeze came to Texas (I’ve lived in Austin for nearly 45 years), there were knocks on my front door. Young people—my neighbors from up and down the street (I live on a very short street)—had come to ask me, “Are you OK? Do you need water?” We had all been without running water for about eight days. Jed checked my water purifying system to make sure the pipes hadn't burst. Leigh texted me about every other day, asking, “Do you need water? Is there anything else you need?” “How very kind of you to offer, but no.” I told her what I have and if they needed any of it (they have two young children), I was happy to give it to them. When the water came back on, another neighbor, Nic, was at my doorstep, pliers in hand, asking,“Did the pilot on your hot water heater go out? Do you need me to relight it?”“Yes, I’m afraid it’s gone out. Do come in.” And then I met Nic’s partner Z. I was taken aback by their goodness. It seemed almost unreal. After the temperature finally rose to above freezing, everything seemed different. Whenever I’m out in the front garden, we greet each other and chat a bit. I even ask them how they’re doing. Then just last week, when I opened my front door after dark to walk out into the garden to see if I could hear the night birds—screech and great horned owls, and whip-poor-wills and Chuck Will’s widows—I found several brown paper bags filled with groceries I had not ordered sitting on my front porch. A large question mark hovered over my head. “Oh dear, dear, dear,” I thought. I kept a clear head about me, though, and called the supermarket. It turned out that they belonged to the people two doors down, who had just called the supermarket to ask about their whereabouts. So I grabbed a flashlight and beetled to their house in my dressing gown and knocked on their door. “I think your groceries are on my front porch.” The young man was delighted, and as he followed me back to my house, he introduced himself to me. Quite gregarious, he is. So now I know Harvey and Ali.
I pre-ordered the new edition and received it in October. I’ve been reading each lesson just before I watch the video/listen to the pod version. But it had never occurred to me to connect the adventures I had had with my neighbors to that lesson until after I had read the new Lesson 12 and listened to your commentary. It turns out I hadn’t understood that lesson when I had read it the first time after all. It had never before crossed my mind that talking to one’s neighbors is a political act, and I am grateful to you for this insight.
When I read the first edition of “On Tyranny” last year, I thought I had understood the meaning of Lesson 12. I had always been distant towards my neighbors. Not curmudgeonly,mind you. I was pleasant enough. Then when the February 2021 freeze came to Texas (I’ve lived in Austin for nearly 45 years), there were knocks on my front door. Young people—my neighbors from up and down the street (I live on a very short street)—had come to ask me, “Are you OK? Do you need water?” We had all been without running water for about eight days. Jed checked my water purifying system to make sure the pipes hadn't burst. Leigh texted me about every other day, asking, “Do you need water? Is there anything else you need?” “How very kind of you to offer, but no.” I told her what I have and if they needed any of it (they have two young children), I was happy to give it to them. When the water came back on, another neighbor, Nic, was at my doorstep, pliers in hand, asking,“Did the pilot on your hot water heater go out? Do you need me to relight it?”“Yes, I’m afraid it’s gone out. Do come in.” And then I met Nic’s partner Z. I was taken aback by their goodness. It seemed almost unreal. After the temperature finally rose to above freezing, everything seemed different. Whenever I’m out in the front garden, we greet each other and chat a bit. I even ask them how they’re doing. Then just last week, when I opened my front door after dark to walk out into the garden to see if I could hear the night birds—screech and great horned owls, and whip-poor-wills and Chuck Will’s widows—I found several brown paper bags filled with groceries I had not ordered sitting on my front porch. A large question mark hovered over my head. “Oh dear, dear, dear,” I thought. I kept a clear head about me, though, and called the supermarket. It turned out that they belonged to the people two doors down, who had just called the supermarket to ask about their whereabouts. So I grabbed a flashlight and beetled to their house in my dressing gown and knocked on their door. “I think your groceries are on my front porch.” The young man was delighted, and as he followed me back to my house, he introduced himself to me. Quite gregarious, he is. So now I know Harvey and Ali.
I pre-ordered the new edition and received it in October. I’ve been reading each lesson just before I watch the video/listen to the pod version. But it had never occurred to me to connect the adventures I had had with my neighbors to that lesson until after I had read the new Lesson 12 and listened to your commentary. It turns out I hadn’t understood that lesson when I had read it the first time after all. It had never before crossed my mind that talking to one’s neighbors is a political act, and I am grateful to you for this insight.
It only takes a moment to say the right things to any person. The most important lesson I have learned, over the years, is the power of listening.