I Live in the “Loneliest City in America” — But I Never Feel Alone

I lived in Richmond, Virginia, until I was in high school. It was a point of pride for me. I hadn’t even grown up in a particularly walkable part of the city, but even as a kid I knew there was something special about being a city-dweller. I remember thinking, “Someday, I’ll live in one of those Victorian homes in the Fan, an in-town neighborhood in Richmond. I’ll walk everywhere.” Looking back, I’m sure my dream of city life was centered on that house in that specific neighborhood in Richmond. 

Fast forward to today, and I did achieve the dream of living in an old Victorian house, and I do manage to walk everywhere. But I’m not in Richmond; I live in Washington, D.C. People say that living in a big, walkable city can be lonesome — in fact, the Chamber of Commerce calls D.C. the “loneliest city in America!” — but I have never felt less alone than I do when I’m home.

I often hear friends who live in drivable communities lament, “I feel like I never see anyone. It takes months to coordinate schedules and meet up with a friend.” But they drive directly to where they need to be — whether it’s to the grocery store, to daycare, or to work. Their lives are so different from mine. I’ve given this difference a lot of thought, and I realize now that it’s the structure of my life itself that facilitates my relationships. Living in a walkable city removes one of the biggest barriers to seeing people — the planning on my phone, the getting in the car, and then getting to my destination. I’ve found that when I’m already out and about walking everywhere, it’s lower stakes to just run into someone and travel together. Even if my friends and I all just have errands to run, we’re all walking to the same place, so why not walk there together?

Walkability means I don’t have to spend as much time texting, looking at digital calendars, or coordinating with multiple phone numbers. I can’t run into a friend when I’m in a car. But when I’m walking everywhere, with my phone stuck in my pocket? Community becomes inevitable. I’m fortunate to live in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of the district. It’s urban, but it’s green. It’s full of quiet streets and historic homes, yet I often tell people it’s an island within the city. It’s cut off a bit from the rest of the city, thanks to the Capitol complex and the National Mall. Everything I need is right here, within a few blocks, and that means everyone around me is also existing within these same few blocks. It’s not hard to get to know my neighbors in real life when I run into the same people daily.

Time and time again, I came up against this idea that as soon as my husband and I had kids, we’d want to move out to the suburbs and buy a bigger house with a garage like many of our friends had done. But I’m glad we stayed. Unlike our friends, we are able to have natural, casual touch points of connection with our neighbors because there are fewer barriers to do so. There’s no garage, car, or large plot of land dividing us. More often than not, just by leaving the house, I find there are people to speak to, parks to walk by, sidewalks to pass. 

A walk to the grocery store turns into a stroll around the park just because I ran into a friend. I know that my evening walk home from daycare pickup takes me past a friend’s house, and, chances are, they’ll be in their yard to say hello, no planning needed. It’s where I can send out a quick text — “Hey, I’m headed to the farmers market, want to walk with me?” — and before I know it I have three takers and a gaggle headed out to see what this week’s produce offers. I know that if I walk down a certain street at 6 p.m., I won’t be able to go more than half a block without running into a neighbor or a good friend who wants to stop and chat. That familiarity has become my real-life, honest-to-goodness community — one with no digital coordination required. 

I was recently walking down the street a few months back and passed by a woman FaceTiming someone who was considering a move to Capitol Hill. “This neighborhood is full of families! Look at all the strollers!” she exclaimed as she walked by (I was, in fact, one of the strollers she was passing at that moment).

She seemed surprised … and delighted. This idea that everyone is just out and about, saying hello to neighbors and going on their golden-hour walk, while surrounded by this walkable, vibrant city neighborhood, is perhaps not expected if you assume the move to the suburbs is inevitable. But while a drive to a Costco would be convenient, the corner market is just a three minute walk, and the bigger grocery store, just eight. Ultimately, the trade-offs would never be worth it for me. It can’t be overstated how wonderful it is to have daily interactions I don’t have to plan, whether they’re with neighbors who’ve become close friends or just the same baker I visit three times a week. I want my kid to grow up in the same environment, realizing that friendships can be built in real life, and even by accident.