We've become isolated in our own communities

A health scare last year has led me to walk at least a mile and a half every day. Being located in Towson, my excursion on days of good or tolerable weather takes me around the Towson Town Center. Each time I do this, I am struck by the unwillingness of people that I see to say “hello.” Cellphones are one culprit, but they don’t explain the blank stare or the ignoring of a wave or a spoken greeting I also get. After some time, this experience opened up a curiosity about why this happens.

There was a time in the life of this country that knowledge of the outside world was very limited. News would come in the form of a traveler or a paper that could arrive weeks after something important happened. Townspeople depended on each other for relationships and a sense of community, so communication — personal, commercial or informal — happened by default. Everybody truly knew everybody, which could alternately be a blessing or a curse.

Over time, wider and more immediate communication developed. This was through the evolution of telegraph, telex, telephone, computers, and, now, cellphones. As this was happening, other movements and inventions contributed to the increasing separation of people from each other.

Life used to follow the patterns of the weather. Baltimore was well known for stoop sitting during the spring and summer. People would sit outside and play cards, talk or listen to (or complain about) music. Most people had access to a radio that could be put in an open window.

In my mind, there were two main events that basically eliminated these sorts of interactions. With the advent of air conditioning and television, people retreated to their living rooms and started to create the bubble that would surround them and keep out their neighbors. Along with this came the effort by commercial media to tell us what we should think.

Another force that separated us from each other was suburban sprawl. Not only were people holing up in their homes, the homes themselves were separated from each other. This also allowed, unfortunately, for a certain level of mischief or abuse that could not be detected by neighbors. Bit by bit, and especially as we grew more divided along cultural or economic lines, talking to each other became increasingly difficult.

And here I come asking people to say hello.

In some ways, I can understand why some people are reluctant to speak: I am an old white man, so the idea of acknowledging me might be difficult for a woman, no matter the age. Women have been terrorized by men and deserve to be cautious. I'm sure that, on some level, my color can carry its own presumed hazards, although people of color are actually more willing to talk to me than others. But my experience cuts across age, color and gender, for the most part. Sadly, my intuition says to me that the lack of connection is a matter of fear. It seems far safer to communicate with others by text and to use ear buds to let me know that you are unavailable. It seems as though people think that if they acknowledge each other, someone will ask something of them that they don't want to give and they won't feel the authority to say no.

I have been told that this might be a regional reaction. Friends have told me that, while visiting Austin or San Antonio, Texas, they are amazed at the level of interaction they experience on the street. This is all well and good, but, because I have lived in this state for 50 years, I call it home (though some would still call me a tourist) and long for even occasional connection. Hopefully I will live long enough to see the current level of divisiveness run its course and be able to offer a simple greeting without being suspect.

Gilbert Bliss is a psychotherapist in Towson. He can be reached at gblisscounselor@gmail.com.