I live on a cul-de-sac. Our house sits dead-center. My backyard neighbors 6 yards, I can see 14 houses. It’s impossible for me to be a hermit.
Though we spend the majority of our time in the backyard, it’s the neighbors in the circle we have relationships with. We have nothing in common. Their kids are older than ours. We don’t go to their church. They’re younger. We camp every weekend. We snowmobile. They have bigger families. I work.
There’s no where I’d rather live.
We’re friends because we’re accepting of our differences. Not tolerant. Tolerant is: I allow you to exist, but I don’t agree with you. I’m still right, you’re wrong. We agree to disagree.
Acceptance is: I honor our differences. We can’t all be the same. I value the perspective you bring to situations because of your uniqueness. You being right doesn’t make me wrong.
I’m the first to admit it was a tough paradigm shift. I’m a big lover of being right. I got to unload a lot of stress when I realized we can all be right. Especially when it comes to religion. There is no wrong. Can’t be. We all get to be right when it comes to religion.