Until recently, I used to think of my neighbors as distant figures—people who mostly existed to enforce rules like when and how to take out the garbage. My mental image of community was shaped more by obligation than connection. But something shifted.
It began with a small, dog-friendly café near my house—a rarity in Japan. I started visiting with Leon and Yuki, my two Japanese Spitz dogs. The café owner, a kind woman who runs the place on her own, immediately took a liking to them. Over time, we began chatting. She gave me practical advice on everything from where to shop for good deals to how to handle caregiving responsibilities (介護). In return, I helped her with tech—PC issues, smartphone setup, and even introduced her to ChatGPT.
It didn’t stop there. Through that café, I got to know other regulars—mostly people in their 60s or older. We slowly formed a circle. We share laughs, frustrations, and even go on outings together. Just the other day, we went strawberry picking (いちご狩り). I drove, and although it was a bit tight in the back of my UX300e, it was a short trip, and we had a great time.
These friendships have changed how I feel about my neighborhood. Where I once saw rigidity and distance, I now see warmth and mutual support. I no longer feel like I’m on my own.
Helping these friends with tech has become a small but meaningful way to contribute. I show them how to use smartphones, how to set up useful apps, and sometimes even how to explore AI. In return, I get companionship, practical wisdom, and a sense of belonging that no app or screen can provide.
In a society where many quietly shoulder their burdens, these connections have reminded me that community doesn’t have to be formal or loud. It can be small, kind, and real. And sometimes, it starts with a dog, a coffee, and a little curiosity.
If you feel out of touch, try being gently present in the lives around you. You might find allies where you least expect them.
