Nobody voted for this. No one sat at the kitchen table and decided to stop learning the names next door; the habit simply evaporated while we were busy. Things lost by accident are rarely noticed until they are needed.
Ecclesiastes draws a hard line between two lives. One looks perfectly fine in the ordinary season — groceries delivered, questions answered by a screen, nothing owed to anyone on the block. The other is the same life on the day of a diagnosis, a layoff, a grief, when self-sufficiency turns out to have been a loan against relationships never built. The force of the verse is its timing: the hand that catches a falling person has to already be there. Community is a structure woven through years of borrowed ladders and hallway hellos, and it cannot be assembled in the emergency itself. The data shows us the what, not the why — many people withdrew for reasons of grief, moves, or burdens no survey can see, and nothing here is an indictment of them.
Still, a net that frayed quietly can be rewoven the same way. This week offers a small start: learn one neighbor's name, offer a hand before one is needed, or simply say yes the next time help comes our way. What faded without a decision — might it return with one?