Sonder Around The Pond
Sonder Around The Pond:
Seeing what’s familiar with new eyes
by Sara Kernan
There are faces in my neighborhood that are growing familiar. We have a routine in our home: rain or shine, quarantine or not, if I want to or don’t… I walk the dog. The alarm goes off and coffee gets poured. I get dressed and make the bed. I put on layers then do the macarena check for phone, keys, dog bags. I lace up boots and ask my dog, “do you want to go on a walk?” To which he acts like I just told him we are going to Disneyland and paws at the door. "Walk" is his favorite word.
There’s a pond that calls us in the neighborhood. It has a path and 4-5 laps are just what Sully needs to not chew through my furniture during the day. These mornings start in the pink start of morning where the sun hasn’t quite decided if it’s going to hit snooze or get up. Dew or frost kiss the grass and Sully walks sporadically in excitement.
From the front door to the start of the path, he finally remembers how to walk in a straight line again.
There are consistencies in what our walk looks like. Two geese like to alert the whole neighborhood that we’re here. Ducks nap in the middle of the pond. A team of construction workers continue on the project on the main office which always startles Sully as power tools and foot traffic are a stark contrast to the napping ducks.
There’s a man who lets his golden retriever out around this time.
A woman on the balcony sits on her phone and nods to me as we start our first lap.
There’s an older gentleman who puts out his cigarettes in an old Folgers can who always waves generously and says good morning.
A father and daughter walk apart from each other, with the dad doing crazy dance moves and the daughter mimicking them in a game that they play.
A gentleman with gray hair and matching mustache shuffles thoughtfully with his Yorkie.
It’s simple and small, these brief moments of human interaction. It reminds me of a word that I learned in high school, learning that others had subscribed a word to a feeling I had on the tip of my tongue. “Sonder - noun: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.”
Sonder fills the path by the pond more than normal these days. I wonder if the construction workers are doing okay, driving to work for their essential jobs and hoping that they don’t get sick en route.
The man letting our his golden retriever looks up at the clouds, what’s he thinking about? Is he anxious or at peace?
The woman who waves looks intently on her phone. Is it family she’s missing? The familiarity of her work routine?
Mr. Folgers who waves every lap around the pond. Does he have everything he needs? Does the store bring him anxiety, fearing what invisible germs may linger in the aisles?
The father and his daughter, making a habit of being outside when a kid’s world has been contained to indoors.
The gray mustached man and his Yorkie make sure to say something positive when we cross paths at 6 feet apart. Does he go home alone with his Yorkie? Is this the only interaction in his day?
I see my neighbors better as I sit in sonder around the pond. And I hope that sonder sticks beyond these days when we rebuild a new pattern that doesn’t involve shut doors and 6 feet distancing reminders.
I hope that the next time someone cuts me off in traffic, when someone sits alone in the park, or when someone insists on making small chat that I remember, we all have vivid and complex lives. I hope that I do what I can to draw connection and build community beyond the path around the pond.