Common Courtesy is only for the Common.

I live in what, until the recent housing boom and ensuing bust, was small-town America. A mid-sized city that still had a main street USA feel. Go to the store, see three people you know. Go out to eat, there at the table across from you is someone from high school. Get on an airplane, sit next to someone from church or the old neighborhood.

Someone from the big city might find this stifling. How is one supposed to carry on illicit affairs or other dirty deeds under this kind of scrutiny? Only those who have lived with the solitary confinement of walking through a city composed of cold concrete and disinterested strangers, and has capitulated emotionally to that vacuum of anonymous loneliness might think that numerous acquaintances would be an impediment. In any walk of life, knowing people and being known by them should be bedrock-foundational to a fulfilled life. These truths are so self-evident that they sound vapid: People are important. Relationships matter. To have a friend, you must first be one.

One measure of the small town's regard for people is the Friendly Greeting in Passing. The big city counterpart is the Avert the Eyes and Say Nothing. Why the difference? You must not be from around here, because here in the city, the Friendly Greeting on the sidewalk simply isn't done. No one knows why. Too many people to reasonably greet? Self-preservation because you don't know who's a crazy who will take your "Good Day" as a "Stalk Me?" If asked, I'll bet that's the rationale. But only at the conscious level. I think the unwillingness is laziness, or self-centeredness, but mostly an ingrained disdain for people in general. Just as the city is full of people; people everywhere become a hindrance, an impediment, merely many obstacles as I try to get about my more-important-than-theirs business.

The deep psychology of kindness in the city is another post. I don't really need to point out the big city's shortcomings here, except to note that smaller usually is, and should be, kinder.

Enter the jogging trail. In my travels, I've found this to be the measuring stick of the heart of a town of any size: is there still a small-town friendliness to be found in the sub-city? Is there still a small town want in this city for people to connect with other people? Somewhere where even in the largest of the large, people can regard strangers with courtesy? The dance club or bar doesn't work; shoulder past me, dig me or fight me. Even the church or the business club, individuals shield themselves. The runner's road/bike path/jogging trail in each city is the place where a sliver of the population shows up with no real pretense. Here, everyone's looking weary, sweaty, and, noting each passer-by in the same condition, looking each other in the eye with a mutual respect. The premise here is These people are me.

People passing each other here nod, wave, say Hellos, Keep it Ups, or even See You Back Out Here Tomorrows. These tiny gestures are the indicators that here, even in a large and mostly impersonal city, there's hope that people can value one another.

Back to my formerly-friendlier-but-growing-less-so mid-city-sized town. Out for a run on the bike trail, I noticed today that some don't get it. They must not be from around here. The university professor with coke-bottle lenses pedaling the three-wheeler is an import from the big city, the mid-50's man walking in his straw cowboy hat is an import from someplace where the prevailing culture is too macho for men to greet other men, the girl running with her headphones and designer glasses is an import from that disaffected internet-nannied generation where people are pixels – but, for the most part, most do.

The fat guy on the mountain bike nods coming and going. I'm in better shape than him, but he's still me; we're both out here working. The stick-thin and speedy cross country kid does the same. He's in better shape than me, but maybe I'm him in 25 years, still out here working. He acknowledges that with a fist pump. The old lady who walks her dog on the path every day to feed the feral cats under the bridge, she says hello. We're both morning people, we're both interested in the welfare of those cats (granted, at differing levels of involvement).

Here on our bike path, most people still feel connection. Most still show the courtesy. There's hope for my town. Let us continue to feed the hope with sweaty smiles.