There’s a disturbing clarity in watching The Perfect Neighbor — a 2025 documentary that has become one of the most talked-about films of the year. Told almost entirely through police body camera footage, 911 calls, and real recordings from Ocala, Florida, the film replays the fatal shooting of Ajike “A.J.” Owens, a 35-year-old Black mother of four, by her white neighbor, Susan Lorincz. What begins as minor complaints about kids playing in a backyard spirals into a confrontation that ended in death, incarceration, and national conversation about race, guns, and community.  Directed by Geeta Gandbhir and released on Netflix after premiering at Sundance, the film has been lauded for its unflinching use of real footage — no dramatic re-enactments, no narrated opinions — leaving viewers to sit in the uncomfortable space of witnessing a slow buildup of fear, resentment, miscommunication, and institutional failures.  As we watch arguments over noise, perceived trespass, and p...

In the past few years, discussion around “third places” has exploded. Sociologists, journalists, and everyday residents are rediscovering something our grandparents intuitively knew: we are healthier, happier, and more trusting when we have places to gather that are neither home nor work. These informal gathering spots — from coffee shops and bowling alleys to libraries, barbershops, convenience stores, and churches — once formed the backbone of American social life. Today, they are endangered. I’ve felt this decline personally. Several years ago, I committed to visiting a pizza café near my office for lunch once a week. I stayed afterward, hoping to read, talk with strangers, and build a sense of place. Most of the time, I was the only customer. Eventually, the café closed — and with it, the possibility of that space becoming my regular hangout. I moved to a convenience store but no one else ever showed up so I abandoned that options. I tried a local coffee shop and most days I was th...

  In a converted one-room schoolhouse in Thetford, Vermont, more than 40 neighbors squeeze shoulder to shoulder around a wooden buffet overflowing with goat-cheese crostini, fatback beans, and home-baked pies. Children dart between legs. Old friends embrace. Newcomers are welcomed as if they’ve lived there forever. And for a few hours each month, a community that has weathered industry collapse, population turnover, and cultural polarization becomes whole again. This monthly potluck in the Rice’s Mills Schoolhouse has been going strong for 60 years. The December 2025  New York Times story chronicling the gathering and it reads almost like a love letter to what America used to do naturally: show up, bring a dish, talk to strangers, and create a place where everyone feels like they belong. But the deeper lesson is not nostalgia. It’s a roadmap—one that rural Missouri is perfectly positioned to follow. Lesson 1: A Simple, Predictable Tradition Builds Belonging The Rice’s Mill...

  For years, Boulder, Colorado, has championed town‐square democracy—from council “listening sessions” to micro-grants for block parties—but a new grassroots experiment is giving that civic DNA a turbo-boost. The Neighborhood Accelerator Program (NAP) is a ten-week, choose-your-own-adventure course that teaches residents how to knock on doors, design flyers, host potlucks, and—most important—turn the strangers next door into a safety net of friends.  Founded by North Boulder resident Savannah Kruger, NAP has already spread to 88 neighborhoods in 11 countries, yet its heartbeat still thumps loudest right here beneath the Flatirons, where Kruger’s original cohort is rewriting the rules of neighborliness. What follows is a look at how the program works, why it matters, and what it’s already changing on our city blocks. What exactly is NAP? At its core, NAP is a 10-week, step-by-step mentorship that blends weekly 90-minute classes with real-world homework: flyer your block, k...

  Making Neighborhoods Whole is a transformative and deeply practical handbook on Christian community development, co-authored by Wayne Gordon and the Rev. John M. Perkins—two pioneers of the Christian Community Development Association (CCDA). Drawing on decades of on-the-ground experience in North Lawndale, Chicago, and across the United States, the book outlines eight actionable principles central to fostering resilient, empowered, and equitable neighborhoods. Structure & Storytelling The book blends narrative history with hands-on guidance. Early chapters trace the genesis of Christian community development, from Perkins’s civil rights roots in Mississippi to Gordon’s relocation into North Lawndale, culminating in the founding of the CCDA. These stories are more than memoirs—they frame the rest of the book, giving emotional meaning to each principle that follow. The Eight Principles Each chapter focuses on one of CCDA’s eight guiding commitments, illustrated with real-life ...

  In Colorado Springs, community leader Thomas Thompson—an ex-pastor turned civic advisor—is redefining neighborhood improvement by starting with one simple yet profound question: “Who’s not here?” As he explains, “Even when I started getting into church work, it was always the question of ‘who’s not here, who’s not included here.’ That’s still a driving question for me today. I’m driven to serve by that idea of who’s not brought in and who’s being left out.”  My Neighboring 101 Interview of Thomas Thompson Community Positive article on Thomas Thompson That question formed the foundation of the city’s “1,000 Neighborhood Gatherings” initiative—a grassroots campaign designed to involve every corner of the city. Local residents, rather than the city, were invited to host small-scale events—“donuts on the driveway,” backyard barbecues, or evening strolls—with the goal of strengthening social bonds and identifying those who’d been overlooked.  Initially seeking a thousand gat...

  Springfield, Missouri, proudly holds the title “Birthplace of Route 66,” a distinction rooted in history and community spirit. But the modern celebration of that legacy didn’t start with a city council or a tourism bureau—it began with a neighborhood. In the early 2000s, Rusty Worley, then president of the West Central Neighborhood Alliance, wanted to bring neighbors together in a way that celebrated Springfield’s unique heritage. He and a handful of volunteers organized a modest block party on College Street—the historic corridor where Route 66 once ran through the heart of town. The first event featured classic cars, local music, and a few food vendors.  The event was small, but it struck a chord. Locals and visitors alike wanted more. Over the years, that little neighborhood party grew, fueled by the passion of residents and community leaders who saw Route 66 not just as a highway, but as a symbol of American adventure and connection.  Eventually, the City of Springf...

In today’s hyper-connected world, it’s easy to mistake communication for connection—especially in our neighborhoods. We wave from the driveway, comment on a Facebook post, or send a quick text about a package on the porch. But genuine neighboring doesn’t start with information exchange. It starts with trust. The same rule that applies to strong teams is true on every block in Missouri: people have to connect as people before they can collaborate as neighbors. Or put another way, neighborhoods grow at the speed of trust. Think about any neighborhood project that fizzled—an event no one showed up to, a beautification idea that stalled, or a tough issue that never got addressed. Most of the time, the problem isn’t a lack of good intentions or ability. It’s that people didn’t yet feel connected enough, safe enough, or aligned enough to work together. Without trust, even the best plans become polite coordination rather than genuine collaboration. But when neighbors truly know one another, s...