Putting Our Upper West Side Best Side Forward (Most Days, Anyway)

By Yvonne Vávra

Here’s a friendly reminder: last week it was reported that the Upper West Side is one of the friendliest neighborhoods in the entire country. I bring this up because I just emerged from a rabbit hole on Nextdoor that nearly convinced me I live in a mayhemopolis, where menaces on e-bikes, face-punchers, package thieves, garbage throwers, and all sorts of other bandits are out to get me at all times.

And it’s all happening in the middle of far too much dog poop on the sidewalks.

Now, these are real problems that affect our daily lives. But it’s also true that most days, most of us make it through without running into any of these issues. Most of the time (dare I say it and risk getting yelled at in the comment section?) this is a lovely place to live. Spectacularly lovely.

The study that ranked us in the Top 10 of friendly neighborhoods in the United States based its friendliness score on factors like household income, cost of living, crime rates, and the percentage of family households. I’m not sure how those things make for friendlier folks, but then again, I’m no scientist. What I am is an Upper West Sider, and as such, I can confidently attest that the findings are accurate.

In fact, we should have been number one, since the seven communities ahead of us have significantly fewer people. The winner, Elkhorn in Omaha, has around 31,000 residents. According to the study, the UWS has 189,000. It’s much more of a challenge to be friendly when you’re living among 100,000 people per square mile, constantly in each other’s faces. Most of us don’t have the luxury of retreating into cars and spacious houses when things get overwhelming — typically, we have no choice but to interact.

Now comes my chance to tell a story I’ve been dying to share for a long time. I was lingering in front of Sweetgreen at 75th and Amsterdam because my dog had to sniff out something important. Along came actor Richard Kind, who asked if I could kindly watch his dog while he went in to grab some sweet greens. What a considerate neighbor, respecting the no-dog policy! I don’t know why he trusted me — maybe his oxytocin levels were high, or maybe he was just having a really good day. Both factors make us more likely to trust others. Or maybe the neighborhood deserves the credit: Studies show that in strong, connected communities where residents interact regularly, people tend to trust each other more.

Be that as it may, the dogs felt it too. They politely sniffed each other’s butts and, without another word, became a team in the waiting game.

When Mr. Kind came back out, I was kind enough to stay supercool and not get on his nerves by rambling on about how much joy his acting has brought into my life over the years.

When I first came to New York 15 years ago, I experienced the whole city as a friendly place. This says a lot about my home country, Germany, you might say. There, the default is to avoid interaction or keep it to the polite minimum. Do you have any idea how weirded out I was the first time I went to Trader Joe’s and the cashier asked how my day was going or shared their ideas on what to do with the groceries in my cart?

Or when a random stranger complimented my shoes — with no ulterior motive? Or when a woman tending to a tree bed asked me to hand her the daffodil bulbs that were out of her reach? Not to mention the first time I noticed my own armor slip, smiling and chatting my way around the neighborhood, complaining about the wind to a fellow stroller in the park, laughing with a librarian about a book I’d checked out, or standing on the corner for half an hour listening to a woman tell me how her cat once saved her life.

The Upper West Side has turned this German friendly.

The openness, helpfulness, and sense of sticking together — don’t take these things for granted. Back in Berlin, if I’d fallen on an icy sidewalk like I once did in front of the 96th Street subway station, I probably would have had to wobble back up on my own. The Germans would have calculated that I’m young and capable enough to manage, and that the situation didn’t require human interaction. But here on the UWS, I was immediately surrounded by neighbors rushing to my rescue. One woman took a fall herself in an effort to lift me up

If you look, friendliness is everywhere. It’s in our Buy Nothing groups on Facebook, where neighbors go out of their way to give each other everything one could need or want, and in the Curb Alert chat, where neighbors post pictures of discarded items that could easily become someone else’s treasure. We organize in groups to beautify our squares, tend to community gardens, and plant tree beds. Often when the Rag posts an article about a bodega, boutique, or hardware store closing down, the comment section fills with heartfelt testimonials about how friendly the owners were and the important roles they played in people’s lives.

Remember when Bustan restaurant on Amsterdam took in a lost dog and served him hummus and falafel until he was reunited with his owner? Or when a retiree returned a wallet with $10,000 inside? How about the two Upper West Side women — both named Flavia, both doctors, and complete strangers to each other — who came together to resuscitate a man whose heart had stopped beating after a fall in Central Park?

It’s easy to forget all of that when you’re tripping over trash or find yourself caught in the crossfire of someone’s bad day. We’re hard-wired to register negative events more eagerly and with greater intensity. This negativity bias helped our ancestors survive. Watching out for threats mattered more than marveling at the beautiful berries in the bushes. Today, we have the privilege of choosing what to focus on.

But if Upper West Side life really starts to test your nerves, just consider that the unfriendly folks you keep running into might be dealing with their own dilemmas, fighting their way through a tough time. Cutting some slack is a kind thing to do. The Upper West Side gives us so many reasons to be in a friendly mood. One of them — and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it is a crucial point — is that it’s not Elkhorn, Omaha.

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