A couple days ago, at just past six in the morning, I was awakened by the sound of loud stomping coming through my ceiling. Not an unusual occurrence.

The couple that live upstairs have two young sons who seem do everything LOUDLY.

Whether they’re running down the hall or yelling, they can make my walls tremble and the pendulum lamp that hangs over my dining room table shake.

I understand that kids need to play and expressed to their parents that I have no problems with noise when they come home from daycare, but at 6:00 in the morning. Come on!

I have asked the parents to try curtailing the noise between 6:00 and 8:00 in the morning a few times since moving in, but the morning revelry in my building hasn’t changed.

After pretty much giving up on the idea that my upstairs neighbors cared anything about me, I decided to ask for a little consideration again this past Saturday.

I pointed out that, as parents, they probably set rules about safety and that their kids are one year older than when I first asked (and maybe more able to take instruction).

In an exchange of emails about the problem this past weekend, the father admonished me for trying to bully them into moving. I told him that I didn’t want anyone to move. I just wanted the halls to be quieter at 6:00 in the morning.

I remembered another incident shortly after moving in. An HVAC contractor came to the building to check on each unit’s AC system. He must have knocked lose a coil in my upstairs neighbors’ unit. It blocked the drain where condensation went and water started leaking into my utility closet.

I brought the problem up to my neighbors and they had the HVAC contractor come back and correct the problem. I made no threats, but I asked them what happened, what the contractor told them, and whether they had noticed water pooling on their floor before I told them about the leak in my ceiling. They chose not to respond to me.

Between the kids’ morning stampedes and this incident, I couldn’t help but think about the Paul Simon song, “One Man’s Ceiling Is Another Man’s Floor.” Apparently, my upstairs neighbors didn’t get the memo.

As I exchanged emails with the father this weekend, I observed my own thinking and behaviors. They were complex. I often paused and edited what I wrote before hitting the SEND key. ( Thankfully.)

At first, I was angry. I felt dismissed, as if my point of view and experience was not being taken into account. I also felt sympathy for them, living with two young sons in a two-bedroom apartment with loud, wooden floors. I also wondered where the impulse to try to resurrect the subject came from after being shut down before.

In the flurry of emails that passed between us this weekend, I felt very much immersed in the beauty and messiness of being a human being. A good thing.

I wanted to be able to stand up for myself, but I also wanted to get along. I wanted to think that I could still talk to my neighbor – even after disagreeing on what a good parent would do in this situation.

And I thought of the famous quote from Rabbi Hillel

          “If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? If not now, when?”

Despite having once told me that his sons do not take NO for an answer (He explained they’ll often do the opposite of what is asked of them), mornings have been a little quieter these past few days.

Speaking up for your own interests and finding a way to live peaceably with your neighbor (not to mention getting an extra hour of sleep in the morning) is no small thing.