An otherwise ordinary afternoon last week was graced by an approximately 90-second storm. In our backyard, two large trees fell (luckily, neither on the house). It rained, the wind blew (the hardest I have ever witnessed in my life), a couple of branches fell. I thought, “phew, we got through this with relatively minimal damage.”

Then the second wave hit. Hail, more rain and wind — oh, the wind. It outperformed. A ginormous old tree that used to offer cover from the hot Maryland sun fell victim to it. Then the neighbor’s big tree went, accompanied by a few smaller trees on the periphery. Fortunately, our small suburban community did not suffer any serious losses during this weather tantrum.

When it was over, the whole neighborhood came outside to assess the damages and determine an immediate course of action. But what was striking was that, upon discovering a few small plants flipped over or window screens that are no longer with us (RIP), the neighbors started walking around. Their intent was not simply to look at who got hit the most and the least, and who had “very good insurance” and who didn’t (although there was some of that heard around), but to offer genuine help. (Fun fact: I had to stop typing mid paragraph to run outside in answer to the loud crack of yet another tree in a neighbor’s backyard falling.)

In my six months of living in this mostly white, suburban community, I have gotten to know approximately one neighbor, and that is because he and I regularly happen to be outside of our respective houses for a smoke break at the same time quite a bit. Today, I got to know nine other neighbors. I even overheard a conversation between a close neighbor (who apparently has a dream of becoming a musician) and a couple who moved in to the area about a year ago; the couple said they had a few guitars at home and would be happy to let him practice and play.

Disasters, even ones that might seem rather small, bring people together and remind us of our humanity. And that is because at heart we need others and each other. We go about life believing this “self-made” nonsense; here is the simple truth: Not one single person is or ever has been “self-made” — we all have helped someone, lifted someone up, pushed someone to get ahead. But we forget very easily because we don’t want to remember who helped us, when and how, and, perhaps most important, how much of an impact that has had on our respective lives.

But times like these make us get out there. It is not easy to be with people — new technology, media and various means of entertainment work hard to ensure lack of real, honest human connection. Today, though, when electricity was out for all of us equally (except for two very resourceful households with generators), we all got to enjoy human moments: of shaking hands with each other, of embracing each other, and of appreciating that we all came out of this safe and undamaged. Life isn’t on Instagram or Twitter or Facebook; life is right next door where your neighbors live. So let’s try not to wait for a storm to bring us together, but to remember and love each other every day.

Andrey Romanov (aromanov@pm.me) lives in Perry Hall.