In his novel Neverwhere, famed fantasy author Neil Gaiman* creates a world that shadows our own, one where entire societies and cultures exist within the cracks and crevices of this one. This world’s people – their lives and struggles, their cites and homes – exist just outside our peripheral vision. This world isn’t concealed by magic or cosmic power. It’s not an alternate universe. The world was built by people that have simply been forgotten. It contains places and things we’ve simply stopped paying attention to. In this way, they’ve become invisible.

I like Neverwhere. I’m sure the book resonates with anyone who’s ever felt alienated or left behind or invisible – especially since Gaiman’s shadow world is a lot cooler than the normal one. There’s danger and adventure and ancient quests. There’s also talking rats and a minotaur. If you’re not down with that, stick with The Outsiders. 

What I really like is that it’s not just people that get forgotten – it’s entire places. It makes me think about how our brains work and how frighteningly easy it is to just push something out of one’s own reality. Why do we do this? Why do we stop paying attention? I’m no psychologist, but I did sit through a quarter of a semester of a college-level psych class in the mid ’90s, so I’m probably qualified to offer some answers.

We get distracted. We get busy. We stop caring. We avoid unpleasant things that cause conflict and unhappy thoughts and tummy aches. We slot ourselves into daily routines that don’t offer us the time or space to think about anything outside what we’ve preordained as important.

And without realizing it, entire people, places, and things have just disappeared for our world. 

In Neverwhere, this sets the stage for adventure and mystery and fighting a freaking minotaur. In real life, this sets the stage for missing out on some really great stuff. And in many cases, that loss of attention can be devastating to the community around you. 

For example, downtown areas across the nation – the ones attempting a comeback – are dealing with this very issue. The process of revitalizing entire areas of a city is akin to pulling off a giant invisibility cloak.** You can throw up all kinds of new buildings and set up new shops and restaurants, but until the community at large starts paying attention, none of it really matters. It’s a hard thing to achieve. And it’s especially tough for a small business owner.

* Who totally lives nearby and totally goes to local roller girl bouts. And is also totally awesome.
** Or, if you’re more into Star Trek than Harry Potter, “The process of revitalizing entire areas of a city is akin to disabling a ship’s cloaking device.”

For example, the Stones Throw in downtown Eau Claire. For years, I’ve run into people – locals who have lived here for decades – who still think it’s a “biker bar.” The Stones Throw has been through what feels like countless non-biker variations and makeovers, but its bike bar persona has somehow endured. For crying out loud, there was a time when you could walk into that bar on a Thursday night and watch Will & Grace on the TV over the bar.

At some point in time, people heard it was a biker bar, and since Wisconsin bikers are so scary, they steered clear, stopped paying attention, and forgot about it. I guess I can’t blame them. It’s not like small business owners have a ton of money to spend on public image campaigns. But at the same time, if these people paid closer attention to their community, maybe some iteration of the landmark tavern could have lasted. Instead, they all got Neverwhered.

How about another example? There’s a certain part of Eau Claire that people have called “the ghetto” for as long as I can remember. Now, the concept of Eau Claire having an actual ghetto (or anything resembling the urban blight of a huge city) is absurd. Yes, this particular residential area is not the newest or most well-preserved part of town, but it’s no ghetto. That said, many people have written it off as a place to be avoided. 

Meanwhile, this neighborhood has developed one of the city’s most active neighborhood associations, and its home to one of the most active neighbor-maintained community gardens. If people were still paying attention, they wouldn’t be calling it a ghetto.

And this is my whole point. These forgotten areas have some very cool people working to do some very cool things in them. Some have come and gone – small, spectacular blips on the radar. Others are still there, toiling away to make good things happen. The least we can do is give them our attention.

If you’re reading this magazine, there’s a good chance you’re “the choir.” I’m betting you pay closer attention to your community than many locals. This means it’s your job to help spread the word and direct attention to the Valley’s invisible zones. If you see something you like, you need to let people know. Tell your family at Thanksgiving dinner. Tell your barber when you’re getting a haircut. Tell the people next to you in line at the grocery store. You need to fight to keep these things visible.

If you somehow get to fight a minotaur in the process, well, that’s just icing on the cake.