The Burbs, The Boonies & The Boroughs
State Street? Or maybe it was Queen Street. I was wandering around looking for Philadelphia Alley in the prettiest part of Charleston. Now, this is a city I could totally live in.
Urban living? Yes.
Rural living? Probably yes.
Suburban living? I'd prefer not to.
What is it about the in-between that doesn't quite agree with me? I suppose I'm more comfortable at the opposite ends of the spectrum than being someplace that feels rather here nor there.
The thing about the suburbs for me is…well...kind of everything. It seems to bring out my anti-social self while depleting my inner calm and cranking up my outer cranky. There's an overall buttoned-up aura...too many cookie-cutter facades. And the topics of conversation don't interest me, and subjects that do interest me feel too taboo to talk about here. I'm not so much talking charming small towns – I love Main Street USA...I'm more painting a picture of the home-owners-association-abiding blocks built in stereotypical Stepford style.
This has been my experience of living between the two extremes. When people in the suburbs are bored, they tend to go outside and just start hammering things. All kinds of things...whatever they can find…rocks, fences, tires, cats, other hammers. They also extend their patios, build new sheds, repave their driveways, remove trees, then plant new ones, mow their lawns, then plant new ones, then poison them with pesticides. They point their weed whackers to the sky and make them sing loud and proud for all to hear. They put their barking dogs on display for all to fear. And worst of all, there's never a silent Saturday morning. The mowing never stops in the suburban summertime. And people will run their generators just to fill the silence, contributing to this seemingly never-ending symphony of sucky sounds. And in the evening, you'd better hope it's hot enough for central air to kick on because if it's a windows-open night, the cries of crickets and all kinds of creatures will pollute every moment of peace you could hope to have.
One neighbor has been masterminding an especially sneaky scheme – he somehow makes his car alarm go off at all hours of the day and night without ever touching it. It's been happening for months…everyone hears it…everyone knows whose car it is, and we all collectively pray for it to stop as soon as mechanically possible. And our devious neighbor waits it out, no doubt waiting to see who will crack first and come try to tip his car over in protest. Or maybe he's waiting on cupcake and casserole bribes. People offering their home cooking and cash in hopes it'll sway him to please get his car fixed. I teeter between the two motives, but I'm certain he's giggling behind a curtain somewhere every time he paranormally triggers the alarm. Sometimes I'm even tempted to throw myself at his mercy – offer to get his car fixed for him or pop the hood myself and start snipping away at things till I find the magic wire to make the car stop screaming. But that's what makes it such an ingenious plan…don't you see?? He's got me right where he wants me! Frothin' & foamin' to get some peace and quiet. But living in the burbs long enough will make you wonder if you're really even hearing the haunting sounds of it or if they're just your mind's manifestations conspiring to eject you from your surroundings.
Suburban PTSD can be quickly triggered by loud mowers, wood chippers, chainsaws, children's squeals, patterned hammering, and car alarms. But car alarms aren't specific to suburban living. If anything, you'd expect to hear them more in urban areas. The operative word being "expect." And maybe that's the key. When it's expected, anticipated, or simply the norm, it's less jarring because it's not out of place. Loud laughter in a library has a different effect than it would at a playground. A zebra is a pretty standard sighting at a zoo, but if that zebra's spotted just a few blocks outside that zoo, again, it's a whole different story. I guess I'm saying that car alarms bother me less in cities, and I'm justifying my bias. (And well, I might add, but of course, I agree with myself – it doesn't mean I'm right. You can be your own judge of whether my argument holds water.)
Truth be told, the sounds of the city used to bug me too, but it was different. Construction sounds are construction sounds anywhere and annoying as ever, wherever they are audible. But somehow, the sounds of street sweepers and buses stopping and starting fade into the background noise of my mind. Truth be told, I'm longing for those sounds so much now. Damn these cicadas and songbirds! Give me screams, hollers, and honking!
If I hear someone striking a hammer once the sun has set in the suburbs, I'm much more likely to get all uppity instantly. I might fly out of bed and over to the window magnetized, sticking my nose and eyes through the blinds as if to say with my stare, "YOU! You stop that, you!" with my vicious stare. But If I heard someone striking a hammer once the sun has set in the city, I'd spring out of bed with curiosity…the fun kind. I'd peer out the window, just like in the suburbs, only my eyes would be scanning for what kind of crazy I'm about to witness and get a good laugh at.
And I am willing to accept that this glorifying of urban living – this grass-is-greener effect is easily reversed. It's like how most girls who've had curly hair their whole life want straight hair and vice versa. But speaking as one who went permanently straight for a while – I missed my curls fairly early on. Every outcome has its trade-offs, but all in all, the older I get, the more I know me and the surroundings that give me my best results of me – I know where to live and where to only visit. And I've never lived in a rural setting, but I mentally glorify that too. I think my biggest gripe with it would be having to do an hourlong roundtrip to buy groceries, then having to do it all over again because I realized I forgot the TP.
Where do you stand on suburban vs. urban vs. rural? Is only one for you? Bonus points if you have done and could do all three.