Leaving Suburbia

I thought when we bought the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood that I had discovered the key to happiness. This is the reason why I entered this weird world of Suburbia in the first place. Despite my years of media and cultural studies I bought into the idea of the American Dream.

You buy the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood and you have an instant community of perfect friends who will assist you in living the perfect life. I'm almost ashamed to admit that I actually believed this, but two years later, I know where it came from. I was raised by a mother who told my sister and I that being strong, progressive women was important, but she really didn't mean it, because at the same time she touted the American Dream. Our lives would be perfect if we had husbands who could take care of us and babies to keep us occupied. Sure a career would be good for a while, but trading in a security badge for maternity clothes was the path we would have to choose in order to be happy. I grew up hearing this, and rejecting it with every fiber of my being.

I wasn't going to be a mother or a wife or a housewife who lived in Suburbia, so a few months after the excitement of moving into my Suburbia residence wore off, I spiraled into a deep depression wondering if I had chosen Suburbia, or if I was living out a dream that had been pounded into my head by a woman I despised. My worst fear was that I had become the very thing I never wanted to be. I also discovered that the facade of the Suburbia community was just smoke and mirrors. In this perfect neighborhood everyone would smile at you and say "hello", but no one really wanted to know you.

Clarity came slowly through a few therapy sessions, a new hobby for blogging, and heading back into the working world. I began to realize that I chose to marry a man who wanted a family, as did I, and although I loved my dwelling, the perfect neighborhood wasn't for me. Community is where people know you, and want to know you, not where you pay homeowners' dues and hope someone gives a rat's ass about you. It took me two long years to realize this.

As crazy and hypocritical as my mother was, she always tried to tell me that home was where your family and friends were, not the structure you pay property taxes on. Although I will miss my beautiful dwelling, I'm leaving Suburbia along all of the smoke and mirrors of the American Dream. Community and happiness isn't about what you have, it's about who you're with, so this past weekend, I boarded a plane with my young daughter in tow, and headed South to California. My house won't be as big, but I'll be able to watch my nephew in his school play. My new neighborhood may not be suitable to grace the front of a postcard, but I'll be able to share meals with my sister-in-law, and my daughter will have her cousins to grow up with.

However, never fear dear readers, I will never abandon my writing. Besides, I'm living in LaLa Land now, and life here can be like living on a different planet. I am also married to Mr. Suburbia, so I will likely end up in a similar place, but this time, I'm keeping my eyes open for fellow punk-minded mamas, because there has to be others like me actively and proudly rejecting the American Dream.