My aunt and uncle live in the suburbs, I guess you’d call it. The houses, even though they are different, look like cookie-cutter houses–each a slight variant of the next, but you feel sure that there’s an exact copy of it a little farther down. The houses are very close together, so instead of looking out at the varied landscape of lawn, fields, and trees forming the horizon as at home, I look out at houses neatly set side by side, each with a garage, each with their own little ornamental trees and shrubs. At home, I can see neighbors from our house. But here, your eye doesn’t even have to wander to look from one to the next; they’re all right there in a row.
It used to bother me to walk down the street here. All I could think of was how at home, there are things for your eyes to rest upon as you take a walk, whether it’s a walk down the street or up our hill–there are views, there are hills, there are fields and trees. Here, it felt there was no where to go–I felt penned in by the houses, houses, on every side, no matter where I went.
But now, though I still wouldn’t want to live here, it doesn’t bother me. I guess I’ve gotten a little more used to it. I kind of like the way the neighborhood is set on a hill; at home, we are in a valley (of sorts), so it makes an interesting change. I like living in a valley better, but for one thing it is interesting how there is seemingly more sky here; the horizon is much lower.
I spend most of my time inside, or out on the porch. I’ve gotten so used to my aunt and uncle’s house that it feels quite comfortable and familiar, and I’m doing my own usual things–my own projects, and the Internet is the same whether here or at home–that it’s almost a jolt sometimes to go outside and remember that there are people out here.
Of course, there are always people outside of my narrow four walls of existence. But it’s a much more immediate realization when you go outside and you actually see them. At home, I can hear the neighbors sometimes, but I don’t see them usually unless I take a walk. Over here, at regular intervals, someone will walk by on the street, passing by right in front of me. In the evening especially, kids will be outside, shooting basketballs or going up and down the street on their scooter or bike.
It’s a whole different world out there. When I am inside, it doesn’t feel much different from being home except that my family is gone. In the house I do my usual quiet things. I don’t necessarily feel lonely, but I am alone. When I go outside, the repetitious houses are shown to be more than just cookie-cutter shapes set up for the sole purpose of being a different sort of horizon than I am used to; they are actually inhabited (gasp). Suddenly, my perception of being alone in my own little world vanishes.
The other week when I was dog-sitting, after sitting indoors listening to an audio book for hours, I came out from the reverie of the story and went outdoors into the sunshine, where I saw one of the neighbor’s having a graduation party. All that life and excitement were happening while I could have been a million miles away, so oblivious was I. (Well, actually, I saw the neighbors setting it up in the morning, but the point is, it was beyond my sphere of consciousness for most of the day.)
I have mixed feelings and thoughts about it. One is, it is a reminder that I always am wrapped up in my own little world, even at home. I’m not sure that’s always a good thing. Another reflection is that while it’s interesting to some degree to see things happening around you, it is a different, and to me less desirable sort of community than at home, in a more rural setting.
But still, there is that fact that I feel completely alone while inside the house. I may not be wallowing in despondency, true, but I can’t deny that when I go outside, into the fresh air, with the smaller-than-at-home, more “ornamental” trees yet waving in the wind, and people around doing things, it is a freeing sort of feeling. In other words, it’s a good feeling to feel like I’m actually not the only person in the world.
That’s not putting it quite right, because I always know I’m not the only person in the world. What I am trying to say is that being outside and feeling that I am in the midst of a neighborhood is a welcome change to feeling like I’m merely within a house and the usual companion of my own thoughts.
Then again, when I take a walk down the street, it is still the same boring walk past rows of houses. There is nothing stirring about that. It doesn’t compare to the peaceful relaxation and variety of a natural landscape, and a neighborhood where people actually have enough property to look unique from other people’s. And where people will wave at you and say hi, or even stop to talk. Here, what few people are out during the day (most are out in the evening), either ignore me, don’t notice me, or give side-long glances like “who is that?” For the most part, though, they don’t even care enough to give side-long glances.
It’s a two-fold thing about people–it feels good to be surrounded with fellow humans, to not be utterly alone. On the other hand, when they are distant and unconnected to you, and it is clear that to them you are just part of the scenery, you feel just as alone.
End of my babbling for tonight!
Note: I don’t really think the people here are unfriendly. I realize that the distant feeling is mostly because at home, the neighbors recognize me, and here, they don’t.
