Vanilla

Suburbia (suh-BUR-bee-uh)
noun

An area immediately outside of a large city. Composed of cookie-cutter houses, shopping malls, chain restaurants, and minivans sporting "My honor roll kid is better than yours" bumper stickers. Covered in synthetic grass, paved roads, man-made ponds, tarred driveways, Home Depot fences, and cheap houses - all polished and maintained beyond perfection. Majority of residents include nine-to-fivers with coffee breath, soccer moms with the school principal's phone number on speed dial, children with itineraries fuller than the President's, soulless dads carrying around pictures of their kids in their Burberry multiple-photo wallets, and teenagers who bake themselves orange to look more like their idols on Jersey Shore. Conflict and gossip among residents may be about whose kid is better, whose marriage bit the dust, how loud their neighbors were when they came home at 10 PM the previous night, celebrity fashion, the latest PTA meeting and the horrible ingrates who didn't show up, sports, and, again, whose kid is better. Air reeks of desperation for validation, competition, insincerity, desire for perfection, and conformity. Completely void of character. The American dream.

A few years ago, when I lived in the city, my mom invited me out to the suburbs to participate in the grand opening of a home built by her volunteer group, Habitat for Humanity. I had not been in the suburbs for months, so I accepted her invitation. While the whole experience was uplifting (especially when the volunteer group "unveiled" the house to the family in need - their smiles were priceless), I was put off by how dull everyone was. Most of the adults seemed to be empty shells of the fun and daring person they once were. I got the impression that they were walking around with fake smiles plastered on their faces, likely to be wondering how they ended up living such a mindless existence, with their dreams long forgotten. They became stuck into their routine, and they had grown to accept that they would be doing the same things every day for the next 30 years. The interaction between these people seemed so forced to me. Their conversations were filled with small talk about their children, the weather, the latest Cubs game, and the new Applebee's that opened in Naperville. While I grew up in the suburbs around people like them, I had become accustomed to the loud, vibrant, real, and unpredictable city life that I had forgotten how bland and myopic suburban life was. When these people were exchanging stories about their exciting family trip to the theme park last summer, I'd be sharing stories about the blind homeless guy living in the Washington Street red line stop who walked up and down the train, begging for money, and how I once almost saw him fall out of the back of the train because his glass eye failed to inform him that he had reached the last car. Or, while these suburbanites bragged about how well-stocked their local Jewel store was, I'd be talking about how my 60-year-old drunk landlord, who was a self-proclaimed famous artist, bought a convertible with plastic lawn chairs instead of actual car seats and parked it next to his Scooby Doo van behind my building.

I grew up with the misconception that once you became an adult, you were supposed to have the following: a college degree, a spouse, children, a house, a full-time job with a 401K plan, and the burning desire to go on the Disney family cruise you and your family had looked forward to all year. While my own parents weren't typical suburban folks (thankfully), the majority of the adults I met growing up were like that - people living the American dream. It was not until I became an adult myself that I realized the American dream was actually allowing your job, mortgage, children, and routine enslave you for life. The American dream is living in an environment where people consider clothes and cars as status symbols, and are sheltered by extracurricular activities, college, corporate jobs, vacation packages, payment plans, cable T.V., and malls. Convenience, convenience, convenience. The suburbia is the Disneyland of the world - everything (save for a few forest preserves) is artificial, and the place is considered a fantasy land that shields you from the real problems of the world. Suburbanites are too preoccupied with their own jobs, after-school clubs, bills, retirement plans, yards, and neighborhood gossip to worry about anything else. Minimalism and practicality do not exist there.

I work in the suburbs, and, every day I see people drag themselves out of their cars and slump over their desks before starting yet another mundane day at work. They hate their jobs, yet they still show up every morning for the past 20 years. Have they given up? Are they afraid of change? Have they become too entrapped into their daily routine? Conversations that take place at work are usually about how well people's children are doing at school, the weather, team building, latest sales at the mall, family vacations, and other mindless chatter. I can't help but think about how empty their lives are. They are too consumed by the trivial things their perfect little artificial world gives them that they do not even stop for a moment to recognize their own potential to acquire anything they really want in life. How truly, utterly depressing.

While I live and work in the suburbs now, I have absolutely no plans to stay here forever. I refuse to become a lemming. I want to live organically, to really see the world for what it is, think, ponder, and laugh. I will not allow anything to enslave me. I have broken free of the suburbs, and I sure as hell will do it again.