I can remember being as young as 15 and knowing I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life in my hometown, if I could help it. Back then it was mostly fueled by my desire to be independent, to live by myself and not have my parents constantly weighing in on everything I do. All teenagers feel that, to some degree. It’s normal to want to be your own person, to be taken seriously as a mature grown up (or, what we think is mature and grown up). I didn’t reach that milestone for a long time, and the need only grew stronger. I’m not entirely sure I’m fully there yet, to be honest.
Sure, financially it makes sense. I finished school for good less than a year ago, I just started my first job, and I have over $70K in student loans. My parents would be more than willing to let me stay as long as I like, regardless of the circumstances. They know it’s going to take time: to save money, and to find a place I’ll feel comfortable in with my wheelchair and walker. I know that too, but I don’t think I could last longer than a year, maybe 18 months.
I’m not even talking about my (two hour long) commute, though that is a pain in the ass sometimes — liking trains as a mode of transportation helps a little. What I mean is the lifestyle suburbia puts so many of us in. I’ve been aware of it for a long time, probably before I knew what it really meant. I think growing up being different — and knowing I was different, by the time I was ten or eleven — made me realize how little I fit in with my peers and fit into that mold.
My hometown is a strange kind of suburb. It’s a college town, but not really. It’s old (like, colonial old), but prides itself more on being a hub for science and medicine. It’s considered small by the numbers, but is bigger than what most people would consider a traditional small town. It’s also stereotyped for being very, very wealthy; not the wealthiest, but definitely more affluent than the places around it. Living in areas like this can put you into a bubble: you don’t tend to look outside of yourself and the things that affect you directly. People here seem to think the same way, and don’t easily accept others who aren’t like them, or don’t share the same beliefs. My family never saw money or class as being a show of a person’s worth, so I don’t think I ever judged anyone based on that. It was hard to ignore though, being surrounded by it.
Especially as I got older, the lines grew more visible. I was one of a few dozen disabled students in my school district, and one of maybe five visibly disabled kids in each school I went to. I was never in special education classes, even in the primary grades, so I was always with my more “typical” classmates. The adults tasked with keeping an eye on me tried to integrate me, but I don’t think they tried hard enough or listened to me well enough.
I was considered separate but equal, with unwanted attention drawn to me all day every day and no real chance to just be a tween and teen. The only people who treated me how I wanted to be were my teachers, who I think saw that all over me. I didn’t push boundaries; instead I quieted down. I wasn’t really allowed to socialize, even during my free time; I was convinced something was wrong with me, I was lonely. I wanted to make friends but I didn’t feel like I had the room to try, to be goofy and weird in that way kids are, to make mistakes. I had crushes but I never had the confidence to talk to them much. I felt trapped.
My family never gave me and my siblings lavish gifts and parties. After the recession, we barely went on vacation aside from trips to see family. We don’t live in a huge house. I had to turn down offers from colleges I would’ve loved so I could go to a school that wouldn’t saddle me with six figures of debt before I was 25. I wondered what it would be like, even during undergrad, to not have to be so precious and worried about money.
I’m smart, but really it’s not something that just comes naturally out of thin air. I make an effort to be well read. By high school I was struggling in the couple of advanced classes I took, even in my better subjects. I scraped by in science and math. The kids who took a full AP course load or did well in everything were alien to me. They had their futures already planned: Ivy League degrees, prestigious jobs, anything they wanted. I felt painfully average, hating having to work twice as hard for everything. I had little more than a vague idea of what I wanted my life to be like: get out and finally be free, and figure out the rest along the way.
Even the way I see myself and the way I think doesn’t fit. I don’t mean I see myself as special, or somehow better. I mean the way I see the skeleton of the rest of my life, what I believe. I don’t want to do what my parents did and live a few miles from where they grew up, still surrounded by people they’ve known since childhood. I don’t buy into the myth that getting married, having a family, and owning a home is the ultimate goal to meet. Or that I have to meet it by a specific time to be a well-adjusted and “real” adult.
I want to live in a place where I’m free to move around and do as I please when I please — which is definitely not eastern LI, where you’re basically forced to have a car in order to go anywhere or do anything. I want to be able to see more of the world, do things I’ve never gotten to do despite being a born and raised New Yorker, and most of all feel like I’m a part of the world. I want to build and maintain circles of My People; people who aren’t around just because of circumstances, but people I choose and who choose me. People who accept me for who I am and aren’t closed minded. I don’t want to spend a day’s worth of hours every week just getting to and back home from work. Living in the suburbs forces you to work to live and just about nothing else. It’s not a sustainable way for anyone to live, especially not for anyone who’s physically disabled. We need time that’s not devoted to working, time to actually rest our bodies and minds. It’s much easier for us to run ourselves down and completely crash, and it takes longer to build that energy back up.
It’s already leaving me feeling guilty for wanting to work a job I enjoy doing (most of the time) and have fulfilling parts of my life that have nothing to do with my job or my income when I get home at night. I want both, and I’m willing to go after it…. even if it means leaving where I’m “supposed” to be.