I have become a suburbanite.  For a while I was just a former Hoosier dwelling in an outlying area of Atlanta. It was all luck of the draw and Dairy Queen dreams… now it’s become who I am. How did this happen to me?

Growing up there were two types of people – city folk and country folk and neither the twain shall meet. There was no middle ground. Though raised in a rural locale, I was always drawn to more urban areas. Living in Chicago was my goal –everything right there at your finger tips. The diversity, the culture, the architecture, the lake all had me excited about the post-college life that this great Midwest metropolis would provide.

Alas, I married Clifford and got stuck in the South. I’ve come to accept this setback… for now. We were originally ITP when we got hitched and settled down. For those that live anywhere other than the Hotlanta metro area, that means Inside The Perimeter. I may have mentioned this before. Atlanta is essentially encased by I-285. It’s been dubbed the Perimeter. If you are on the one side, you are considered Inside which is Atlanta for all intents and purposes – the city. If you were to venture to the other side of I-285, well then, that’s Outside The Perimeter which would make you OTP. It would also mean you are officially in the burbs – and here we have middle ground.

My first employer in Atlanta often spoke about ITP and OTP. Though she’d lived in Atlanta for 17 years, she’d never ventured Outside The Perimeter. With everything in the city, why would you ever need to visit the suburbs? I could understand that sentiment with museums, restaurants, and nightlife all within walking distance or a short cab ride away, why live in an area filled with strip malls, soccer moms, and pizza joints that close at 9 o’clock on a Friday night? Again, I understood the sentiment, but I was also from Nowheresville, Indiana. We drove an hour to eat at an Outback Steakhouse. We drove two hours two Chicago. We drove four hours for a theme park. So what I couldn’t understand was why someone refused to drive just twenty minutes to another part of the metro area to do something potentially fun. And it worked in reverse. We’d visit my in-laws Outside The Perimeter and their friends would talk about wanting to see something playing at The Fox Theater or attending something going on at Piedmont Park. I’d ask why not and I would always get a hearty laugh of “We’re not going into Atlanta.” and “It’s too far to go.” But it was 20 miles away? 30 minutes tops? That I didn’t understand.

Then I moved to the burbs. I am now OTP. Suddenly, I understand everything.

My cousin said says he’s coming to town and wants to drive to Gwinett Stadium to grab a minor league souvenir cup. Makes sense. That’s what rural Hoosiers do. We drive. We drive long distances to entertain ourselves, to eat, to buy souvenirs, to enjoy life beyond the cornfield confines in which we live. I love driving those roads and distances. It makes me feel so incredibly free to take off down a two lane road with the windows dopen and the wind in my hair, radio blasting to John Mellencamp or Tom Petty … 70 miles could be driven in 45 minutes flat, but in Atlanta, the same distance isn’t the same kind of drive. It’s irritating. It’s stop lights and tail lights and it’s exhausting.   My life was built around drive times to gauge distances. 36 miles on back country roads could be nailed in 25 minutes. 36 miles in Atlanta turns into an excruciating 90 minute exercise in exerting patience that I no longer have.

And it doesn’t end there. Clifford asks me what’s for dinner and we decide it’s a take-out night.  What do we want to pick up? Clifford says Five Guys and I actually whine, “But that’s 15 minutes away! Pick something closer.” My younger non-suburban self would have been devastated at that decree.

There’s no life but Netlfix beyond 9PM. Say I want to go to a great new bar downtown? A cab from the burbs to the city and back would break my bank.

I need to go to Ikea, nestled in the heart of Atlanta, and I can’t just hop in my car and go. I have to plan ahead. Calculate rush hours and traffic patterns and construction sites.

And forget blasting the radio with the windows down. I’d be choking on the smog before Tom Petty could finish his intro.

So I stay in my 2 mile bubble to shop and eat and experience things and it is SO limiting and I miss my non-suburban self so much…

We all love these moments.

I was recently reminded of a moment just like this that Clifford and I unknowingly created for our nephews a few years back.

We don’t rake the leaves in our yard; Clifford blows them with a leaf blower. That seems to be the trend in the burbs around here. Far different to when I was growing up in the Hoosier State where a rake and a wheelbarrow were your best fall friends. Anyway, unlike some assholes who blow them into the street (i.e. the neighbors we don’t like), Clifford blows them into the tree line trench between our yard and Lonny’s (the neighbor we do like).  It creates the most massive pile of leaves I’ve ever seen.

My brother and his boys were up from Florida a few Thanksgivings back and were staying at my house for a couple of days.  There are things in Atlanta that aren’t in Florida, apparently, which can make the outdoors inviting and fun.

The boys had been allowed to go outside and play in the yard while we adults did adult things (i.e. drinking, eating, etc.). They sword fought with sticks (maiming each other and destroying our holly shrubs). They ran around playing tag (which became a game of beat and be beaten) among other games eight and ten year old boys play when given a large yard to do with as they would.

I remember watching them fondly from the window and smiling at their youthful exuberance (read: kids on crack). I remembered what it was like to be so full of energy while playing out imagined scenarios with my siblings in our yard back in the day.

I watched as they moved from the yard to the trench. I’m sure it was the next best thing to a fort for boys that age, and it was already built. It screamed “come play with me”. They didn’t have leaf piles in Florida so this was a true treat. They were laughing and running through the foliage so blissfully ignorant of the world around them. It was beautiful.  They were tossing leaves in the air like they’d found pure heaven on Earth. They plunged back making angels and dove head first swimming beneath a sea of brown, gold and red …

Me

“No, no, no, no …” I sputtered as I moved from the window to the front door. My brother gave me a questioning look. Clifford looked out the window.

Clifford

I threw open the front door and raced down the steps horrified while shouting, “Stop!!! Get out of the leaves! Don’t play there! Get out now!!!”

Me

The boys glanced up briefly, then ignored me while continuing to play and dive and plunge and laugh…

I ran to the edge of the leaf strewn gully and begged them to get out.

“That’s where the dogs crap.”

Me

They stopped.

The Boys

Then they understood.

The Boys

And just like the boys a few years back, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving!