after a few days of introspection and despair, a bit of a sunrise of the soul
I was able to work through some clarity after a solid two weeks of clouded misery. I'm just going to share it, because I know I cannot be the only one in this world who's experienced an overwhelming sensation of isolation within their immediate geographical community.
I moved to this town because I was happy to finally close on a home for our family. We hunted for a home for two years, and having secured a contract on one was a great relief for us at that time. We didn't do much more than a surface survey of the town, and what I saw at that time was encouraging: the community had a sustainability task force, an inclusion task force, had recently codified hen-keeping and advertised throughout the town sustainable living: leave your leaves on the ground, compost your foodstuffs (either at home or through inexpensive composting services), grow your own food in your own garden, and plant native plants throughout your landscaping! The list was long! I was actually excited at the prospects of moving to a community that outwardly shared a great number of my values and my beliefs.
It turned out that this was all a veneer, a faddish fashion of a small minority of residents who wanted to feel as though they mattered. I don't think the folks who work for the community are against any of this -- I think it's just the community as a whole, the residents.
Diversity is not just skin tone or an ethnicity checkbox on a federal or state form. Diversity in thought, diversity in origin story and birth, diversity in lived experiences matter in the equation; my town is not diverse. Many of its residents want a bubble, a comforting sameness in thought and in "proper behavior," in polish and in material wealth class.
I vowed as this reality dawned on me to never change, to always be what and who I am. I was hopeful for the opportunity to tell my story as I lived it, but my story is too dirty for Glencoe. At least, it's too messy for some of the folk here.
My despair came out of this realization and the weight of hopelessness that comes out of that. I felt as though I'll always be alone here, at least outside of my immediate family, and we will never find peace with our home and its prim-ness. I'm not a lawyer, a doctor, a CEO. I'm just some guy, I work in an office, I raise my little boys. I don't own a suit and tie, and I don't golf. I don't have a nice car, and my hobbies are not expensive. I vowed to not change, but then they forced it on me.
I didn't want to remove my leaves from the yard, but my wife is terrified of the board, and so we are starting to remove our leaves. I don't want to have to screen my chickens, but we're doing it. I want a native garden, but is that permissible? Can I really tear apart my lawn and replace it entirely with a oak savannah simulacra?
This, above, is the root of my recent despair: submission to city hall and the residents here, and their defined world view.
Beware, dear reader, of "nice towns." I pray to G-d that these folk don't hurt my children as they enter the school system here. I don't want to leave, in defiance, but I don't want them to hurt my babies.
The wall of text complete, I want to close with that tiny bit of sunshine that I eluded to at the top. I will fight for my right to be who I am here, and I will not allow them to change who I am. I will air my voice and assert my rights, in kindness, but I will not be pushed into a box I cannot fit into. Right now, at the immediate now, the recent battle to keep my hens went as well as it could have gone -- we have a plan, and we're working on implementing it with the goal of keeping them in our lives. We are good neighbors, and we will strive toward that end. There will, more likely than not, be more fights in the future. I need to steel myself to that and get my wind back.
tl;dr: find your people, and live among them. the alternative is hard as fuck on the spirit.
