A Town That's Right For Me
There was a time when living in a big city was all I wanted. But not anymore!
Like most kids who grew up in the suburbs, I hit a point in my youth when the suburbs became simply unbearable. Don’t get me wrong, I had everything I needed and my family life was pretty stable. But according to 15-year-old me, that’s what made life so boring.
The monotony of living in a cookie-cutter neighborhood and seeing the same groups of people at school, church, and around town all the time started to feel suffocating by the time I was a teen. It didn’t help that I had had several opportunities growing up to travel and see parts of the world that I thought were much cooler than where I grew up. Once I’d experienced the beyond, staying in my hometown as an adult became less and less appealing.
By the time I was 16, I was ready to get away from the suburbs of Detroit at all costs. And I mean far away. I started looking at colleges out of state, and thankfully my mom and dad were pretty open to letting me apply to wherever I wanted (with the caveat that I keep Michigan State in mind as a backup school).
So with that, we toured a few colleges in cool places — cities that I’d actually be excited to live in. I applied to two schools in Chicago, one in Ithaca, New York (not the Ivy League), and one in Milwaukee.
I got into all of them except one, and then had to make (probably) the biggest decision of my young life. Where was I going to spend the next four years? What kind of place did I want to live in?
In the end I picked Milwaukee. It was far enough away from my family without being too far (just a short 6.5 hour drive, nbd), and it was smaller, more affordable, and less intimidating than Chicago. I also liked that I could get around without a car — which wouldn’t have been easy to do if I’d chosen Ithaca. And it also helped that I got excellent vibes from my future campus (Marquette University), so the decision to commit to Milwaukee felt relatively easy.
At first, moving to Brew City felt like a dream come true. I was 17, and my parents were far away, so I could do whatever I wanted. I lived with three roommates during my freshman year, and quickly made friends as I joined clubs on campus, like student media. I loved living in a city because there was always something going on and I didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to go and do it.
Of course, some of that excitement was tied up in the fact that I was a college student and there was plenty happening on campus. But I also had lots of opportunities to do uniquely Milwaukee things like swing dance at a local brewery, go to Summerfest, take long walks along the lakefront, and visit the art museum (many, many times).
During my junior year, I got a job at a coffee shop in the Third Ward, and felt like I was becoming part of the city’s rotating cast of characters. And as I ventured off campus more, I started to meet other people my age who lived around town and had interesting hobbies and places that they spent their time. I found myself going to new parts of the city and having new experiences just because I was open to it. (Some notable ones: a 24-hour bike race in Riverwest, a barista competition in Walker’s Point, and several house shows on the East Side.)
It really didn’t take much to find something exciting going on around me at virtually any time. But eventually, that constant excitement started to backfire.
As much as I love being out and about, I’m also someone who gets anxious easily and needs lots of breaks from excitement (which is something I didn’t accept about myself until later in my college years). Being easily overwhelmed does not pair well with living in a city, as I learned the hard way.
By the end of college, I lived alone in a studio apartment above a bar that was also across the street from a 7/11. The road noise was constant — people blasting music from their cars, students stumbling home from the bar at 2 a.m., people getting in arguments outside the convenience store. I witnessed more than one car crash in the intersection near my apartment, too. Not exactly the kind of thing that makes you feel calm or safe.
When I was thinking of what to do after college, I realized Milwaukee’s charm was starting to wear off on me. After four years living there, I didn’t like the city any less, but I just didn’t feel like I wanted to keep living there.
Instead, I wanted to be somewhere quiet, with less people. I wanted to not be surrounded by action everyday, or walking on the sides of busy roads where I was constantly breathing in gas fumes. What I wanted at that stage in my life, mostly, was to live somewhere where I didn’t hear people yelling outside my window at night. And where I could easily touch grass. And where I could afford a one-bed apartment instead of a studio. The list was getting long.
So I moved to — you guessed it — the suburbs. Could I have found an apartment in a quieter neighborhood in the city instead? Possibly. But I’d also gotten a job in the burbs, so my logic was to move to where my job was so that I wouldn’t have to commute.
And honestly, moving out of Milwaukee ended up being a very good choice for me. There was a brief period after I graduated in 2019 where I was determined to eventually move to a different city, like New York or Berlin. But then two big things happened: I met my current partner, Ryan, and Covid hit like six months later.
Both of those things helped me realize that going back to a city wasn’t something I really even wanted anymore. I didn’t come to that full realization until Ryan and I started to outgrow our one-bedroom apartment (which doubled as a Covid WFH office setup for two years). That prompted some conversations about where we’d move next.
We basically had two realistic choices: move back to Milwaukee, or move to another suburb or small town. Neither of us really wanted to go back to Milwaukee, for a number of reasons. And we were eager to get out of the area in general because rent was going up and we lived on a busy suburban road that made us feel like we were still living in the city without any of the benefits.
We didn’t have much to lose, so we moved up north to a town (small city?) of 50,000-ish residents where we only knew like one person. I don’t know if I can really call it the “suburbs” because the land around us is very rural — our neighbors down the street are a herd of dairy cows on a small farm.
It’s now been two years of living here and I can say I finally feel like we live in a place that’s right for us. Life is much slower up north, and people seem happier. I’ve made friends with neighbors and folks in town because it’s just easier to talk to people when they don’t have their guard up. And I love how quiet my apartment is. I feel like I can actually hear myself think.
The funny thing, though, is I still really like visiting cities. I was in Chicago recently, where my sister lives, and found myself remarking about how awesome it is to have so many options for places to eat and hang out. I like that you can just walk to some cafe down the street and chill for a while, or get on the train and go to a neighborhood with lots of little shops or galleries. I can’t really do that where I live, as my options for third spaces are just more limited.
I guess I’m just coming to understand that where I want to live might be different than where I want to visit for fun. I know myself well enough now to understand that I’m not a city gal — my brain just does not thrive when I’m surrounded by busy, loud energy all the time. But I actually enjoy it in small doses.
The nice thing, too, is that when I’m done being in the middle of the action, I know I can come back to my little sanctuary where things are just the right level of boring and quiet. I’m finally in a space that feels like mine.
Pssst… I’m teaching a writing class in July. It’s called The 60-Minute Memoir, and will be hosted by one of my favorite independent bookstores: WordHaven Bookhouse in Sheboygan!
Come hang out and brainstorm some ideas for your own shortform memoirs/personal essays (like the ones you read here)! We’ll also discuss strategies for writing when you hit writer’s block or don’t have a lot of time to write.
Honestly, most of the essays I write for this newsletter are done in about an hour or so, and that’s what helps me consistently write despite my busy schedule. So if you want to write more about your experiences but need help doing it in a timely fashion, this class is for you.
Even if writing fast isn’t your thing, you’ll leave class with some personalized prompts for your next essay. Class is $10 per person, and proceeds directly benefit me and WordHaven.
And the best news? You can attend virtually or in-person. Here’s when each class is happening:
July 13: In person class at WordHaven in Sheboygan (click here to sign up)
July 27: Virtual class (click here to sign up)
Thank you thank you thank you all for helping me get pretty darn close to my spring 2024 fundraising goal! We raised $683 of $800, which is a lot for this little newsletter.
I haven’t decided yet what to do for summer, but my Ko-fi page remains open if you want to drop a tip in the jar.
This newsletter will always be free to read and share, but I rely on the generous donations of readers to build financial security and keep this project going long-term.
Huge shoutout to my 2024 supporters:
Dennis T.
KRW
Grandma Gin Gin
Tara Y.
Murphy Kaye
Maddie B.
Mom
Emma H.
Molly G.
❤️❤️❤️