The other day, I was sitting and talking to some of my classmates (I’m back in school) before class started; they were talking about their weekends and plans and so forth, and I had the strangest feeling. There was something different about this conversation, something unusual. I wasn’t able to pinpoint it immediately, but as I kept listening to them, it became clear to me.
They weren’t escaping Anaheim/Orange. And they weren’t complaining.
Their plans were full of local activities and events, but with no snide undertones of discontent. And I realized—this part hit me like the proverbial brick—that I’ve never spent much time with people who don’t hate this part of Orange County… It was utterly refreshing, inspiring, beguiling even.
When I first moved to California in 1991, I was furious about having to leave my friends and home in Texas, and it took me years to get over hating the state as a whole. I was at public school that first year, then home schooled for junior high (and still angry at CA), and then I went to an all-girls prep school for high school. Although the school itself is in north Orange County, the girls were, by and large, from south county—which is like a whole other country. They were wealthy, privileged, and most of them wouldn’t have ever thought of hanging out in this area. I never got a chance to take off my blue-tinted glasses, if you will (grey-tinted might be even better).
When I moved back to this area after college, I was at a post-grad program full of people who hated Anaheim. That was when I first began defending the town. It’s not Paris, or LA, or even Boston or Austin, but it’s a regular small city. It has good facilities. It has libraries and parks, and Starbucks and McDonald’s. And, ok, it has some problems, too (where doesn’t?). Still, though I was on the defense, I think that deep down, I believed the thing I was defending needed my defense. And it’s hard to learn to like something you’re only defending—especially if you’re always around people who are vitriolic in their discontent.
But now, I find my new friends inspire me. I don’t know if they love it here, and I don’t know if it’s their favorite place—but they’re content. They don’t spend their time hating on the place. They don’t spend their weekends escaping. They spend them enjoying where they are and what they have. And they have great stories about the local lives they live.
I’m not saying Anaheim is my favorite city now; I know it has its faults. And, c’mon, I’ve lived in Austin, London, Greece, and Boston, so I know a good city when I see it. But I do covet my new friends’ contentment, and it’s inspired me to find it myself.
I went to the grocery store the other day with a newly-awakened sense of community. These people are my neighbors. They play at the same park; they use the same library. There’s something here to appreciate—my classmates have found it. And I’m tired of only following in the haters’ footsteps. Maybe it’s time to give this area an honest try. (I know, I know: ’bout time!). I expect that, at some point in my life, I’ll have to live somewhere else I dislike—so I might as well start learning how to like where I am. Yes, home is where your heart is, but there’s a lot to be said for making it where your feet are, too.
