The Suburbs, The City, And Me

When I tell people that I grew up in the suburbs, I say it always with a hint of embarrassment, resentment... Yes, Bethesda, Maryland is about as "perfectly suburban" as they get- great public schools, great big houses, wide roads, beautiful lawns, traffic circles, speed bumps, barking dogs... everything. I didn't always feel so bitter about the suburbs. I have fond memories of climbing trees and flashlight tag in the park, lemonade stands, fourth of July floats and parades. I also remember hating trips to New York City, where I felt "sick" and hated all the concrete. I remember dreading the claustrophobic trips to the National Mall to watch the fireworks with a million other people.

So what changed? Two things: I went to school in DC, and I became environmentally aware.

Going to school in the city, I became comfortable with the metro and walking the streets, finding all the great, happening places I could get to. Dupont Circle, Gallery Place and Chinatown, Capitol Hill- so much to do and see, and I didn't even need a car! I had entered a new, metropolitan world, which I had rejected as a child, but learned to embrace. People watching in parks, shows at the 930 nightclub, cherry blossoms, museums... the city is endlessly entertaining.

Secondly, with my new environmental awareness, I came to understand the ecological disasters inherent to the suburbs. Everything came in excess: car use, the size of the houses, the number of electronics, the energy for heating in the winter and cooling in the summer. Realizing this, I became quite a guilty suburbanite.

When the 2010 Snowpocalypse hit the DC area, I was stuck in the suburbs- literally. Granted, I had hills to sled on and a big house to amuse myself in, but I was so envious of city dwellers. Thousands of people walked, snowshoed, or metroed to the epic Dupont Circle snowball fight that I couldn't get to. My friends in the city could get to each other, but I couldn't get to them. The snowstorm exposed the isolation of the suburbs and why that isolation is undesirable.

So with this new embracing of city life, what happened to the nature-lover, concrete-hater in me? Oh, she is still alive and well. In fact, that part of me is stronger than ever. (Well, maybe not a "concrete-hater", but something along those lines). This is where Rock Creek Park comes into play. Rock Creek Park. A true oasis of woods and creek amidst the concrete city. Much more "wild" than Central or Golden Gate Park. Full of trails and picnic areas, and the horse center that became my life. The park is an amazing concept- real, protected natural area within a city, and completely and easily accessible by public transportation. E2, E3, and E4 bus routes between Friendship Heights, Ivy City, and Fort Totten. Argue all you want that it's not truly natural, but when I go out on horseback through narrow trails, all I can see are trees and the fuzzy ears in front of me, all I hear are hoofbeats beneath me and the sound of the rushing creek, and all I can smell is forest. It makes me feel like I am in the wilderness, and that feeling is enough for me to call it wilderness. Not only does the wilderness-in-the-city concept make nature accessible, it also brings together a wonderfully diverse group of people, the likes of which became a second family for me at the Rock Creek Park Horse Center. RCPHC has a much different atmosphere than any barn I've found in the country or suburbs, and I think that has to do with its city location.

And that is what I have found to be the beauty of the city, and I think oases like Rock Creek within cities are invaluable-they allow people to experience the best of both worlds, without needing a car to travel back and forth. The Bay Area is wonderful in this sense, as well- I can go to Tilden Park, Golden Gate Park, the Pacific Ocean, and more, using the BART and AC Transit. And of course, I get the benefits of a thriving metropolis- music festivals, art museums, street fairs, restaurants... who, now, wouldn't want to live in a city?