The Eye of the Storm
I ask you this: Does the fact that we’re moving to bona fide suburbia mean we’re making the best of a bad situation—or giving into that situation, becoming part of the badness?
Before you answer, consider this. After several days of apartment- and house-hunting, we’ve found a single-family home we love. It’s huge—three bedrooms plus office, breakfast nook, laundry room, living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, porch, and huge backyard. In the front and back of the house are two enormous redwood trees, and the house has the calm, almost mystical silence you feel in a redwood grove.
The downside is that the house is in Roseville, among the worst places on earth. Roseville is where Andrew works, home to office parks and suburban sprawl, housing complexes with no trees, shopping plazas and highways and malls. It’s where we stayed at the MDPOE (most depressing place on earth) when we first arrived in California—and it’s where Andrew nearly had a nervous breakdown (“We can’t live here. We can’t. We can’t. We have to leave immediately.”) when he saw the office park where he’d be working. During our search, we drove around two apartment complexes—not to actually look for a place, just to horrify ourselves. Both were built under buzzing power lines, with “views” of office parks, just off the highway. We shuddered and quickly drove on.
But there’s another side of Roseville too, one we only became aware of during our housing hunt: Old Roseville. In Old Roseville, there are cute, old-tree-lined neighborhoods full of restored Victorian bungalows with nice yards. There’s a small downtown with some shops and restaurants, reminiscent of an old Gold Rush town. There’s a pretty park, where we saw lots of kids and parents playing. We were told about festivals at the park and in the neighborhood during the summer. I can walk to all of this from the home we found within minutes (on sidewalks, not on the side of the highway). And there’s a Whole Foods and a Target not far away.
We ultimately decided to focus our search in Roseville because Andrew will have an eight-minute commute; we could get a lot more space than in Midtown Sacramento, where we are now; and Andrew will be able to come home for lunch once we have the baby—I imagine I’ll be happy to see him and have a small baby-holding break. We’re very excited about the house.
But beneath the excitement is our worry that we’re not just making the best of things out here (if we live in CA, we might as well enjoy whatever ample space we can afford, etc.); we worry that this is a step toward giving in. Just giving up and giving in. Andrew pointed out that moving to Roseville is moving into the eye of the storm; we’ll have to be even more vigilant about remembering who we are and what we ultimately want. No going to Wal-Mart. No hanging out at the mall. No enrolling our baby in any group that involves selling candy outside the Wal-Mart while wearing cheerleading uniforms. No going to Chile’s.
We are conflicted. But to us, staying in Sacramento itself or moving to a place like Roseville is six of one. And the space we’ll have in Roseville is almost literally six rooms to one. Let’s hope seeing those redwoods from our windows everyday will help us come to terms with our choice.
Before you answer, consider this. After several days of apartment- and house-hunting, we’ve found a single-family home we love. It’s huge—three bedrooms plus office, breakfast nook, laundry room, living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, porch, and huge backyard. In the front and back of the house are two enormous redwood trees, and the house has the calm, almost mystical silence you feel in a redwood grove.
The downside is that the house is in Roseville, among the worst places on earth. Roseville is where Andrew works, home to office parks and suburban sprawl, housing complexes with no trees, shopping plazas and highways and malls. It’s where we stayed at the MDPOE (most depressing place on earth) when we first arrived in California—and it’s where Andrew nearly had a nervous breakdown (“We can’t live here. We can’t. We can’t. We have to leave immediately.”) when he saw the office park where he’d be working. During our search, we drove around two apartment complexes—not to actually look for a place, just to horrify ourselves. Both were built under buzzing power lines, with “views” of office parks, just off the highway. We shuddered and quickly drove on.
But there’s another side of Roseville too, one we only became aware of during our housing hunt: Old Roseville. In Old Roseville, there are cute, old-tree-lined neighborhoods full of restored Victorian bungalows with nice yards. There’s a small downtown with some shops and restaurants, reminiscent of an old Gold Rush town. There’s a pretty park, where we saw lots of kids and parents playing. We were told about festivals at the park and in the neighborhood during the summer. I can walk to all of this from the home we found within minutes (on sidewalks, not on the side of the highway). And there’s a Whole Foods and a Target not far away.
We ultimately decided to focus our search in Roseville because Andrew will have an eight-minute commute; we could get a lot more space than in Midtown Sacramento, where we are now; and Andrew will be able to come home for lunch once we have the baby—I imagine I’ll be happy to see him and have a small baby-holding break. We’re very excited about the house.
But beneath the excitement is our worry that we’re not just making the best of things out here (if we live in CA, we might as well enjoy whatever ample space we can afford, etc.); we worry that this is a step toward giving in. Just giving up and giving in. Andrew pointed out that moving to Roseville is moving into the eye of the storm; we’ll have to be even more vigilant about remembering who we are and what we ultimately want. No going to Wal-Mart. No hanging out at the mall. No enrolling our baby in any group that involves selling candy outside the Wal-Mart while wearing cheerleading uniforms. No going to Chile’s.
We are conflicted. But to us, staying in Sacramento itself or moving to a place like Roseville is six of one. And the space we’ll have in Roseville is almost literally six rooms to one. Let’s hope seeing those redwoods from our windows everyday will help us come to terms with our choice.
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