This past Thanksgiving break, I stayed at my uncle’s suburban home just outside Nashville, Tenn., where I saw life in American suburbia firsthand. The whole time I felt like I was in an “American Beauty” fever dream. To put it simply, I absolutely hated it.
Coming from Beijing, China, I might be extremely biased as I spent 18 years being surrounded by skyscrapers, glowing street lights and the constant hum of cars honking well past midnight. I’ve always lived in inner-city apartments that allowed me to see the bustling streets below and so the suburban view felt alien to me. The rows of cookie-cutter houses — all variations of the same basic design — struck me with a strange sense of uniformity and lack of character. The quiet, spacious and eerily empty neighborhoods felt anything but livable. They seemed lifeless and uninviting, almost suffused with a suffocating sense of unhappiness.
To me, this lifestyle reminded me of the stagnant, unchanging existence often portrayed in films like “American Beauty” — a disillusioned state of being where people seem to be merely going through the motions, just trying to get past each day. Of course, this perception most likely does not align with reality. In fact, my uncle’s family is living proof that people who have lived in these neighborhoods all their lives are just as idiosyncratic, intellectually unique and forward-thinking as anyone else. Even still, I couldn’t help but feel that the atmosphere around me radiated a sense of monotony and mundanity, a vibe that seemed to contradict the dynamism I’m used to in urban life.
Everything was made worse by the lack of access to other places without a car. We had to drive at least 10–20 minutes to reach the closest grocery store or restaurant, and walking wasn’t a good option either — you were still stuck in the neighborhood even after a 10 minute trek. This disconnect from the most fundamental aspects of life made me feel so isolated from the world as if I existed independently from everything that makes us who we are. My personality is profoundly shaped by the people I encountered as I squeezed through the crowded subways of Beijing and my sense of self is deeply grounded in finding peace amidst the city’s chaos and noise. Being in a place where life felt so devoid of that vibrancy left me feeling both unsettled and disoriented — I had never felt so out of place.
It wasn’t until I moved to America that I realized the suburban dream — a big, spacious home in a suburban neighborhood with a happy family — is considered the ideal lifestyle for many. I can somewhat understand why people are drawn to it. The calmness and peace the suburbs offer may be appealing to many, and a huge multi-story house in a spacious neighborhood certainly has advantages that a small inner-city apartment could never offer. I also recognize that urban living isn’t for everyone; for there are plenty of people who might dislike it just as much as I struggle with the suburbs. But for me, the overwhelming monotony and uniformity of suburban life — even when the people in each home are vibrant and full of life — are enough to make me never want to return.
