[430] Urban Sprawl

Do you ever just drive around neighborhoods?

I’m from Northwest Indiana. The region. Chicago if you know nothing about the United States. Gary if you live far enough away from the Midwest to use the term “flyover state.” I’m told the population is around 1.5 million. This means there are a lot of neighborhoods. There’s just “a lot” in general. And after the last few hours spent driving around, I can’t escape the feeling of it meaning “a lot of nothing.”

If you’ve followed me long enough you know I have a strong sense of self. Call it an “ego” for lack of a better word. In a sea of at least 1.5 million people, I managed to conceive of myself as “better” than what I came from and have lived within for most of my life. I constantly ask why. I start to think you can only do so when you have so many examples to reflect on and interact with. It’s when you attempt to seat yourself in the “honors classes” of everyday activities which of course I had to take.

People I think generally and genuinely mistake my “ego,” endlessly in quotes, for something naïve. I think it’s just the perpetual result of trying to answer questions. And I don’t just mean hearing “an answer” to something. I mean pulling out the meat to the hopeless, but finally not contrived, answer.

Why are you working so hard? “To take care of my family.” Bullshit answer. Taking care of your family comes with the territory. You’re working so hard because you haven’t connected the dots to how people in power fuck you, and you don’t genuinely believe you can do anything but. Why do you want that car? “It’s nice, stylish, and I’ve dreamed about it since I was a kid.” Bullshit. Besides wanting to show off, part of your emotional well being has been transferred into what you can consume. If you don’t get that car, you may get irreconcilably depressed and angry.

Cars accompany every house in every neighborhood. One striking thing that I’ve never been good at is telling them apart. For a solid 15 years there was “car,” “truck,” “van,” as my categories. I think a Corvette was the first thing that stood out to me. I tend to shy away from asking people why they want things, but I never felt myself inclined toward one over the other. When I could drive, I wanted to get from point A to B. I was given the option to pick a car, ended up with a Mini Cooper mostly because it was in the magazine on the table and my dad, who offered to buy it, suggested it first.

I’m still confused as to what makes people pick things. Vans for kids I guess. Trucks for workers. Priuses for people who want to be politely pretentious but don’t read enough. “Stuff,” in and of itself, hasn’t ever really meant anything to me. It needs to have a purpose, an endgame. I collected Pokemon cards not because kids and monsters, but because my dad told me a story of beer cans he collected that would have been worth thousands had my grandpa not thrown them away. They’re still pristine, holographics double cased, in my closet. Same reason I bought a lot of Marvel Legends around the first Spiderman movie.

The first time I wanted a car was when Tesla hit the scene. You know why? It’s objectively the best, safest, and makes the most sense as far as sustainability. I just want the best. It’s “obvious” why “anyone” should want it. I don’t care about the packaging, the pitch, or what you think about it. I’ve seen one get hit at 70+ miles an hour and I think the car started laughing. For someone who’s flirted with semis and gone over the side of a mountain, that’s my car. Do you really want less for yourself?

“Little boxes made of ticky tacky.”

My area is heavy. You get your mortgage. You get your car. Whether you live in the area increasingly marked by cigarillo wrappers in the yard or next to the gated community as far back into rich white-ville as Broadway can get, you’re parked next to your neighbors. There’s a code of conduct. You’re not getting noisy. You’re not topping out the speed on your expensive car. You’re shopping at the same mall, hitting the same chain restaurants, and shoveling the same shit snow.

We used to drive around at 3 or 4 in the morning when the lights were off in all but a couple houses. Go around 7 or 8 and you’ll see, rich or poor, you’re all sitting around your TVs watching the same things on your 55 to 70 inches. Whether you spend 80 hours a week in your office-esc job to afford your faux-rich house or have to spend all day iron working like my dad, you seemingly aspire to the same things described by however you choose to interpret this area. I’ve never wanted to travel more, and I’ve never really cared to travel until tonight. And I say that in the face of my friends who’ve traveled and haven’t found anything “more” in other countries than I seem to find now. Which, by itself, just seems like traveling isn’t the answer.

I genuinely want to know “why” all the time. I want to know why you picked that watch. I want to know how you consider your place in your job. Obviously, my closest friends are the ones who own their shit circumstances and describe their shit circumstances in shit terms first. We all have dreams. I don’t need another “hustle until I make it” bullshit well-wishing wide eyed fuck all story. Because, if one of the most frequent responses I get to when I write about you or “argue” with myself is “that’s fair,” the consequences of my reasoning only seem to extend as far as me.

My favorite shirt isn’t because I look good in dark colors, it’s because it doesn’t show sweat stains. I didn’t know I could have a favorite shirt until it was gifted to me. I torrent because it’s fast and convenient for watching 60 different shows on different networks from different countries. Fuck Comcast, but my actual “why” reason boils down to utility and poverty. Things I can’t afford, I don’t buy. Duh. I don’t work normal jobs because I feel a spiritual suicide in perpetuating, deliberately, the killing of my time, consumerism, and (at least at Steak n Shake and the liquor store) alcoholism and clogged arteries via filthily prepared food. I feel it or there's utility. And I ask about what you feel. You usually don’t really answer.

And people don’t want to believe they sort themselves. They don’t want to believe they fell for it. “I’ll get rich and do better than my parents!” “I’ll get the nice house, car, and tv!” “One day I’ll save for my grand vacation!” But you do it in a way prescribed for you. The plan has been marketed. I knowyou don’t ask yourself what you really want because you want what every single house, big or small, wants in every neighborhood I’ve driven through over the years. At least, that’s what 1.5 million people have persuaded me I don’t, specifically, really want.

I’m at home talking. I’m at home experimenting. I’m at home drunk with people who aren’t going to resent me for being able to throw the party. I want “truth,” even and especially when it’s fleeting. I want “freedom” even if it’s just to be one of the only two people spending weeks at a time walking and driving around every night contemplating and discussing. (At least, we haven't bumped into you) I want “sense” even if it only has to extend so far as to get everyone fed and we refrain from blowing shit up first, maybe protecting the planet could follow. I like to indulge. I like expensive shit. But I love genuine work. I love honesty leading to accountability. I love possible explanations over excuses. And I don’t even believe in love.

We have our whole identities wrapped up in areas just like mine. We become what we’re obligated to. You pick, or are forced into, a shitty job; you’re now described by your shitty job. You get that abusive boyfriend, now you’re “just another battered wife.” Single mom? You can be scared or relieved by how many people have empathized with the “suffocate it in its crib” thought. Educated and in debt? Old and losing your grip? So much of your world becomes the conditions imposed on you instead of the choices you’ve freely obligated yourself towards. That’s class warfare. That’s why the language at the bottom doesn’t match with the idealized retooling from the top.

Stop trying. Pull out. Come hang out with me and do a drug trial. In 2 days I’m going to start a 3 week stay for $5900. What if I had 5 friends do something similar and we started a fund to invest and then structured our lives to live off the dividends? 30K in 3 weeks isn’t a bad start. Can you honestly assess yourself as a reliable dreamer who understands the utility of contracts between strangers? That’s all we’d really need to get started. You know what I can do with that money alone? Sit on it. You know what I’d like to do? Perform a million little experiments and business ideas. I’d like to free up your time so I could spend it with my friends instead of in my basement.

But I live in a fantasy world. I wander the streets of your homes. My complaints aren’t even first world, they’re at the hippocampus level. My whole life has been trying to exceed, or understand, or make the best of, or “get to the end” NOW. Never fear, something always follows. And it’s better than whatever “thing” was acquired in service to the moment. I want so much of the world that death feels like a sweet release. What’s everyone else waiting for?