“Why do we still live here?”
This question opened an article in the op-ed section yesterday in my local newspaper, the Star Gazette. Written by a younger columnist, John Cleary, it described his feelings over the possibility of leaving his lifelong home in Elmira, seeking a new home where the problems that now seem to beset the streets of the this small city seem further away. It’s a difficult decision because he has only known this area and never even considered the possibility of leaving it. It is home, after all.
But, as he writes, “When we hear of dismal ratings of Elmira’s schools, when the newspaper is full of stories of police standoffs, shootings and meth labs, when we visit the neighborhoods we grew up in and realize we wouldn’t want our children to be there, the urge to go away feels very strong.” He doesn’t even mention the extraordinarily high property taxes (some of the highest in the nation), the economy that was tepid even during the boom years were happening nationally or the brain drain of youth heading away from this area.
The article resonated with me, made me ask the same questions of my own life in this area. Why do I live here?
Some answers are easy. I like the natural beauty of the area, the lushness of the green in the summer and the gray hills and valleys in the winter. We have the Finger Lakes just to our north with their wineries and scenic vistas. I like the history of this area and the connections my family has in it. I like the familiarity of each place, knowing where things are and the ease of getting to them in this relatively small community. It is home, after all.
There are family connections as well although many folks have left the area or passed away and I don’t maintain great contact with the ones that remain.
That doesn’t sound like much. I think about my father who now lives in Florida. He had left this area after retiring in his 50’s, returning a time or two, the last after my mother died 15 years ago. Since that time he has split his time between Florida and here with his new partner. While here he is never really happy about it– actually, he’s miserable being here– and counts the days until he returns to Florida.
For years, I never understood how he could feel such misery in being here but the more I thought about it, the more I could see his perspective. He knew this area when it was larger and more vibrant, filled with friends and family and life. It must have been like seeing someone that you loved and remembered as young and strong start to die and emaciate before your eyes. Soon you see just a hoolow carcass of the person that was and you don’t even recognize them. Even sadder, they don’t recognize you. The relationship has changed and the only thing that keeps you around is some sort of loyalty to the memory of what once was. Staying becomes painful.
Maybe that’s overstating it. I don’t know.
Why I live here remains a difficult question to answer. It’s the only place where I feel a connection to the place and my ancestry but is that enough? Where we live is a relationship and like all relationships, there are negative aspects we must accept in order to maintain that relationship. When the negatives far outweigh the positives, we tend to break off the relationship, or, at least, we should.
Hard questions to ask, even harder to answer. I hope Mr. Cleary finds an answer that satisfies his life and needs. I know his article has made me think.
Redtree Times 
With overnight temperature beginning to reliably dip below freezing, many of us ask ourselves, ”Why do we still live here?” It’s an annual question to which we hope to receive a satisfactory answer . . . in the Spring.
While I understand that the weather is a factor for many, it doesn’t really play into my personal equation. I like the cold weather and am not a fan of the heat. But I do like the Spring and the other change of seasons here.
It occurs to me there really are two questions. One is Mr. Cleary’s: “Why do we still live here?”
The other, perhaps more difficult, is: “Where would we go?”
I lived happily in the very middle of Houston in the 1980s. I would no more move into Houston now than I would – well, I just wouldn’t.
I loved growing up in my mid-sized Iowa town. I just was there. Would I move back? No, and not just because of the winter.
I dream of being able to go back to the cabin in the woods I loved so dearly, west of San Antonio. Would I go back? Certainly – but I can’t, because I can’t afford to repurchase what was let go.
I think there may be a third question worth asking: given the new realities of life, how do I live? Those realities can be the realities of age, social change, financial loss – anything. Sometimes moving is the best option. But moving to escape is one thing. Moving to achieve a particular goal is another.
You make many good points, especially in asking “how do I live?” I know there is an element of the grass-is-always-greener in asking such a question. Maybe this is only a question for those who find themselves living in the hometowns of their childhood, who have never even considered the possibility of living elsewhere. As is often the case, I only ask the questions and have few answers.