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Thursday, June 17, 2010
Life in Cleveland
I remember before I moved, a lot of people I worked with were aghast that I would willingly move somewhere like Cleveland. “Why would you move there?” they asked. I suspect part of it was that I was moving away from Portland, and not even to somewhere warmer like LA. I cheerfully informed them that yes, I was moving to Cleveland and I’m sure that it would be just fine. Besides, I didn’t really feel any home-like affinity for Portland, anyway, right? So, off I went. I was a little sad to leave Portland and my family, but not sad at all to be moving to be with Johnathan. It is a decision that I still do not regret.
I do sometimes wish that he had lived somewhere other than Cleveland, though. I’ve really tried to like it here. The summertime is pretty, but so hot and muggy that it’s almost impossible to enjoy it. The winter is cold and gray. Spring and fall seem to have identity crises where they’re really not sure whether they’re maybe actually winter or perhaps summer instead, rather than a smooth transition into the next weather swing. I cannot deny that Cleveland has some beauty and charm to it. I mean, there’s charm in the cottonwood fluff that made the grass look snow-covered a couple of weeks ago, and I like seeing the leaves turn in the fall. But there’s just something about the fact that the Cuyahoga river has caught on fire more than once that doesn’t scream “ecological mecca” to me.
Cleveland has buildings. They are not the tallest buildings, or the grandest, but a few of them are very nice to look at. I especially like Terminal Tower, which has a stateliness to it that I find very appealing. I love the Playhouse Square area, with all of its theaters and bright, shiny signs. I can’t help myself. I love the lights. (And the theater that goes on inside isn’t so bad, either!)
But ultimately, I have a feeling of vague antipathy about Cleveland. I’m not alone, it seems. A few months ago, there was a news article – one of those “Best of/Worst of” kind of lists that everyone loves to read but nobody really believes because some of the info seems so far off of what we know. Forbes named Cleveland the most miserable city in the United States. I seem to be the only one who was not surprised by this. In fact, afterward, the Cleveland tourism folks and some Cleveland-centric magazine started a Twitter meme: #happyinCLE+. (The + doesn’t stick, so it has since morphed to just #happyinCLE.) People were encouraged to tweet about why they were happy living in Cleveland. It came off badly, I felt, because it looked like people were just trying way too hard to find ways in which one could be happy in Cleveland. And, to be frank, a lot of them were cases of being happy and also being in Cleveland, so it totally missed the point anyway. It did get me thinking about my status in this metropolis, however. I’m happy enough. And I am, in fact, in the greater Cleveland area. But I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I am happy to be in Cleveland.
Cleveland has a kind of self-loathing that people here seem to almost hold as a badge of honor. Nobody really seems to actually like Cleveland, except for odd moments when something nice is happening and they’re there for it. Nobody really admits it, but people are proud to have bumper stickers that say “Cleveland: At least we’re not Detroit”. That doesn’t exactly scream civic pride. There seems to be a pervading attitude of distrust of your fellow person, too. People will stare you down, just to ensure you know that they are aware of your presence, so don’t try anything funny. I witness this everywhere in this area, not jut the more active parts of town. We could be going into a store to pick up a gallon of milk, and someone might end up giving us the fisheye of suspicion.
There seems to me to be a lack of things to do. “No!” my coworkers insist. “There’s lots to do in Cleveland!” So I ask them what. And then there is a very pregnant pause. And after exhausting the museums, the zoo, Playhouse Square and the West Side Market, everyone seems to be stumped. And then, do you know what the next thing on the list is? Bars. That’s the best thing people have managed to come up with. “Well, I know this great bar over by…” And food. “Have you been to the Cheesecake Factory? I love that place!” I admit that I have not yet been to the museums, but I’ve managed to do everything else on the list, save for the bars. We’re making our way through Little Italy, one restaurant at a time, and we’ve tried a few local Thai and Indian food places, but for the most part, the chains are way easier to find than the independent, local places. (Unless you want to pay an arm and a leg to eat down on East 4th at Pickwick and Frolic or one of Michael Symon’s restaurants, which I’d like to do, but isn’t exactly in the budget for now.)
So, what is life in Cleveland for me? It is surviving. Chicago opened my eyes (and Johnathan’s) to what life could be, and to what a city should be. We realized that there’s just something lacking here in Cleveland, and that ultimately, we’re settling. We’re not really living, just surviving, and that’s no way to be. I want to move somewhere, and we’re still talking very seriously about moving next year to Portland, but who knows at this point. We’ve both realized that it is not an option to stay in Cleveland. Cheap cost of living is no reason to stay in a place that feels like it is perpetually heading downhill. I’m sure someday Cleveland will come back and thrive, but I’m not willing to wait it out here until it does.
I know that Cleveland will always be a part of our lives. Johnathan’s parents are here, and I’m pretty sure we’ll be coming back for the Cleveland International Film Festival in the future, but I can’t see it remaining our place of residence. I’m sad that Cleveland hasn’t turned out to be quite what I expected, or even something that I could grow to love after two years and nine months. Life in Cleveland isn’t living, though, and I can’t keep putting off life forever.
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