Love That Dirty Water

This is why I love Boston; why I've loved it since we moved here as newlyweds in 2003:

You know where you stand.

Yeah, the city is awesome and the food is pretty spectacular. (When you can manage to taste it with three babies to support.  Which is not often.  Which makes it even more spectacular.)  The history is obviously incredible with both physical and dramatic portrayals year-round.  The architecture is to die for, and there's a park to play in every five blocks.

But what I love most is the culture, the people.  Yes, you read that correctly.  The people.  The honk-at-you, scream-at-you, flip-you-off people.  Do I enjoy being screamed at while I'm pulled over after a fender bender?  No, of course not.  Do I enjoy being flipped off? No.  (That's why I keep my eyes on the road--so as to not see that wagging finger.  Goodness knows I send them 'awagging everyday.)

Two weeks ago, when all of the Go Boston! social media stuff was floating around, I came across an article.  25, or some odd, Reasons I Love Boston.  The one about our roads was my favorite.  Look at a map of NYC and it's a grid, "So you can get from point A to point B."  Look at a map of Boston proper, it's a mess of jumbled up roads, "Because F* You."  The conditions here are harsh.  The weather, the traffic, the parking, the cost. of. everything, the truly mean people.  I have found there are two types of people in eastern Mass: those who love living here and would die to protect it, and those who hate living here and can't wait for a transfer back out of this place.  In the end, I know this city owes me nothing, and makes no promises to accommodate my desires.  I know where I stand.

Here's the thing:  When I lug my minivan into the city, I am under no delusion that the 625,000 strangers living there like me or will be nice to me.  Maybe you're wondering why this is a good thing?  Well, let's just be honest.  Not until you and I have three, separate, personal interactions can I decide whether or not you are trustworthy and likable.  Why smile and pretend that's not happening?  And if we know we'll never have those three interactions to begin with, why mess with it?  I know it might sound harsh, but it's true that I cannot be a true friend to everyone I pass on the street.  So you keep your eyes on the goal and walk fast.  (Or you will get run over.)

Let's say we make it past first base....When I'm meeting someone new here, I see two critical eyes examining my motives.  And I'm cool with that, because I'm doing the exact same thing.  New Englanders have high outer walls.  The wall says, "I'm busy, I've got people, who are you?"  I think I came out of the womb with that wall around me! (It's called being an introvert.)  This wall is not insurmountable by any means.  But one must be far more serious about scaling it than in other cultures where it's much lower.  A low outer wall often means the inner wall is very high, which can be shocking when the outer wall was so easy and smiley.  But once you get over the high outer wall, you're in.  The inner wall isn't nearly as imposing as the outer.  And that is where our story has a happy ending.

The friends we have made here, who really live here, are incredibly faithful.  It's as if we've made a conscious decision to plant our feet on this historic soil, we've tested one another in the fires of friendship, and now we're good.  We are loyal, and maybe even a little protective.  Because, you know, it's hard living here.  We've got to look out for one another.