I have a confession: productivity was incredibly low post-Toy Story 3 writing. 

I thought long and hard for a good thirty seconds before realizing there was little to write about. I’d spent the entire weekend thinking about Pixar’s recent feat, taking notes on its production and laying out what I wanted to write and argue for. Beyond that I had nothing to muse or chew on. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Nil. 

And then it dawned on me – I had not bounced ideas for a few days. I’d been in the confines of my childhood home, back in the comfort of the suburbia I grew up in. It’s sunny, peaceful, quiet, clean, comfortable – the sort of environment old retirees love and aspiring minds suffocate in. 

Everyone drives everywhere here. The city is flat and spread out, a perfect example of urban sprawl. Bus lines exist, but most of its riders are from beyond the city limits. To the city’s credit, I’m seeing more people strolling and biking about than I remembered growing up, though perhaps there’s the possibility I wasn’t as observant before. 

Walking anywhere seems tedious and boring. The same old houses, the same old streets lined with pristine fences and walls, the same old look of a city planner who actively tries to hide the desert roots of the environment with imported grass and eucalyptus trees that barely mask the dry heat of the day. It’s all pretty looking – unnaturally in a sense, but pretty enough for those who enjoy it. 

These days, I spent most of the time in a place the complete opposite of here, this suburbia. I’m spoiled with people who enjoy mental dissonance as much as I do, who are willing to break comfort in pursuit of something well beyond the norm – progressive thought. The people are open to the idea of something different, enamored with it even. Everyone bikes and walks around, everything is within strolling difference, and wandering around will lead you to another hidden niche or gem. Sometimes it becomes overwhelming, caught up in so many ideas and thoughts and postulates – a mental overload in which I can’t chose between what I want to think about. 

So to be back here, back in the nostalgic familiarity of a environment – it’s always a bit strange. Old habits seep in, old memories play back, old friends are still here, and after awhile I can easily rescind back into the comfort of not thinking and simply relaxing aimlessly. 

It’s a narcotic-like state that’s hard to break, the resultant urban sprawl from a city planning dedicated to suburban perfection: a place devoid of cultural personality by insistence to adhere to a white white paint as opposed to a yellow white hue; churches claiming right to the true Jesus every few blocks, hoping to save as many sorry souls from the damnations of hell; the comfort of cleanliness due to hired out-of-town, hard-working first generation Mexicans who fulfill the city’s pruning and primping needs without so much a whine or whimper, ample and skilled at what they do to make a living and get by; the countless shopping plazas designed to keep every housewife happy with grocery stores and nail spas – it’s enough to deter anyone from trying to go beyond the sureness of career goals, enough to propel the restless into unwise rebellion, enough to break the greenest and most daring minds into submission after years of suffocating conformity. 

After awhile, this kind of environment makes you want to not think, to not challenge what is already in place. You want to, but somehow you can’t; your mind gets fuddled and fuzzled with the prospects of comfort, a reassurance of what has already been established and proven by those before you. It becomes intoxicating, a environmental temptation to simply stop fighting and just flow back into confines of safety and compliance. 

Of course, I have the gift of retrospect to get out of this rut – though unfortunately not in time to brainstorm something more interesting than the effects of urban sprawl. Don’t get me wrong, I love my hometown: it’s bittersweet, of course, from a mixture of childhood ventures filled with curiosity and happiness contrasted with teenage years filled with broiled resentment against the stifling effects of cookie-cutter mentality. I suppose that’s how it all goes, though, for those of us privileged enough to leave and return to our respective hometowns. 

But to return after the thrills of travel and experience, of seeing things beyond previously fathomed – it’s tough. Dealing with such differences in environment and remaining true to yourself as you’ve now progressed thus far – it’s not only difficult, it’s possible to relapse into old habits of thought, behavior and action. This is the real challenge so many have to overcome as a result of urban sprawl, to look it in the face and relinquish its gratifying rewards of cozy repose at the cost of mental stagnation. 

There’s a certain loneliness to dispelling comfort in the name of thought. But honestly, it makes it all the more worthwhile when after a series of bouncing ideas internally and externally, you eventually come up with something to say, even if it’s just a little bit. 

So thanks for the offer, suburbia, but I’ll keep breaking mold regardless.