A Place to Belong
Lately I’ve thought a lot about the notion of belonging. For the last six years my husband and I lived in Fresno, California, in a large condominium complex where we, as Caucasians with Master’s degrees and a middle-class income, were minorities. We came to know and participate with the rhythms of our neighborhood, but always felt a chord of differentness playing inside; no matter how long we lived there, we didn’t quite fit in.
A month ago we moved from there to the Bay Area, where my husband will soon begin doctoral work. And I’m surrounded now by neighborhoods of highly educated, wealthy people, the majority of which are white. By outer appearances (minus my filthy car), I’m at home.
But I’m not quite feeling so. It’s not that I don’t want to be here; for this season, I very much do. But I’m realizing that for all my efforts at being an adaptive, world-wise person, any extreme – wealth or poverty, diversity or uniformity – leaves me yearning for a place to belong.
But maybe my yearning to belong runs much deeper than race or income or education level…