Home is where the Equity is

I remember a conversation with my best friend in high school. We sat in my parents' living room in our impractical thrift store dresses, gossiping. My friend waved her arm around, emcompassing the room, my family, everything in a gesture. "This isn't what I want," she said. "It's not for me."

"What?"

"I can't do it," she said. "Two point five kids, a dog, a house in the suburbs. It's horrible. Don't you think it's horrible?"

She waited for me to agree and I mumbled something agreement-like, but I never really understood her. Even then I wanted a nice big home to call my own. I always figured I'd have children. And it sounded fine to have a partner, someone to share it with. I never believed that the state of suburbia could define me as a person, and I guess that's why I wasn't afraid of it.

This is on my mind because I've been looking at classified ads to get a grip on the housing market. We're saving for a down payment, and will probably be saving for a long time, but it's nice to think that someday, I may not have neighbors stomping on the floor above my head. I might be able to properly fix things that are broken without going through a middleman. I could have a piece of land that's mine, just mine, and the only people with a key are people I know, not the landlord's son or daughter or cousin twice-removed.

It surprised me to learn that my best friend resented my lifestyle. That we could enjoy the comfort of my parents' living room while she sneered and held herself to a higher ideal. It made me wonder what she considered acceptable, and what exactly she thought she was running from because I never saw my future as a trap.