- submitted by Rona Gindin on 06/17/2008
The Biggest Challenge of the 'Burbs: Accepting "Good Enough"
By Rona Gindin
It took months of obsession to find the right words.
"Why are we so unhappy?" I'd ponder with a friend.
I'd moved to the Orlando suburbs from Manhattan, she from Philadelphia, and we were living parallel lives of malaise -- even though we each had interesting work with clients back home, loving husbands and adorable preschoolers. Mull as we did about the source of our misery, neither of us could muster up even temporary peaks of joy -- or pinpoint a reason.
We'd leave a restaurant lunch feeling unsatisfied, wondering why the parmesan cheese on our salads was hard and bland. (My guess today: preshredded packaged American-made cheese, not a freshly graded import.)
We'd exit the haircutter's disappointed. (My understanding now: Stylists here tend to train on the job or, at best, in a tech school-not with an internationally respected expert.)
Women with associate's degrees -- not the master's grads we were used to -- were teaching our preschool sons. Inept physicians' assistants were doing the jobs doctors had performed in our urban oases. Nothing was ever great. But we hadn't put it all together.
"There's no quest for excellence," Jane announced one day. That was it! We'd moved from big cities that are magnets for people who are driven. Where I'd lived, I was surrounded by professionals who had moved to New York City from all corners of the world because they wanted to make it -- as a photographer, a writer, an actor, an attorney, a doctor, an investment banker.
They'd come to the Big Apple because they knew that's where the best of the best plied their trades. Competition was brutal, but what satisfaction there is training with the tops! That's how you gain expertise yourself. And it leads to a society of folks who take pride in doing a job well.
Here in suburban Orlando ... not so much. On every front-home, the office, dealing with service providers-folks are content with "good enough."
Take the curtains. Like every suburban homeowner, I eventually succumbed to the lure of décor. I found a designer named Grant who has a superb sense of style; everyone else I'd interviewed specialized in schmaltz-faux schmaltz, like wallpaper borders that look like crown molding.
Grant found me a stunning burgundy fabric and had dramatic 14-foot floor-to-ceiling panels made to flank my living room's French doors. Then they were hung: a full inch different. One was, and still is, higher than the other. I called Grant, figuring he'd have them rehung in a minute. "Why does it matter?" he asked.
While much of what he did turned out beautifully, Grant dumped me as a client. He was dismayed when I complained that a valance was made in such a way that I couldn't open the shutters, and therefore the window under them. ("Why would you want to open the window?") He got pissed off when I didn't like ornate gilded brackets he'd chosen for my ultra casual family room. ("Most clients let me make that kind of decision.")
As you might imagine, being the professional that makes the perfectionist decisions isn't so popular around here.
Hired to create a website for a top-quality food magazine that has editorial offices in New York, I met resistance every time I tried to tweak. The designer was quick and efficient. But when I asked her to move this here, that there, make the type more readable? She was offended that I didn't love every piece as it came in. Who would? In New York, on magazine staffs, we fine-tuned every layout that came our way.
I went through similar shenanigans with the programmer, who rebelled when I asked him to carry through ideas from one page to the next. Did he really think you could have type green on one page, black on the next? He didn't think it was important to be consistent.
Suburban folks' expectations seem to be lower throughout, and they're more easily pleased. Just go to the theater. As Jane pointed out 10 years ago, every theater production in greater Orlando receives a standing ovation. Every one! What about reserving the ultimate compliment for exceptional performances?
I understand not wanting to cook, but, please, at least buy decent food when company's coming. I can't tell you how many Publix- and Costco-based dinners I've had at people's houses: Cheez Wiz melted over tortilla chips, frozen lasagna, flavorless veggie dips packaged in another state with a scary-long shelf life.
These are just a few examples, but boy could I go on. Here are a few more: Painters here won't slather Benjamin Moore on your ceiling. Walls yes, although they always try to talk me into cheaper paint. Ceiling? "That doesn't get dirty, so there's no need to touch it."
My friend Carol was treated as if she were a shrew when her house was being constructed. Her crime? In her 5,490-square-foot McMansion on a massive lakefront lot, she asked the workmen to reinstall electric outlets that were screwed in crooked. You should see roadwork outside the sprawling community's homes. New curbs are built swervy, and painted road lines aren't straight either.
The lower standards here make sense in a way. Nearly everyone I know who relocated here from a big city did it "for the lifestyle." In other words, long commutes, expensive housing and polluted air no longer took second place to oh-my-god career opportunities.
Orlando's burb residents came here to relax, to barbecue, to coach kid soccer, to be home from work in time for dinner. My husband is one of those transplants, and that's why I'm here. And I do appreciate having him around to help out with the kids in the evening.
This lack of perfectionism is catching, I have to admit. It can even be refreshing.
Back in the day, my Thanksgiving table was set elegantly and flawlessly. The linens were fine and were ironed. The Lenox crystal glasses were placed beside the china just so at every setting. Now I use cheap linens, crumpled, and cover the stains with a condiment bowl -- and have a much better time. (But I still take the time to make the food superb.)
In some areas, I refuse to compromise.
Since I moved here 12 years ago, I found a doctor who would prescribe the right tests for me, a piano teacher who insists on proper form, a hairstylist who takes continuing education courses and -- a lengthy 45-minute drive away -- a baker who makes his breads and éclairs the old-fashioned away. But that's a long way to go for a baguette.
Jane? She moved back to a big city the moment her husband's two-year contract was up.
Rona Gindin battles mediocrity from her perch 12 miles north of the Magic Kingdom in a suburb of Orlando, Florida. She contributes to national magazines, hosts a local TV show about restaurants, and is the author of "The Little Black Book of Walt Disney World: The Essential Guide to All the Magic" and "WHERE -- Eat! Orlando: Great Meals Wherever You Are."
...read more rants
127 likes 
