A couple days ago, I was asked where I liked living better – off of 7 Mile (I lived at two different spots close to 7 and Wyoming for in the past year and a half), or my current spot – a remodeled Textile Manufacturing Warehouse off of Trumbull and 94. At the time, it was a no brainer – that is, my new location is far superior due to a combination of convenience, access to different Detroit neighborhoods, and the level of perceived safety.

My current apartment complex

Yet, January musings found me reflecting on the three different Detroit locations I’ve lived in and the different experiences I’ve had in each. When I moved into the city proper about a year and a half ago, I did so for my job (working at a high school nearby as an English Teacher) rather than a desire to be a part of the city. The first house I lived in was part of a vibrant block – neighbors and friends sat on their porches regularly and it wasn’t unusual for a few of our neighbors to pop in and out of my house on a regular basis.

Last year’s block

Despite neighbor friendliness, I can’t say I felt a sense of belonging there. I was encumbered with a feeling of out of placeness – an uncomfortable awareness of my own status as a northern suburbanite invader. I even had the weary neighbor or to broach the subject with me a few times. I spent much of the year holed up inside my house or travelling to other parts of the city that I perceived as safer and/or more walkable (my neighborhood was notorious for stray dogs and a lack of night walkability).

The irony? Since moving to the woodbridge/midtown area, there’s actually been a significant crime outbreak. Mostly nonviolent and involving car theft (five cars have been stolen out of my parking lot since August), but also including more significant, violent incidents, most notably the tragic death of a police officer in November.

Despite neighbor’s weariness, I actually noticed a distinct increase in the friendliness of my previous neighborhood as opposed to my current one. Here, I walk down the street and get the occasional head nod or hey there, but for the most part, people avoid me – even going so far as to cross the street when I go for a walk (granted, this may have something to do with my absolutely vicious 8 month old german shepherd puppy). In my old neighborhood, neighbors called “what up my man” from their porch. One time, they even brought a cake over

Tom’s Tavern: One of the oldest bars in Detroit (pre-prohibition) was right around the corner from me

to celebrate a birthday. Hell, I even had a stray cat my housemates and I named, affectionately, “kitty”.

So, perhaps my own discomfort with my initial Detroit neighborhood was just that – my own discomfort, no one else’s. Neighborhoods, I’ve found, are very explicitly what we make of them and what we create within them. If anything, my dualistic experiences in Detroit simply reinforce the value of place making and intentionality in community building, and the fact that, in an environment laced with gentrification, we have a ways to go.