My Brain Has Been Drained

Let me break the ice of my posting freeze with this: I am thrilled. The last few months after quitting my job have been rough, but it’s paid off: I have an exciting new job in a field (social entrepreneurship) that I am fascinated with and passionate about, in a new city (Boston) filled with amazing opportunities to learn and grow, and while I’ve just scratched the surface of living here, already I’ve met many interesting, committed people. Right now life feels like an endless adventure. There’s just one problem—I’m not in Detroit.

My determination to conquer an ingrained fear of a city I had grown up outside of, to become part of a human bridge between the city and its estranged suburbs, and to resist the brain drain sucking young talent out of the state of Michigan led me to Detroit. Despite vehement objections from many people I love, I followed my gut to Detroit, and I wasn’t disappointed—I fell in love with the city. It’s hard to articulate why I love it so much, but suffice it to say that beyond the post-apocalyptic metaphors of a city destroyed is a collection of hidden gems and a strong, determined, and welcoming community of people who see potential where others see despair. Now, despite the difficulty of parting (at least for a while) from a city I’ve grown deeply devoted to, I’ve followed my gut to Boston.

It makes sense that I was drawn to Boston to continue my practical education.  As a hub of social entrepreneurship and innovation (and the birthplace of City Year), Boston has been beckoning me for the better half of a year—I knew that I could learn things here that I would be hard pressed to learn anywhere else. Since I was seven or eight, visiting my sister at MIT, Boston has been a place of practical learning: it was here that I fell in love with public transportation, with green spaces in the middle of bustling cities, and the boldness of the American Revolution. It seems fitting that I’ve returned here, because it was on that trip to Boston when I had a serious “moment of obligation:" the moment I first “saw” a homeless person, and realized what being homeless meant. I don’t have many vivid memories from when I was seven or eight years old, but I remember sitting in a restaurant booth with my family, my head buried in my arms, trying to hide my face as I sobbed—my young mind trying to comprehend why she didn’t have a home while I did.

Yet while I’m here, Detroit is constantly on my mind. I can’t help but feel like a hypocrite, a brain sucked to the coast—exactly as I was determined not to become. It’s not that I have doubts about being here—no, not at all. Like I said, I’ve followed my gut—and I’d like to think that by investing in my growth and development I will eventually be much more useful to Detroit (and hopefully society as a whole) than if I’d stayed out of stubbornness.

But while I’m half a country away, I’m not content to just sit back and say, “See you later in life, Detroit—hope things have gotten better for you then.” I’m determined to stay plugged in to Detroit and its future—to be as useful to, and supportive of, all the great work that is happening there as much as is humanly possible. But how can I be useful from six hundred miles away? Can I do something from where I am right now to help heal the deep social divisions that still impede the entire Detroit metro region from making progress? I know I can send money, but is there any other way I can make a difference from afar? What is the best way to make an impact when you aren’t working in your own backyard? These are the questions I’m grappling with as I transition to an east coast life—and the questions I know I will continue to struggle with in the coming years. I have a few ideas—stay tuned for those—but in the mean time, any ideas you have would be greatly appreciated.