Perspectives, Neighbors, and Walking the Dog at 1 a.m.

As far as I can tell, there are three types of folks in Imperial Beach: those who have been here for years, those whose military service brings them here, and those who simply arrived and don't want to leave. I'm in the third group.

Fact is: I'm relatively new to California, only having been here a few years. I'm originally from parts south - Mississippi, Arkansas, those kinds of places.

When I was much younger, still in high school, my family visited San Diego as part of a vacation. I discovered that I had a warm spot in my heart for this part of Southern California that never quite went away. But it was decades before I returned.

My girlfriend accepted a job out here about five years ago. I helped her drive across the country to move and settle in. Her new job was in Chula Vista, and she got an apartment in Otay Ranch. Two years later, when I finally decided to make the move myself, we got a different, larger apartment, still in that part of town.

If I was to say it didn't do much for me, I'd be minimizing it. In actuality, I found it a soul-numbing, mind-draining sort of place - not at all the California I wanted to live in.

Last summer, we decided we had to get out of Chula Vista, but wanted to stay in South County, so we considered moving. We had a short list: Imperial Beach.

We'd both come out here a few times, to hit the beach, see the sand castles, check out the estuary... the good stuff.

We got a place only a couple of blocks from the beach, close enough to walk the dog down Seacoast at 1 in the morning, along with the other bike riders, dog walkers, skateboarders, and 7-11 shoppers.

Trust me: I call that trading up.

What I found most interesting was how people reacted when we told them we'd moved to Imperial Beach.

"Why? Why did you go there?" Usually this was in a horrified tone of voice.

"It's a small beach town," I'd say. "The people are friendly! Folks walk around at night, talking to each other! I know a lot of my neighbors!"

"But... but... there are bikers there! Illegal aliens! Border patrol! Imperial Beachians! Aren't you afraid?"

Well, no. Everything I told them was true. I love the fact that IB is a small beach town and feels like it. I like knowing my neighbors and the other dog-walkers I meet. I like the fact that the folks who own the businesses down here know so many people by their first names - and can pretty much tell what you're going to want. I consider this desirable.

After a few conversations with some of the folks from that first group - the people who have lived here their entire lives - I learned that IB has a reputation, one that seems to have been cultivated and grown to keep some people away.

I also like that.

Reputation ain't reality. Just because someone says it, don't make it true. It only took me a few months to learn that. Now when someone asks where I live, I say:

"We've got a great spot in IB." I don't know if my delivery has improved or the quality of the people I know has improved, but I now hear:

"I love IB!"

This is almost always followed by:

"I went to school at Mar Vista!" or "I go out there all the time!" or "That's a great place!" and sometimes even "Me, too!"

When they say those things, I know that IB makes them happy. And you know what? It makes me happy too.

But there is a caveat. I'm a cranky old writer. When everything is all sweet and perfect, I've got nothing to talk about. When there are glitches, I'm happiest. I have something to fuss about.

I've occasionally written about some of them on my blog, The Writer's Washroom. But now that Patch has asked me to get involved, I'll probably have a few more.

I'll get to them in time. But for now, it's 1 in the morning. I'm writing this on the back deck enjoying the weather. I think I may take the dog for a walk to the 7-11, and I might even say "Hi" to my neighbor.