Having lived out most of my life in the so-called “ghettos” of New York City, I am now proud to say that the experiences I’ve accumulated over my life have made me tough.

When you step into the city, you can feel it. You sense that even in the tamest of places, things are different somehow. Over time you learn the unspoken etiquette of the people: make your face as unapproachable on the train as possible, don’t say good morning unless you only want half those you address to speak back to you and, most of all, keep it moving because everyone’s got somewhere to be (or at least wants to be somewhere that isn’t where they are now).

It’s not that we aren’t nice people, really. If you stopped to get to know us (if any of us ever stopped), you’d find unexpected pots of gold behind our smiles and be wowed by our stories. No, we’re not mean. We’re afraid. Now, hear me out: I know that there are bound to be some naysayers out there who claim not to know fear, but I disagree. We, in the city, are raised to believe that around every possible corner along our path, there is danger. To some degree it is true. I mean, “Little Red Riding Hood” isn’t called that for no reason — there are always wolves that lurk amongst the “Hood” (that’s short for "neighborhood," for those that aren’t native to the area and the language that comes with it).

Still, I can’t help but think that maybe we would be better off if we took less defensive approaches to life.

When I recently took a trip to a small suburban town in Massachusetts, I was mystified. The residents there greet one another on the street, they leave their doors unlocked for the majority of the day as well as their house blinds. I imagine that some of my readers may be questioning my sanity at this point because these are staples of normalcy to them. But truly, I had never seen these things before and I was taken aback by their existence.

Where I come from, you don’t get too close to people and even those you do decide to bring into your family are carefully surveyed. Where I come from, you close your doors and your windows (if you even have windows). To this day I can’t completely explain why, but I believe that maybe we are trained from an early age that we need to play specific roles in society and that those never intersect. Everyone seems to be taught — subconsciously, I suppose — that all those around them are expendable, so everyone becomes used to seeing others on the subway, on the street and even their friends and family as a bunch of “niggas” and “bitches;” not people, but genders tacked with adjectives.

In small suburban Massachusetts, they don’t talk to each other like this. Driving on the streets at night, you encounter not a single person, which needless to say I wasn’t used to. I found myself growing increasingly anxious as I sat in the passenger's seat expecting the worst. The way I described it to my partner, and the best way that I can describe it to you, is that it’s like a scary movie. New York City, with its constant threats, is analogous to the scenes with the dramatic music. You know the killer is coming when it starts and there are no surprises; you’re okay knowing what to expect. When the scene is really quiet, then you know the killer is quickly closing in but you don't know when, so you sit in your anxious or excited state waiting for the end.

In Massachusetts, I felt like a victim because I was told that I wasn’t one. I was promised that “here, things like that don't happen, nothing bad ever really does,” but I couldn't possibly believe that because it wasn’t what I had been raised with or what I was used to.

When I arrived back in New York City, I breathed a sigh of relief to look around and be able to confidently detect where danger was and who was a threat. Even after a week in Massachusetts, I couldn't adjust to life there and my partner couldn't adjust to life in my city. The worlds, it seems, are just too different.

If there is anything to be learned from this, other than the difference in suburban and city cultures, it is perhaps that the citizens of both places may benefit from learning from the other. Maybe New Yorkers would benefit from seeing more humanity in the people they pass on the street. Perhaps the people of Massachusetts would benefit from learning better habits for locking their doors.

Either way, I’m not expecting change overnight, or maybe even ever, but awareness I think is possible. Are you aware of the culture you’re embodying?