My grandparents own a farm four hours north of East Lansing, outside of Boyne City. Growing up, every holiday break from school or a birthday meant another trip to the farm. There were trails to maintain, firewood to stock and lakes to explore.

Hikes through the surrounding woods instilled an appreciation for nature that has grown along with me. I also was raised with generous portions of urban life, instantly falling for the excitement of city living - the almost overwhelming human factor.

For as long as I remember, my imagination has been split between these two extremes. I credit my fascination to the fact that I was born into the biggest threat to the existence of both spaces: a bland spot called suburbia.

Anyone who has lived in the suburbs can attest to the fact that they are uninspiring places, with little to worry about and less to do. What I didn't realize at first, however, was life in suburbia not only deprived me of the backcountry woods and downtown strips I dreamed of, but also threatened a mature understanding of the world and my place in it.

I was lucky to have parents who felt it was important to expose me to the different designs of life. Suburban policies did more than keep the streets safe and the public schools elite, they also created economic enclaves where residents lived with those similar to them, tucked away from different classes and, often, ethnicities.

Childhood trips to Chicago and Toronto were exciting, not only for the architecture, but because of the diversity. There were so many cultures drawn to the city: thousands of unique identities fused into a community that seemed to move like clockwork. I could learn just by walking the street.

Even as a kid, I knew cities were special. Removed from the economic homogeneity of the suburbs, I was able to place myself in society with a greater understanding of those from different economic classes or ethnicities. I learned to respect different realities and interpretations of life, drawing from many to enrich my own forming identity.

At home, it was easy to fall into circles where each person's identity varied very little from the others. I understand people are more comfortable around those similar to them, but it's the density of the city, the unavoidable mingling of different groups that moves a community beyond the stereotypes and unease that often keep people apart. Suburbs become homogeneous too easily, making residents comfortable but with the risk of ignorance. School's multicultural weeks pale in comparison to actually living in a diverse community.

After visiting a city, my suburban home seemed duller than ever. I missed the variety, the exciting sounds and smells. But whenever my angst was at its height, I would remember the farm. I loved rural solitude; the meditative time alone in nature.

It wasn't fair for me to criticize the suburbs for being quiet and safe. Again and again, I would cut them a break. The country, after all, isn't very diverse either.

Then a time came when I went up to the farm and saw something horrifying: A neighborhood had been cut into the forest.

Clusters of identical homes greedily claimed large lawns. Sprinklers shot water everywhere. I pictured the deer and coyotes running faster than the water meters, into a smaller stretch of wood.

The suburbs were not just a threat to human diversity. They devoured even natural diversity. I understood cities held the solution to more than our social problems. If I wanted to be an environmentalist, I needed to support cities as well. The fates of both were intertwined, with suburbia growing into the role of villain.

It would be fantastic if our generation could move America away from the suburban rut it finds itself in. Not only would that help us finally overcome the phobias and quiet prejudices we hold against each other, but it also would stop a dangerous trend of unsustainable development.

Tree huggers and urbanites unite - attractive and sustainable cities support sustainable environments around them. We could all learn more about each other, while allowing nature the space and time it needs to thrive. It's a "win-win-win" solution - good for ourselves, good for our cities, good for our planet.

Chris Matus is an MSU English and social relations senior and a State News columnist. Reach him at matuschr@msu.edu.