The Benefits of Small Town Living
I have always appreciated small-town living on some level...otherwise I wouldn't have wound up back in Moab. My lifelong appreciation has been related to my need for peace, quiet, open space and room to breathe, which translates to living life at a slower pace. ("Out of the 'rat race'", my parents would have said.) Recently, however, I've noticed that there are other things I appreciate about living in a small town.
It has crossed my mind that these may signify that I am either 1) getting old; 2) being re-absorbed into the "hick" collective; or 3) both of the above. Is this a bad thing? I have no idea, except that I swore throughout my young life that I would never be old. (I have no idea how I thought I would avoid this because an early death was not in my plans either.) And after being raised here, I certainly wanted to split as soon as possible...in part to avoid being a hick. And now? Well, my attitude has certainly changed - which is why wonder at the significance of my more thorough appreciation of living in a small town.
I thought of sharing my Pollyanna attitude and a few of the ways I am enjoying life around here because it's the time of year when a good number of us begin cursing something...it might be the heat, the tourists, perceived “provincial” attitudes, sitting through a green light while making a left-hand turn, the challenge of earning a decent living wage, or any number of other reasons.
I have realized that I like Moab because it doesn't have as much stuff (you know, the physical things we can acquire in this world). On a recent visit to my sister's home in the Denver metropolitan area I realized that I am less and less prepared to deal with the proliferation of stuff and the stimulation of various types of advertising that lure us to buy. During my visit we went to a new mall--Flatiron Crossing. Well, we'd been there no more than 15 minutes when I had spied at least a fifty items that I began to think I “needed” or could maybe put to use. Beyond that, they were simply “cool” and new. I restrained myself from purchasing all but a new pair of jeans, but I was left reeling from the stimulus to buy. I felt like a young child who is attracted to bright, shiny objects.
Marketing mercilessly lures us into thinking that if we buy, we are more apt to achieve whatever beauty, serenity, wealth, success is being portrayed. I think if I was bombarded by these messages on a day-to-day basis, resistance would be futile. I hear scathing remarks about those of us who are consumed by consumerism; that we are trying to fill some empty void which was once filled by family, community, or spirituality. I think that is a logical theory, but I also think that despite our species' relative intelligence we are no match against the constant barrage of media and big business telling us what we need, mesmerizing us with pretty pictures and seductive music. Don’t get me wrong. I like buying things. That's the problem. My approach to the whole situation is somewhat like avoiding the grocery store when you're hungry, because who knows what will leap into your shopping cart...this is just on a larger scale.
I was also stunned by the number and variety of goods that are available for consumption. I don't think there has been a time in our history when so many things were obtainable and affordable to such a large number of us (at least, in the U.S.) From Pottery Barn to Crate and Barrel; from Target to the chic, upscale one-of-a-kind boutique it is unbelievable. Big things, little things; sundries and accessories; stocking and hairpins; scarves and shoes; washers and dryers. (As a digression, we don’t seem to give much thought to why a hand-beaded, 14" silk shantung, down-filled pillow can be ours for only $29.99.)
I feel thankful that I live in a small town, where such stimulus is relatively minimal. If you can resist buying t-shirts you’re safe from the whimsical purchase most of the time. This may seem a silly reason to appreciate living in a small town, and may depress the merchants who are trying to make a living here, but I am nonetheless thankful for it. “Real” people who live in “real” places and hold “real” jobs would probably think I am nuts for wanting to avoid buying things. They'd probably think I have no idea what makes the “real” world turn. Maybe my desire to curb my participation in the public's purchasing power categorizes me as a “hick,” because I won't be serving my fruit salad in a bowl of this season's most popular color nor will I be wearing the most stylish of clothes. I've discovered that I don't care, which probably classifies me as aging, too.
A second reason that I have been appreciating small-town life definitely has to do with getting older and noticing things that benefit others. A few weeks ago, I decided to wind my way home through the west side of town in order to avoid the insanity of Main Street during Jeep Safari. I noticed two children, aged about 6, playing in their unfenced front yard. They were unencumbered by the presence of an adult, except perhaps discreetly through a window. It struck me how lucky they were to have the freedom to play outside without an omnipresent fear of being the victim of an abduction, drive-by shooting, or something even more sinister.
How fortunate to have a yard, with sticks and bugs and other gifts to the imagination; to have an open field not far away where they can feed that yen for exploration and discovery. (They might be resentful as hell in another decade when they're teenagers, but for the younger child--what paradise.) The world of my niece and nephew is one of miles of concrete poured in all directions and the obsessed cultivation and “manicurization,” if you will, of landscape. The truly natural world is receding at an alarming rate. There are plenty of things about growing up in Moab that might put children at a disadvantage in comparison to a childhood in other locales, but on this day I could only appreciate for them the freedom of that warm, languid afternoon.
There are a myriad of daily interactions with people in this small town that I appreciate as well, this is not a new appreciation per se, but one that is intensifying. It's exchanging pleasantries with Howard at Red Rock, or Julie at Eklecticafé, Kyle at the post office, the boys at the hardware store whose faces are familiar but whose names I don't know, and so on. It’s feeling at liberty to smile and say, “Good morning” to a stranger as I walk down the street sipping my morning coffee.(This has the added advantage of providing a moment of glee at some peoples' discomfort with the whole concept of talking to strangers. If you think it’s fun in Moab, try it when you travel. It can provide hours of entertainment.)
This attitude may not be sophisticated. In fact I'm quite sure it's not. After all, I remember a house mate in college complaining about the West after a trip to California (and let me qualify that her trip was to the Bay Area, not L.A.). The people were so bourgeois, bland, clueless and placid in their expressions, according to red-headed Bonita who was from New York City, smoked cigarettes, and wore nothing but black. Bonita was far more verbose about the subject and used a more extensive vocabulary than I just did--all of it delivered in a peculiar accent that I'm sure she created--however, you get the picture. I can only imagine her opinion of a small-town life where you both greet strangers and see familiar faces each day. But again, it doesn't bother me if “city folk” find me quaint, which has got to be a sign of something.
To finish on a light note, let's talk about a final couple of trivial details that really make small-town living good. The morning commute has got to be one. If I don't appreciate driving down the winding river road, watching the sun light the rocks and keeping my eyes open for blooming Utah penstemon; if I am perhaps cursing the R.V. in front of me for its tedious pace, then listening to NPR's traffic update is sure to remind me what a lucky girl I am. As I watch out for deer and bunnies and keep my eyes open for the five available passing spots on the road, I listen to the litany of accidents that seem to befall Wasatch Front drivers on any given morning. Whew. A few slowpokes is nothing.
Another arena for appreciation is the special feeling you get when you are a “regular.” When someone knows just what you are going to order, or remembers just how you like your coffee, or asks you how the specially-boned pork loin roast you ordered last week turned out. You see the brief spark of envy in the out-of-towner's eye and you can only hope they get to be a “regular” somewhere, sometime themselves.
And last, but not least. (This benefit of small-town living is really a benefit of out-of-town small town living.) It is the knowledge that during certain seasons, when I am working outside at home and start getting too hot, I don't have to go inside to change clothes if I don't want to. I can simply strip down and carry on without a care in the world. Now that is something the “real” world would probably appreciate. If not, then they’re the hicks.
