on living in this place

"I know that you like it here because it's what you're used to. It's a lot harder for people who are used to living in cities."

That was what one of my colleagues said to me upon my arrival to this small town. When I moved here, I was all kinds of ambivalent about it. I had grown up in this state, and after I left, I swore I wouldn't be back. The bad food! The ugly clothes! The popularity of country music! Mr. Banality had to convince me to apply for my current job. When people heard that I was moving to this state, they either responded with confusion ("Why?") or sympathy ("Don't worry--I'm sure another job will open up somewhere else.") So, when this new colleague made this comment (in a very condescending voice, I might add), I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to yell, "Nuh-uh, I don't like it here either!" After all, I had just moved here from a large city and was lamenting this area's absence of sushi and used book shops. But another part of me was so deeply offended by the comment, which implied that I was a naïve simpleton who didn't know any better than to be satisfied, that I was speechless. That this colleague liked to sell herself as culturally sensitive was especially annoying.

I've given this a lot of thought since that day. It's true, growing up here didn't provide me with an understanding of the world beyond my small community. My parents chose to save my mother's schoolteaching salary and have our family live on my father's income as a factory worker. We didn't go on many vacations, we didn't talk about current events around the dinner table, we didn't go to movies. My parents thought that credit cards were despicable, so if they couldn't pay cash for something, they didn't buy it (their mortgage was the exception). We ate really cheap food, and very few things in our house were name-brand products. However, the values of this culture, with its emphasis on simplicity, hard work, and honesty, have served me well, and I'm not just talking about my own internalization of those values. My parents worked hard and spent very little money, and because of that, I am one of those rare people with advanced degrees who never took out a student loan.

So, you can see why I might feel insulted by my colleague's statement.

What I've grown to realize is that it does take a special kind of enlightened attitude to be OK in a place like this, and by "like this," I mean a place that doesn't fit your peer group's definition of "a cool place to live." You have to be high in the trait of openness (and not limit that openness to certain types of places and certain types of people). You have to be mindful and creative. If you're rigid, your ability to be happy here will be severely limited.

Take, for example, the recipe book I've mentioned before. Sure, I poke fun at its partially-hydrogenated-fat-laden dishes, but I also have a certain appreciation for this type of cooking. The growth in the processed food industry during the 1950's didn't benefit only the suburban housewives. This stuff that was cheap and fast and easy to make was a godsend for farm wives. They could throw together a casserole and then use that time that the Velveeta and can of cream of mushroom soup saved them to help in the field. Plus, rural folks were used to preserved foods--they spent the winter eating the vegetables they canned back in August. And these processed foods were more than acceptable to German, Scottish, Norwegian, and British palates. Hamburger Helper and haggis? Practically the same thing.

The "advances" in farming (bigger machinery, synthetic fertilizers) haven't made life more convenient either. They've made farming less profitable. Now, farm families have to rely on multiple sources of income, which means even less time to do those daily living tasks like cooking.

I'll just get back to my point: pizza made with Velveeta is not my thing, but I try not to belittle people whose thing it is.

I've learned a lot about openness from Mr. Banality. I was especially worried about how he would adjust to living here, and it was his turn to follow me. Mr. Banality is a problem-solver. He's a man of action. That guy gets shit done. I could get really smarmy here, but I won't. Let's just say that he's really good at making life meaningful and interesting, and I'm very lucky that I get to come along for the ride.

My mom has a pillow on her couch on which she embroidered the message: Bloom Where You Are Planted. I've always hated that saying because it seems so passive and helpless. She made this pillow after my dad decided they should move to a rural community in an area they hadn't lived near since they were children. For my dad, this was no big deal, but my mom left many friends behind. And, as you might guess, the friendship circles of the 60+ crowd are difficult to break into. However, I've reconsidered that saying lately, and I've found some new meaning in it. I'm not saying that I'm "planted" here forever, but while I'm here, I might as well enjoy the Snickers salad.