I am originally from a very small town in Idaho. For the first eight years of my life I lived in Newdale, a lovely little village back then of about 200 souls. I’ve no doubt it’s grown, perhaps even doubling in size since those bucolic days, but still.
From there we moved to Shelley. Another very small town, but compared to Newdale and its gravel roads and a population who very literally knew every single one of the other residents, Shelley was a booming metropolis to my young mind. I recently googled the population, and if I remember properly, it stands in the 4000 zone. Not giant by anyone’s standards (except, as we’ve discussed, an 8 year old’s hailing from Newdale).
From there I went on to university in Provo, Utah. Then to Portland, Oregon and as I’ve told you, since then we’ve consecutively moved further out of the urban zone. We now care for 25 acres and animals that a petting zoo would die for. It’s a nice life, I have to admit it.
That said, I do tire of the long drives up and down Highway 503. I miss easy and impulsive lunches with my friends. It makes me sad that I have to plan a trip into the big city to buy art supplies. How I suffer.
And while everything I’ve told you is true, I think we as a species are quite complex and few, if any, desires are without drawbacks. I long for the city but enjoy country privacy. I desire a quick trip to a grocery store that does not look like it belongs in a zombie apocalypse flick but it pleases me that there’s always great parking. I would like access to art classes and a community of artists and yet I like to be alone. I love the animals and knowing where much of my food originates and I’d like a great restaurant that I could walk to.
It’s all so complex that even I don’t know where I want to go when Mr. Dreamboat asks me (usually after I’ve been carping about something like our mercurial toilets or having to get gasoline every other day from all the driving I do).
Don’t ask me where I’ll be in 5 years. Life has taught me that plans are, well, they’re cute. It’s cute that we mortals believe we have much control over anything.
For now I choose to be grateful. And since Mr. D makes the money in our household (except the HUNDREDS, yes, I said HUNDREDS of dollars I’ve earned selling paintings this year), I won’t complain about the gas consumption. I’ll just search for a more economical car next go round.
And most importantly, before we go anywhere urban, or more urban, I hope to be able to use the phrase “I’m your huckleberrry,” in an authentic circumstance. I just feel like it will go over better out here in the sticks.
I guess it’s the little things that add spice to our lives.