Small town America

 Back from a little time away to recharge the batteries. I don’t do it enough. I’m grateful for any time in a new place to help me appreciate how much home means to me. Home. It’s the place where I’m in no rush. No need to schedule. No need to alter who I am. I didn’t know what a privilege that was. I now know. My soul rejoices. This trip, I let the quiet mountain town transport me to a simpler time. Where the cell phone had no signal and wi-fi was spotty. It forced me to catalog my surroundings with absolute focus and attention to detail. It meant getting caught in a rainstorm, and watching kids play in the rain. It was marveling at the rain covering the mountain in what looked like a cloudy fog. It was eating a juicy burger, and not worrying about making a mess. In this life we want the neat and pretty. 

Life is never neat and pretty. If it is for you, I need some tips. Sign me up for the course. I’m learning I can be content in my own company. I always desired the company of others to satiate my desire for community, but when it’s not available, I can thrive. I’m finding whatever state I’m in provides the setting for a story. A story I get the chance to tell. I’m always learning even when it’s not what I seek. It’s amazing that one hour from home is a place that almost feels like home. My soul relaxes. My mind rests. My body finds regulation. I don’t know whether to share this place. Be selfish. Or share this earthly paradise that brings true peace without knowing it. 

Then I think maybe I need to share the place that brings me such joy. The place when you sit on Main Street, buy an ice cream and watch the traffic go by. Small town America at it’s finest. 

Should I name the town?