A tale of two cities

A Tale of Two Cities

I grew up in a small town. I lived there for almost 50 years, knew every street, pretty much every person – I was related to most of them.

And then I moved. I moved to another small town.
Suddenly I didn’t know where I was going most of the time, and didn’t know a soul other than my husband. Where was the party to welcome me? Where was the marching band? Didn’t these people know that I had arrived in their midst?

Well. No, they didn’t. It was scary at first. It was kind of like having surgery and being in recovery – for months. When you’re recovering from surgery, every step, every move is hesitant. Going for groceries? Wait, let me think about how to get to the store. I got lost trying to get out of a parking lot – one of those that seems to have been built by a drunken Irishman on a three week binge. I cried in the car. I cried all the way home.

And when I got home, I realized that I was, in spite of the struggles, home.

It’s been 12 years since I moved. I still miss that small town where I grew up. I haven’t been back in years, but I still miss it. I’d spend a month there every summer if I could.

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3 Responses to A tale of two cities

  1. I understand. I moved from a small town to a big city. Complete anonymity. I never even saw anyone I recognized in the supermarket. But that was 30 years ago. And now this is home. Supermarket friendships are still rare but others have developed that give this place a special meaning for me. It is not so much where we are that brings contentment as who we are with – and that takes time.

    Liked by 1 person

    • This place really became home after we got a dog. Sounds silly, but he truly opened up my world – we volunteer with a therapy group and go places and do things I would never have done on my own.
      I love your last line – it’s so very true.

      Liked by 1 person

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