Just a small town boy…

What is there to say about a town of 1000 people? Many questions come to mind. Are they all related? Do they still depend on the town elders to hold sacred the secrets of the past? Have they heard about the internet? These are all relevant questions which have answers, some of which may confuse you.

There is a small town called Mildmay nestled in southwestern Ontario that is not unlike many small towns across the world. There are four primary points of entry and exit as well as a single traffic light to control the flow of eager cottagers during the summer months and snowmobiles in the winter. The main street is about a city block in length with an activity level similar to that of a near consumed apple core crawling with a few scant ants. The shopping district is wired complete with a multi-channel speaker system that is used to play local radio and to announce the floats during the annual Christmas celebration dubbed “the hanging of the green”. There is a local newspaper called “The Crier” that some years ago won the number one newspaper with circulation under 1000.  I know what you’re thinking, stop bragging about this small town oasis and get to the point. The last day in my small town represents the last time I was happy living inside a box.

The small town mentality thinks within a box which is ok because the box works somehow. For some reason you only require the kinship of your immediate family and a friends. The only brand names that matter are those associated with family. If you are a Fortney you’re known for being as “Phoney as a Fortney”, if you’re a Huber you have a goddammed horseshoe stuck up your ass, and if you’re a Voisin well then you’re just some arrogant prick that thinks he’s funny enough to write a blog about the whole thing. Happiness is abound inside of a predictable ecosystem that contains all of the people you care most about.

Living abroad has been great so far, though it seems absent of some aspect of what a fulfilling life ought to consist of. I left Ontario because I was feeling restless and thought I needed international experience to quell that never-ending nagging of a search. After being here for just two months the nagging somehow persists and it appears evident that the peaceful dream-state that I thought came along with living abroad and doing meaningful work will not be enough.

Is the simple life such a terrible thing to slip into? I’m worried that if I do eventually get there that I risk that the need to search will not soon dissipate. Will Saturday morning cartoons with the kids be enough? Will Sunday pancakes and visits with the family be enough? Or will activities disconnected from any kind of search be viewed as a hindrance to progress leading to the accumulation of an increasing debt of opportunity cost?

Either way, one thing that will not soon change is my love for Journey and this song that every drunk person in a bar seems to know line for line.