My ode to small-town living

Matt Pearl

Years ago, a pair of my college friends refused one evening to come with me back to Union Star to attend a high school basketball game.

It wasn’t because they were too good to be seen at such an event.

“I hate going places in small towns,” one of them said. “Everybody looks at you.”

She was right, of course. But after I had heard the remark, it started to make me think.

What this friend was expressing was her disapproval of being noticed. She was a city girl, a young woman who had grown used to being an anonymous face in the crowd at larger events and venues.

I never made my counter-argument to her, but if I did so now, it would go like this:

Yes, your city does a wonderful job of concealing you from prying eyes. But how many people in that big city really know you?

Yes, urban areas keep your personal business hidden from others, but would very many people notice if you disappeared entirely?

It’s true that cities have more advantages in your eyes: places to eat, shows to attend, people to meet. But how many meaningful human interactions do those experiences afford you?

When I go to that small-town ball game, I talk to people. We chat about the school, the community, the kids playing that night. The evening is only partly about the scoreboard; it is much more profoundly about the people.

You say your city is full of interesting people. I say your city is full of strangers, and most will remain so to you forever.

If loneliness is the only choice, then I choose to fill it with open space around me, rather than buildings full of people who don’t care whether they know me or not.

My school was tiny. My college friends laughed at my being class valedictorian — first out of a humble 16. But I knew the other 15 very well, and was, on some level, friends with each of them.

Do you suppose in your class of hundreds that you really knew more than 15 of them yourself?

So, yes: your city makes my small town look pretty insignificant. But my town makes the people living there feel important.

How do you like them apples?

There are virtues of the urban scene, but those of the rural life outnumber them profoundly in my mind.

So that night, I didn’t have anyone to take to the ball game. At times, our differing world views force us and our friends in separate directions.

Such is life.

I would never claim that small-town living is perfect. I would never claim that urban life is without value.

I’m just saying I don’t mind having a few extra sets of eyes on me in a high school gym, if it means that I get to live in a place where people care about one another as neighbors.

For so many, the city calls, and they answer its siren song by picking up and heading to the exciting life the big town has to offer.

In my ears, though, no city calls. I instead hear it howl, a lonely cry — so many people, but so little familiarity. It’s an irony, really.

So, city folks, forgive us country people when we gawk at you when you walk into the gym or down the street. Those of us who call this place home have an interest in who strolls through it.

If you want to go unnoticed, you had better head back to the city.