Not a Fool for the City

As I mentioned yesterday I just recently got back from what has become my annual pilgrimage to the Eastern Sierras in what is generally referred to as Northern but is more geographically actually in Central California. If there is such a place as “God’s Country” then this has to be it, at least it must be on the short list of finalists. One week leaves me with the indelible impression for the other 51 of the tall green pines, the aspens quavering in the afternoon wind, the clear rural skies, the crispness of the morning air, and always surrounded by snow covered mountain peaks. The town that we stay in is a ski resort in winter, but summer has always been my favorite time to visit Mammoth Lakes, CA.

In summer is when the town is at its best. And at its best it is a simple and quaint place, with a stated population of 7000 locals supplemented by the scores of San Diegans and Los Angelinos who come up for a weekend or midweek retreat from city life. As Phoenician refugees we are in the minority, but the impetus is the same, and in our case we are escaping not only the blandness of modern suburban life, but the oppressive desert heat as well. A week is never nearly enough, if money grew on trees and I had a couple of those bad boys in my back yard, I’d spend my entire summers up in the Sierras, but since the only trees in my backyard are palm trees and bougainvilleas that leave me looking like a heroin addict with track marks up and down my arms after trimming them, a week has to do. I get in all of the running, back country hiking, lazy days fishing or at least pretending to fish while relaxing at Lake Mary, and trips to the Jacuzzi that I can squeeze into the time I am allotted. The bonus this trip was the discovery of the Java Joint, a cool little coffee house within walking distance of our condo, where the java is smooth, the music funky, and which has a great space in the back where I can sit in a comfy chair, drink my morning beverage and read my book. I finished Henry James’ Washington Square on this trip, a novel that I will be referencing soon as I expound on my thoughts on feminism.

Perhaps nothing in life brings out characteristics as much as contrasts, at least that is my belief and something that I am trying to explore in some short stories that I am currently working on. We enjoy happiness most after periods of sadness and we tend to appreciate good people more when we encounter evil, that sort of contrast. For most of us, we are basking in the light of having an articulate and intelligent president with sound judgment after a long stretch of being saddled with one who was sorely lacking in all of these elements. So upon my return to the desert life it becomes apparent to me how much I really am not ultimately cut out for big city living.

I am not driven by material gains, I am not interested in driving the best car or living in the most prestigious neighborhoods, I don’t dress to impress, and I don’t walk around with an air of self-importance, like most of my fellow city dwellers. I enjoy simple pleasures in life, good conversation, a good book, the beauty of nature, a five mile run on a cool afternoon, a relaxing evening at home with my wife and kids watching TV, a bowl of strawberry ice cream before bed, that kind of stuff. I believe in looking people in the eye, a friendly smile, and a little light conversation if the situation allows. To ignore other humans is rude and arrogant, but in Phoenix, as I imagine in most big megalopolises that most Americans today live in, this seems to be the cultural norm. Keep your eyes down and stay moving, you’re important, you’re busy, you’ve got no time for idle chit chat, acknowledgement of others, or any other forms of basic humanity. There are a few exceptions that I encounter, but these merely go to delineate the rule.

The people that I know that seem to be the most content all live in small towns, and I have come to believe that a small town, or at least a small city is where I would be the happiest for the balance of my life. My wife agrees, being a small town girl herself, and while I don’t idealize this life, I find that I much prefer it to life in the big city. There are certainly tradeoffs and I am aware of these having lived for two years in small town Iowa, but they are deals I am willing to make in order to live in a place that is more authentic and genuine than this artifice in the middle of the desert that I now call home. I’m not going anywhere anytime too soon, my kids still have a few good years left and I feel it’s important for them to grow up in one place, a place they seem to like, and I should add that for the most part I enjoy as well. Yet I have never felt completely at home in this city, and the notion of being in a place where even if not everyone knows your name, they at least acknowledge your existence, a place with a pace more to my liking, this is appealing to me. I don’t know where I’ll end up eventually, for all I know I’ll end up right where I’m at, but if I have my way I’ll be somewhere with natural beauty, a good coffee house, trails to run and hike, and a yard sans any prickly plants.