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I just returned from vacation in my hometown, the town I grew up in. It made me think about a time several years ago when I was trying to “find” myself and determine why I seemed to suffer from a constant (or maybe more of a cycle) feeling of discontent. Among other useful books, I ran across one that spoke to me. It was called Life 2.0, How People Across America Are Transforming Their Lives by Finding the Where of Their Happiness by Rich Karlgaard.
I was sure my “where” was St. Simons Island, GA, my hometown. So sure, in fact, that my husband and I bought a condo there. But it’s never worked out to live there. It is, however, a great place to visit. And I still love it. And it still may be a place to retire.
St. Simons Island, where I thought my "where" was
The concept of the “where” of happiness has stuck with me. Even though I think some people either don’t care where they are or are content wherever they are, I think some of us have a “where” of happiness. This is not to suppose that we can only be happy in one place, but perhaps that there is a type of place which brings us contentedness.
My husband and I talked about this ad nauseum. I asked him where he thought his “where” was. His “where” seemed to be a “when.” That is, the 1950′s. Or Mayberry, NC which is the fictional setting of The Andy Griffith Show. I had to tease him a lot for that. And tell him I wasn’t getting a beehive hairdo. [And yes, we've been to Mt. Airy, NC, where Andy Griffith was born and is thought to be the inspiration for Mayberry.]
I think we were more in sync, though, than not. What I was missing–living in Las Vegas, Atlanta, D.C.–was a feeling of community. A place where neighbors knew each other, people said hi when passing on the street, and you can enjoy community activities like live music, theatre, or festivals without worrying about parking or being able to afford ticket prices.
For a while…ok, our whole 12-year marriage…we’ve moved every 2-3 years in search of the “where” that would help us find contentedness. To no avail. We even picked up a dog and a baby along the way, in case the discontent was due to the absence of a “what” and not a “where.”
I don’t want to be premature in saying this (nor speak for my husband) since we’ve only been here a year and a half, but I think we may have found our “where.” I love the town I’m living in. It has Southern culture but diversity. It has intellectualism, but down-to-earth people. It has parades, festivals, and live theatre. It has enough restaurants to keep us happy. And it is a place that we can (and have) made friends. At least I have. My husband is teleworking and it’s hard to make friends when you don’t leave the house. But I think I’ve solved that issue. I’m importing friends we already have. Seriously. I have two friends moving here next year. If I can import two a year, we’ll have amassed quite a community by the time my son is in school. Ha.
I’m glad I’m here. I hope this is my “where.” I think this may be a great “where” to raise my son. A great “where” to work in a job I love, maybe until I retire. Whatever the reason, I’m content. And that’s a delicious change of pace for me.
Carpe where.
