It’s been about 6 months since I moved back to Blacksburg. Moments of elation sound like, “YAY! Living here rocks! It’s SO GREAT to smell trees every day!” This usually happens when I’m driving my jeep around town at dusk on my way to cheap beer, having just run several miles or participated in some other seratonin-inducing activity that makes all the world seem right-side-up.
Other times I don’t feel so picturesquely free. I feel downright claustrophobic, squeezed by the small town. As my cousin poignantly put it, “Things change here, just not very often and not very fast.” True words. How is it that I lived tangled with 8 million people for 9 years and didn’t feel quite as boxed in as I do now? Answer: I lived anonymously. I’m not saying one is better, they’re just different. Kinda reminds me of the Glacier National Park Freak Out of 2008. Wide open spaces do not guarantee leaping feelings of liberation.
Speaking of box, I’m still working through a box of store brand plastic wrap (and sundry spices) from my Brooklyn grocery store. It actually makes me sad to use it. What the hell am I gonna do when it runs out? I find myself pitifully equating subpar saran wrap with a sense of freedom, the very opposite of its purpose. But whatever, it’s the one little functional thing I still have that reminds me of daily life in NYC.
Of course now that I have so much superfluous space, I can own tons and tons of tupperware in all shapes and sizes. I won’t need the saran wrap anymore. But give up the autonomy? Nah. My leftovers deserve more than that.