Thankful for my small-town life

As I slip on my running shoes and grab my running belt, I walk outside to my beautiful oak tree turning a fierce orange and ruby grapefruit red. I walk to the stop sign and then start my jog. I run by the little “y” shaped crossing where my kids come to play with their neighborhood friends. My heart swells thinking about each day when my kids arrive home from school and ask me to drive the “friends way” so they can jump out of the car to play. I feel so grateful for hide-n-seek, trampoline fun, nerf gun wars and the tranquility of growing up in a quaint neighborhood where they can run in the house, just before dark and ask dad, “did we make it in time?”

As I curve around the corner, I wave at my friend John who is taking care of his beautiful lawn and home. He and I spent around three hundred Sundays making music together. I see him almost every day as I run to the trail or drive by his corner home. Many days I pass him on the trail as he gets in his lunchtime jog.

I jog by the high school as students are making their way to their next activity and think about how nice it will be for the boys to be so close to school. I continue to the trail and enjoy my run for the day, as I crunch leaves under my feet and take in all the colors of the trees and the changing landscape. I feel so thankful for this sanctuary that draws me to its paths. I feel grateful for my small town that invested in this nature preserve for generations to appreciate and use. As I run, I cannot help but ponder my small-town life and how thankful I am for the place I call home.

I live in the downtown historic district in a little bungalow and it is cozy and enough. Not enough by most American standards, but I have decided American standards will only get you debt and stress, I am looking for something different. Even though I live in a small town, I cannot be restrained to any status quo.

In two minutes, I can drive down the street to Outpost Coffee and grab a morning brew and a scone. I walk into the roastery that is owned by my sisters’ friend, of course, and sitting at the bar is my besties brother, of course. We exchange morning greetings and mostly talk about his sister, my bestie, that ties us together. I can leave Outpost and circle around the block to the bank, swing by the library for a new book, fill my tank with gas, get a refill of my peppermint oil at Billy’s Health Food Store and be back home in about twenty minutes. This is why I love small towns. We have time to live. And my dears, I need to live!

My heart is so full, so grateful for space, for ease, for simplicity. In this small tranquil place my heart, mind, and soul have space to breathe, to think, to write, to care, and to give. I have space to live.

I work remotely from my cozy little bungalow and get to sit in the sunshine at lunchtime in my little Japanese garden in my backyard. At 4:30pm, I finish up my workday and can grab happy hour with a friend before I make my drive to pick up the boys from school. They love their school and their after-school program. They plead with me to NEVER pick them up early, so I comply with their wishes.

As I drive the beautiful countryside from Bartlesville to Ochelata, taking Silverlake road all the way. I soak in the beauty, turn on music that moves me, and sometimes bring a cup of tea and some dark chocolate, cause it just seems right. And all my senses are filled with joy, how can I be so lucky? A beautiful sunset over the Osage Hills, crossing of the Caney River, cattle grazing on rolling hills and wildflowers along the roadside, and I am so thankful for my small-town life.

Saturday morning soccer games with friends that have known my kids since they were born. We call them our chosen fam. We gather for BBQs, game nights, bonfires, and lately Branson trips. Four families all with interracial marriages. How did we all find each other in this small “white” town, God only knows?

I left this small-town three times now; Colorado, Tulsa, and Orlando. Somehow Bartlesville draws us back. We are not the only ones; it seems to be a popular experience. My life has been far from perfect and to feel this much joy and gratitude in my soul, is beautiful.

One thing I have realized recently is, it is scary to be happy. We don’t tell each other we are happy; we don’t call our girlfriends to tell them about how amazing our normal day was and how thankful we are. We call because of sorrow, anger, pain, or confusion. We gather and the best stories are usually ones that have a drama to them, right? We back away from telling our good news so we do not come across prideful or arrogant. We do not have much to talk about when things are going “good.” Why? Why is joy so scary? I guess it is because the opposite is complete devastation, the opposite is depression, the opposite could happen in a second and this could all be gone. So, don’t hold on too tight, right?

Living wholeheartedly requires the “whole” human experience. It requires every emotion and every stage and phase. In no way would I ever promote or encourage someone who is sad to just suck it up and start being grateful. No, to live wholeheartedly we must learn to live through every emotion. The keyword is through. When we get stuck in one place or space, this will stop our lifeblood. It will stop the natural laws of the universe that push us through seasons, growth, fall, winter, spring, and new life. Seasons of sadness that lead to joy, forgiveness that leads to compassion, and pain that leads to healing.

Today give yourself permission to be happy. Allow yourself to be satisfied, to embrace your life, your path, your place on this earth, at this time in history. Today on November 26, 2020, Thanksgiving day, I am so thankful for my small-town life, that gives me space for my world-wide heart.