Confessions of a small town hater

This is something i wrote for the JVI news letter "In the Field" I thought i'd share it with you!


In high school I used to complain about living in such a small, boring town. I have no idea what the size of my home town is but as one of the 221 kids to graduate in 2004 from Islip High School, it was small enough for me to know every name, face and probably the location of each of my classmates homes. To me it was stifling. My remedy; move to a city of 8 million people and become anonymous. Little did I know New York City would fit me worse than a wool sweater shrunk to Barbie size in the awful college dryer.
Fast forward 4 years and where do I find myself? Belize, a country with about 300,000 people, that would be about 1/26 the size of New York City and not much larger than my hometown (yes I realize now that my home town really wasn’t that small). Not only am I in one of the least populated countries in the world, or at least in the region, but I am in the least populated/ forgotten district of Toledo.
Punta Gorda or PG, as it is more affectionate known, is the booming metropolis of the Toledo District with 5,000 people, 3 main roads (2 paved) 2 grocery stores, about 20 chiney shops (no i haven't become a racist; chiney is what they call anyone of Asian descent who owns a convenience story in the country of Belize), 3 schools, probably 8 bars, 1 high school and one very centrally located JV house. So, here I am back to small town living, only this time it’s for REAL. I’ve realized in the past 6 months why I love small town living; being able to greet every other person on the street because I personally know them, having the post man, market lady, local drunk, and government official know me by name, riding my daily route to work and seeing the same people day in and day out, comfort, ease, connection, familiarity.
The past 6 months have also reminded me why I hate small town living: every move I make is known by everyone and their mother, RUMORS (Belizean's have this skill down to an impressive art) a general lack of much to do, having the post man, town drunk, government official and market lady know my name without me ever having to actually telling them, seeing students in school on Friday day and then seeing them at a local bar on Friday night, GOSSIP.
Yet as I move into my sixth month living in the small town on the sea, my days of pounding the pavement of 5th Ave or riding the D train in solitude for two hours a day are no more than a distant memory, a past life. I’ve realized that I much prefer my morning ride to work, on my bike, even with its taunts from the men of Hollywood about my dreads, to the solitude of the D train. I prefer my running route along the Caribbean Sea with its greeting from the two ladies who walk at the same time everyday, to the crowded gym of my University where not a soul makes eye contact. I much prefer my breakfast date with the sunrise and passing Maya ladies who try to sell me the same basket everyday, to my previous breakfast ritual of micro waved oats with Matt Lauer and Katie Couric. And while EVERYONE may know my business, daily routine and whereabouts I still prefer that to the anonymity and loneliness New York City.
I feel comfortable with my new home, it suits me and I think comforts me. I feel like I fit its rhythm, even though sometimes I’m tempted to walk in my NY pace, or crave anonymity, or think in NY speed, my little corner or the world here in Belize reminds me no women is an island. It is my community which fuels me, the people who show me love, the connection that drives me and the small town world which I crave. My past six months have taught me a lot, most of which I can’t articulate but this much I know, I am now proud to call myself a recovered small town hater.