. . . where we are is vital to who we are.By 'where,' I'm speaking not only of our physical environment but also of our cultural environment. Culture is the sea we swim in--so pervasive, so all-consuming, that we fail to notice its existence until we step out of it. It matters more than we think.
AH-HAH! It's as though he confirmed what I've suspected all along but was ashamed to admit. Perhaps happiness isn't entirely inside us, and I shouldn't feel so guilty if it's difficult to maintain it in a city like, oh, say, Nashville.
Nashville is a unique animal with music, celebrity, and arts like L.A. and New York City, but this music is country music, and this city is in the South. It has the perks of a metropolitan area while maintaining a community mentality. As a child who grew up never wanting to fit in--never ever, no, not ever--I've found as an adult that not fitting in can be terribly lonely.
In high school, my efforts to distinguish myself caused my sister great angst. She was a senior when I was a freshman. At some point that year, I discovered yellow rain boots in a catalog. At first I wanted red ones, but yellow boots symbolized to me the playfulness of childhood and a grand departure from anything that was in style. I wore them to school on the sunniest of days, and considered it a worthy sacrifice to be laughed at because at least I was making people smile. The year before, I had decided and declared to a friend that the purpose of life was to make people happy. It wasn't to be happy, but it was to make others happy, which, I surmised, could only lead to self-fulfillment. My sister did not appreciate this and cringed to have to claim me as part of her family. Bless my friends for sticking by me!
Earlier this year, though, I was complaining to my husband that no matter how lofty the ideal of not caring what other people think may be, in a professional environment, one is ever-conscious of what other people think. In my search for a new job and simultaneous longing for a promotion in my current, I became fixated on that point. Since I had no money for new clothes, I did not look professional. Finally, last Thanksgiving, I got up early and headed to Kohl's and Target for their ridiculous Black Friday sales and stocked up on a new professional-looking wardrobe. I cut off my long hair to a more mature chin-length, and to my chagrin, the changes garnered much positive feedback at work. It's like the show "What Not To Wear" on TLC: who can help but respect someone who appears to respect herself? I wondered if I was selling out to fit in with an industry (publishing) that doesn't seem to want me in a city where exclusivity can be a painful segregator. I'm not radically different -- no face jewelry, no visible tattoos, no real badge of originality. I don't even know what my real complaint is, whether I'm more upset that I can't break out of the hippie-receptionist persona or that I can't break into the publishing arena. It's probably knowing that I must do the former to accomplish the latter and not having the slightest idea how to do so.
My husband struggles in this city, as well. He is a drummer, but not a country drummer. Despite having contacts at one of the major labels in this city, the tight-knit music industry here prevents outsiders from cracking through its sugary candy shell. To make things worse, because the city overflows with mediocre struggling musicians, it makes entry-level jobs scarce. We both love many other things about Nashville, but we frequently question if this is the right city for us for our careers.
Thus I picked up Weiner's The Geography of Bliss at the library. Whether it's my pioneer heritage or some escapist tendency, when opportunities seem to be exhausted in one place, I head for somewhere new. Whether in a job or in a city, I need to feel that growth is possible and available. I've lived in six states in my nearly 29 years, three since leaving home at 19. After college, I interviewed for positions in Washington, D.C, and New York City, only to turn down the first job offer to interview and subsequently be rejected for the second. My solution? I began planning to get rid of my stuff to take a month-long bike trip up the East Coast, and I thought I'd find a job wherever I landed. I prayed for a sign, and awoke the next morning to discover my bicycle had been stolen. If not for that ominous happenstance, I might be living in Maine right now and not married to the love of my life.
At the other side of the spectrum, my husband's best friend, a painter, is making the last preparations for his move to San Miguel, Mexico. There, he and his fiancee have found nothing but appreciation for their art, joie de vivre in the locals, and unfathomably reasonably-priced luxury. My heart aches with envy; I just can't help it. After years of struggling as artists in Charleston, South Carolina, they've found their heart's song in Mexico.
So will Weiner conclude that being in a location where what you value is available contributes directly to happiness? Would I be much happier if I were in a town where true opportunity to fulfill my dreams exists? I suspect it to be true. It might be reassuring to think that if my husband and I found a culture that coincides with our natural mentalities, we might balance those internal and external happiness-stimuli. On the other hand, if we didn't have the hope that happiness lies within us no matter our circumstances, we might never have a reason to make the most of whatever comes our way.
