There might come a day when i give up this dumb, ill-reasoned advocation of the small town. The pain that will come on that day, seeing the time squandered, the dreams kept unfulfilled, the complete abandon of hope, is probably enough for me to ever keep it from coming. I could get out of this town. I’m sure i could. I could follow that obscure allure that homes everyone to the city, but why? Oh, yes, all those very good reasons.
I can’t move easily. I can’t belong anywhere but home. It was painful enough to get me out of Wilberforce (and don’t tell anyone but i secretly want to move back). I think my hope, however misguided, is imagine what these towns could be if everyone remained and not relegated these places to those who cripple us and make us want to move out. If two people could find each other, find others, remain, and create something. Chances are i won’t ever make anything happen, no matter how many good ideas i (think i) have, because… i think it is a personality thing. But i will die in the suburbs, ever on the right side of the Hawkesbury River, so that if ever i do it will be in the name of the small town, in spite of the city. Eat it, typical route of youthful aspiration and liberation.
