I am a hick.
There, I said it out loud. I am a hick from a small, rural town in a northern state that gets a lot of snow in the winter. (But has many lovely lakes.)
Not everyone wants to live there, but the people who do enjoy it. Embrace it. Love it.
Much like I hope you love the neighborhood, the town, the city, the state where you live.
Our hometown gives us all a place of belonging. An identity. A nest.
A place where you can simply be yourself. As for me, the myself I choose to embrace is one of a hick.
And there are a lot of (a ton) of good things to say about that. I am a hick. I’ve never really enjoyed a choice of restaurants, unless you consider fast food, Mexican or bar fare a choice. (Which it is, but just not a lot of choice.)
I meet people who differentiate between a mediocre, good and great Mexican restaurant (or Italian or Chinese or… take your pick.) I’ve never known choices in restaurants and I’ve managed to survive. Plus, I believe it’s snuffed out my picky-eating gene. I consume what they serve me and I don’t know enough to think of doing anything else, much less complaining to the manager.
I am a hick. For most of my adult life, I didn’t have access to real shopping or a mall. So I learned to purchase everything online. When my kids needed tennis shoes, I learned to measure their feet and order the desired logoed brands. The same goes for back-toschool clothes and birthday presents. Think of all the money I saved by not going to the food court.
I am a hick. I know my neighbors and they know me. If I have a problem, I have their numbers and they have mine. If I call them, they will answer. If I have a problem they will help. If I am hurting or sick or in trouble they will know and vice versa. I like it that way.
I am a hick. I have never had a pedicure. I can’t imagine someone poking at my toes.
My bestie has regularly scheduled pedicures and I’m absolutely certain she’d also describe herself as a hick, so I guess a pedicure (or lack thereof) does nothing to define a hick.
And therein lies the whole point to this column. I am a hick. But what does that mean, really? If you get a pedicure – or not. If you make reservations at the elite restaurant - or not. If you hold your pinky finger up while drinking tea – or not. If you sit in first class – or not. If you shop at the finest department stores - or not.
None of it matters. Unless it brings you joy. Unless it matters to you.
The niceties in life are nice and if they bring you joy they are wondrous. If they are simply a way for you to compare yourself to others, then they are doing you no good. I think we spend (at least I’ve spent) too much of our lives comparing ourselves to others and thinking we need what they have versus simply paying attention to ourself and the things that bring us personal joy.
For me, that’s simple things. Small town roads. Neighbors who wave as you drive by. A general lack of shopping, restaurants and the amenities known to people living in urban areas.
I am a hick, and after decades of wondering if that is okay, I’ve decided it is.
But I’m not ruling out a pedicure at some point. Hicks can have pretty toes. Just ask my bestie.
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.
