What Is It to Return to a Place?

About a year ago, I decided I had had enough of Alaska. Having spent most of my adult life, and my entire professional career as a veterinarian, twenty years, living in the largest, coldest, most remote state in our country, I wanted something else. 

There were many reasons for that decision. The biggest one was that I didn't want to have spent my entire life in one place while there was this whole big old world out there, just waiting to be discovered, explored, enjoyed.

There were logistical concerns, of course, such as what to do with my stuff, my dogs, my car. Money and work were also worth considering, but I figured out I could get licensed elsewhere and ply my trade at least enough to support myself during the initial exploration phase. 

So off I went, to Oregon. Me and the dogs. And my reliable workhorse Subaru. We spent the winter in the town of Bend, about a quarter of the size of Anchorage. I worked a bit, skied a bit, met some people, ate some great food. The dogs had fun. I learned some things. 

Mostly what I learned was that I didn't enjoy being a vet in Oregon. The ER clinic was alright, but they didn't have enough work to offer me regular shifts. And day practice is evidently not my bag -- fleas and ticks and demanding clientele who don't want to work up their pets' illness? No, thanks. 

So I decided to return to Anchorage, mostly for the job. My Anchorage job is both a day practice (vaccinations, spay/neuter, minor ailments) and an ER clinic (splenectomies, brittle diabetics, bite wounds, kicked-by-moose). It's a taxing job but very rewarding, offering me the chance to practice my craft at a more rewarding level than what I found in Oregon.  So I came back. 

I've been back in Anchorage about a month now. And it wasn't until recently that I realized I have never returned to a place I had previously left, not with the intention of staying. Oh, sure, I have revisited my childhood hometown in Ohio, where my sister still lives within twenty miles of the place she was born. I've walked around the old elementary school and remarked on how much bigger everything seemed when I was a child. I've visited the playground where, in second grade, I bit Ron Solak on the finger, sending him to the hospital for stitches.

But I've never uprooted myself from a place where I'd cultivated a life, and then after some time returned to essentially that exact same life. -- I must say, it's weird. 

Of course it's nice to be back among old friends, people I've known for years -- decades, some of them -- whose delightful sense of humor and charms are familiar. Almost as if I'd never left, I'm free to solicit their company to share a meal or take a walk in the endless wilderness which surrounds Anchorage.

But it's also not the same place as it was before. I had only left six months prior, so I'm sure it's not the place itself (though I did see someone has tacked up a nice "lost & found" basket at one of my favorite trailheads since I was last there). It's me. I'm different. In those few short months, I made first a conscious choice to leave this place and then another conscious choice to return. It is through these eyes which I now view my old environs. 

Before I left, I might have been justifiably accused of being in a rut. I patronized the same restaurants and ordered my favorite dishes. I shopped at the same grocery stores and bought the same grocery list week after week. -- Moving to somewhere else offered both the opportunity and in some cases the necessity (what do you mean, pet stores don't sell Yummy Chummy salmon treats in Oregon?) of "thinking outside the box." It was a new place, I should at least try some new things, right? Right. At the very least, I had to find new hiking trails for me and the dogs. No more old favorites to fall back on week after week. 

But now here I am, back in the same city but with new eyes. How can I make this city both a new place with fresh discoveries, while still affording myself the luxury of enjoying the familiar people, places and things I know have reliably enriched my life in the past? Well, it probably helps that I was somewhat forced to move into a rental property here which is in an area of town I've never spent much time in, much less a place I'd have ever previously considered living. So I've steeled my courage and started patronizing the smaller independently owned local restaurants: the pizza place two blocks away, the bibimbop shop in a nearby strip mall, the french bakery (real Parisian owner/chef!) around the corner. And for the most part, the food has been quite good, the service friendly, the prices reasonable. Who knew?

Since returning, I admittedly now am forced to consciously ignore the hideous plastic signage that advertises businesses both large and small. -- Anchorage, I have discovered by comparison (especially comparison to Bend), is a supremely ugly city, with none of the homespun artistry and aesthetics which cause people to insist that Bend, Oregon, is "charming" in spite of astronomical real estate prices, fairly poor municipal support services and a largely smug population of retired Californian refugees. 

It turns out a few roundabouts, some hand-painted signs, and narrow streets go a long way toward slowing people down to force them to smell the proverbial roses. 

Nevertheless, this morning I walked a familiar and favorite trail through the foothills of the Chugach mountains. The sun dappled through the hemlock grove upon me and my dogs, and the curving trees created green and shadowy patches in which I wouldn't have been surprised to find Bilbo's pipe or Gandalf's staff.

 The air was cool and crisp, maybe fifty degrees in mid-May, just right for a refreshing morning hike. I met only three other people, all of whom had off-leash dogs, as were my own. One was a woman I had worked with here in town some years ago, and we stopped to have a little chat by the side of the trail, discussing people, places, and things we both knew from both of us having spent a lifetime here.

Will I stay? I don't know. I doubt it. One of the things I learned by moving away then moving back is that I am capable of doing precisely that. I can tolerate change, perhaps even thrive. My dogs tolerate it. I can find a place to live and work, make new friends, adapt. And so the old desire to stretch my wings and explore the planet a bit more still burns within me. Whether that might happen two years from now, or ten, I can't speak to that just yet. 

In the meantime, Anchorage is both comfortingly familiar and yet also a completely different place than the city I left behind. And, it turns out, both of those are good things. 

I Am the Liberal Elite

A few days ago, I was walking along the river trail in my new town, Bend, Oregon. A group of Lululemon-clad older walkers strode past, on their Tuesday mid-morning jaunt:

"... and, you know, Hawaii was so nice!..."

"Yes, we've gone to Mexico the past few Christmases,..."

"Isn't it beautiful? So great!"

"... yes, it is beautiful, but we might try Hawaii next year."

"Oh, you should, you'll love it!"

Here's another recent conversation, from dinner with a group of strangers (assembled via an online Meetup group):

"The food in Hong Kong is really amazing. You get stuff you can't get here, like shark-fin soup, because they have to kill the shark to get the fin."

"How long did it take you to get there? I really can't bear to spend more than fourteen hours flying. I flew to South Africa a couple of years ago -- twenty three hours! Can you believe it? Nearly killed me! But the ticket was only $2200 -- for each of us, of course -- so I couldn't refuse!"

This morning, an NPR story was talking about the rarity of white truffles, and how much people will pay to have a few shavings over their hundred-dollar plates of pasta.

... Do you still wonder how Trump got elected president?

I have a confession: I am a woman with a problem. I am liberal elite... 

                                                                                                  ... from the midwest. 

Born in Ohio in the 1960s to a social worker father and a stay-at-home mom (back then, they were just "moms"), I had three siblings to keep me company. Our family wasn't poor -- we owned our own home (built by my father and grandfather), had enough to eat, clean clothes. I got a new bike for Christmas one year after kicking around on my brother's oversized Huffy for some years prior to that. There was always a drivable car in the driveway, though we never knew which one of the five junkers we owned was going to start on any given day. One summer, I changed flat tires on cars three times in one day. 

But we weren't rich, either. Things got repaired not replaced. My dad had a favorite cobbler shop in town to fix his shoes. We sold old newspapers and tin cans to the dump, and returned bottles for the deposit money. I was allowed one new outfit each year for school. Senior year, I was offered the choice between accompanying my French class to Paris for a week, or going to college -- it never occurred to me to ask for both. Our parents didn't allow pets, because we couldn't afford them.

My family lived a respectable life -- my father's alcoholism only our own family's version of a dirty little secret -- and showed up clean and punctual to school every day. We kids were expected to work hard, to earn our way through the world. -- If there was something I wanted to buy, I was given a list of extra chores I could do to earn the money to purchase it myself. When I was nine, I used to iron my dad's work handkerchiefs for ten cents apiece.

But I was also fortunate. I'd been born with brains and a bit of ambition -- I wanted to get to Paris eventually! -- and a father who was an ardent supporter of higher education. With financial assistance from him and the government, I attended and graduated from the prestigious Oberlin College. Some years later, I went back to school for a degree in veterinary medicine (again, with generous support from my clever father who'd done well for himself in the stock market while never changing his own pauper-like lifestyle). 

I took my dreams and left the midwest, intending never to return. The midwest was too small for me, you see. I wanted to explore the big wide world, live among mountains, experience culture and art and music. I was fortunate that my parents appreciated these things though they didn't really have the funds to live the lifestyle. Nevertheless, we'd go to the art museum, which was free on Tuesdays, about once a year. 

Still, I wanted out. Ohio was flat and ugly, I thought. Cornfields for miles. Strip malls. No one wanted to speak any other language than English. People were content to live out their lives in one place. Not me. I wanted "other." To see the world.

So I moved to Alaska. My career matured and so did my earnings. Without children of my own, I could spend the money as I saw fit, nurturing my love of travel, and then later food and wine, in somewhat extravagant fashion. I still saved, but I spent plenty, as well. I made charitable donations but could have afforded to give more. Instead, I was encouraged by my friends to "treat yourself" -- I'd "worked hard." I "deserve it!" Not Bill Gates rich, but what my mother would have tactfully called "well-off."

However, there's a part of me that has never quite escaped my midwestern upbringing. With time and distance, I no longer hold my fellow brethren in the disdain I had in my youth, but merely as people who made a different choice than I. My sister, for instance, has lived nearly all of her life within a ten mile radius of where she was born. She has a lovely home in a familiar community that is known to her and knows her. She has a respectable career as a critical-care nurse. She could, at any time, have pulled up roots and moved to San Francisco or New York, but that was not what she wanted. She was never -- could never be -- "lesser" than I. We are just two sisters making different choices for their lives' trajectories. 

In contrast, some years ago, my then-husband & I were driving through Kentucky, spending time with his grandparents for their seventieth (!) wedding anniversary. 

As we drove through the small town of Henderson, he said, aloud, "You know, I think I'm better than almost everyone else around here." You could have knocked me over with a feather: "Did you just say what I think you said?" I asked, incredulous. 

"Yeah," he said, with thoughtful consideration, "I do."

"In what way?" though I already knew what he was going to say.

"Well, you know, with food and culture and wine and ... just the way we live our lives, you know?"

The midwesterner in me kicked in, "That doesn't make you 'better.' These people have something you & I will never have. Roots, and an attachment to their community that you & I will never experience, and a love of family and loyalty..." --- Okay, so maybe I was laying it on a little thick. But these were the values I remembered from my youth, and values I'd seen reflected in his own family's gathering to celebrate the grandparents (great-grandparents to some in attendance) and the family itself.

... You've read a long way to get to this point -- to get to THE point -- and here it is: These are the people forgotten by the Liberal Elite and, in my opinion, a major reason we liberals lost this year's presidential election to that heinous megalomaniac. These people, trying to live a quiet peaceful life with dignity and self-respect, have been abandoned by the upper echelons of politics. Who cares if their infrastructure is breaking down? Or they can't find jobs? Or don't have good schools to educate their children? -- The Left wants to throw welfare dollars at them and expect them to fix it themselves, and the Right expects them to get up off their lazy asses and do some work already!  But no one gives them attention, respect, dignity. 

We all want to lead a dignified life. Few people actually want a handout forever. Inherently, we know it's not fair. It's hard to value something you didn't earn. And it's easy, at the same time, to want more. Maybe your neighbor is getting more and you feel slighted -- your problems are worst than his, after all. Or you're younger. Or older. Always some reason it's unjust.

Me, I'm still reeling from the aftershock of the presidential election, but through the pain, I can't help but feel there must be some reason why the "rust belt" rejected Hilary Clinton as a candidate, and I think it's this: she didn't pay ordinary American working-class citizens proper attention and respect. Not as a publicity stunt (Shake a farmer's hand for the paparazzi, Secretary Clinton!) but out of genuine concern. I believe, in her heart, she wants all Americans to do well -- I do truly believe that. I mean, don't you want that? Don't we all, really, want that for each other? And I don't know why she didn't address it -- it is, after all, a behemoth of a problem, how to bridge that gap -- but the other guy sure did. 

Trump came out with his baseball cap, and his "plain talk." A billionaire but using his own money, not the sponsorship of Wall Street. Somehow, this made him more relatable. 




I don't think the rust belt wanted to vote for Trump, but at least he was saying something (we'll see if those promises are true or not, in the months and years to come) whereas she was saying nothing. 

I don't disagree that the United States has a lot on its platter, including terrorism, climate change, global conflict involvement and other non-domestic issues. But it's hard to think about those global issues when you're worried about the basic necessities of a safe life for yourself and your family. 

Besides, it is not the global citizenry who votes for POTUS; it's the citizens of this, our own, country. And they were sorely neglected by the Left during this election. 

Make no mistake, as I said at the beginning: I am Liberal Elite. I have been to Paris, several times. And Rome. And Barcelona, Istanbul, Vienna, Edinburgh, Reykjavik, ... the list is now nearly (embarrassingly)  too long to mention. I am grateful. I did work hard for the money I earned to pay for those trips. But there are people who work harder than I do, every day, who will never have the same opportunities I do, for a variety of reasons. 

So I say this to my fellow Liberal Elite: It is smug and gauche to ever disregard our good fortune and forget about others who are less fortunate than we and need our help, not just our dollars. It is fitting this painful comeuppance came from the midwest, my own roots, where it is generally unseemly to behave as if one is "too big for one's britches." 

Now let us go cut a switch, take our licks, and learn this most valuable lesson so as not to do it ever ever again.

Depression: The Challenge vs The Goal

Dear America, I'm Breaking Up with You

Dear America,

This is a very hard letter for me to write, but I think I need a trial separation. I want to see other countries.

As you've probably noticed, I've been pretty unhappy in our relationship, and over the past few years our interactions have become increasingly strained. I've become judgmental and short-tempered with you, and that's not the sort of person I want to be.

It's hard to say when it started. It just seems like you aren't the same America I fell in love with.  As a little girl and even as a young adult, I remember you struggling with growing pains -- you are, after all, only about two hundred years old. But most of the turmoil seemed to involve people struggling for equality, and (mostly) achieving it: women marching for equal pay, people of color striving for respect and equality. But overall there seemed to be a sense of unity, of one nation coming to some sort of improved condition for all its citizens. ... 

But now? I don't get that feeling. You're different, somehow.

And maybe I've changed, too. I have, after all, been visiting other countries and experiencing their cultures during vacations for over the past few decades. And while I realize there is no "perfect match" or "soulmate" country, I can't help but wonder if the values of another culture might coincide more closely with my own than yours have, especially as of late.

We've been together over fifty years now, and I want you to know it's very hard for me to leave. There are so many things I love about you. Your youthful enthusiasm. 

The sprawling vastness of your diverse states and their varied terrain and peoples. The freedom of individuality lacking in many other cultures. And the wealth -- yes, America, you have been a bit of a sugar-daddy to me, and I have enjoyed the spoils of such riches.

So, then, you might ask, why am I leaving? Look, I don't want this to be an America-bashing letter -- letters are so one-sided, after all. And maybe you have some complaints about me, too -- that my eyes have been looking elsewhere for a while now and I haven't been truly committed to improving our own relationship instead. I have to admit that's a fair accusation, and not entirely inaccurate, but even if I wanted to "fix" us, where would I begin? After all, I'm only one of three hundred twenty million voices wanting... needing... your attention.

But I guess there are some things that bear mentioning:

Probably the biggest thing is that your ego has grown in leaps and bounds. 

It's always, "America's the Best" and "We're Number One!" I don't know how you've come to think so highly of yourself. Yes, there are things you do and have done amazingly well. But that doesn't make you "the best." (The best at what, anyway?) You yourself would have to admit it's disgraceful that you don't have universal health care for all of your citizens and that the quality of public education has deteriorated significantly. The gap between the standard of living of your poorest citizens is no longer even within sight of those of the "top one percent." And even the middle class is barely squeaking by, many of them working multiple jobs. A little humility would go a long way toward making you more attractive. 

(Also, could you shelve some of your flag paraphernalia? Honestly, I've been to France six times and I do not believe I have ever seen even one person waving a French flag, much less a t-shirt or hat or bumpersticker.)

But it's more than just the money. What happened to the love? What happened to the sense of family or community? Nowadays, it seems like you're constantly at war with yourself. You're so angry. The gloves have come off and there's no more respectful and dignified debate, just insults hurled back and forth. -- No love. No respect. No dignity. No more compassion or empathy. I wonder what would happen now if a big earthquake destroyed California -- would the citizens be criticized for having chosen to live on a fault line? Would that justify blame and maybe even lack of your assistance?

And of course, the guns. I think on this point, you and I just have to agree to disagree. I don't like guns. And I don't think ordinary people should have them. There's just too much potential for things to go badly wrong. And I'm not naive. I don't fail to understand that there will always be people who want to do bad things to other people, and there are always knives and homemade bombs ... any number of methods, really. But your refusal to discuss the possibility of giving up even certain types of guns ... Well, America, frankly, it's creepy. The whole thing smacks of addiction, like gambling or pornography. Maybe you should consider a 12-step program, ... but of course first you have to admit you have a problem. -- Just something to consider.

And, follow-up question: America, why are you so eager to go to war with everyone? What's that about, anyway, so much war? Personally, I think the military industrial complex is pulling the wool over your eyes and just stroking your ego to keep you lining their pockets.

I admit, with our history, guns are going to be a hard problem to solve (or even manage) since you've had them since the beginning. But Australia managed somehow; maybe you could ask them for advice? Oh, that's right, you don't ask for help, because you always know best. I forgot.

But maybe you aren't even sad to see me go. Maybe as a fifty-year-old woman with no children, I've already disappeared in your eyes. I'm only as good to you as the resources you squeeze out of me -- taxes to fund your war machine, votes to further your political agenda. Certainly, you seem to value youth and vitality far above wisdom and experience. As I'm getting older -- not "old," mind you, just older -- I feel squeezed out by you. In a word, neglected. There's no place for me in your life. 

What am I to you? According to the commercials I see on TV, I'm only considered sexual when I'm the bait for some guy who needs erectile-dysfunction meds. I have plenty of good years left in me, America -- yes, I have a few dents and bruises over the years, but doesn't that make me more interesting overall? -- What's that? It doesn't? Unless I can party until three a.m. and dress and look like a twenty-year-old, I have no value to you? -- This is why I have to leave. I enjoy and appreciate being fifty. I think it adds to my value, not detracts from it. And you seem to disagree. Always, always, your eyes are on youth.

All right, look, I don't want to belabor the point. Maybe your system works for you, and it just doesn't work for me. Obviously, I've been thinking about this for a while, so you may ask "Why now?" Well, it should be obvious:

It's not that he exists -- he or someone like him will always exist. It's that, not only was he not laughed right off the platform, but he was actively embraced by millions. I don't know how you let this happen, America. Come November, it may surprise some that he would be chosen to lead us all for the next four years.... but it won't surprise me. Because I think he is that ugly pimple on your face that shows up after you've already had pain and itching in that spot for several days -- you just knew something terrible was going on, and now here it is. But he's just a symbol. He's a manifestation of the anger, bigotry, racism, misogyny, -- did I mention "anger"? --- that's rampant from coast to coast. And your very broken political system has made it such that, once again, there are only two choices come November: Us or THEM, and sure as hell, NObody's gonna vote for THEM!

So then, you might ask if there's a specific "someone," a specific country I have my eye on. And, y'know, there isn't. As you know I've always been a little bit in love with France. They love food and wine, and appreciates leisure in a way that's very appealing. 

But the UK has been drawing my gaze lately, as well. Of course, the UK's sense of humor is right up my alley. And I heard a commentator on BBC the other day say the Brits do "melancholy" very well, and that appeals to me, obviously. And the BBC TV shows -- have you noticed that someone always has a medical issue? I appreciate the acknowledgement of that reality. On "The Good Wife," does anyone have a heart problem? Or dementia? No, that's not very American, to get sick. 

And then there's Finland, Norway, Sweden -- education is important, a sense of cultural support, ... all very appealing, and all values you seem to lack these days.

In any case, I'm leaving you. Whether that turns out to be forever or just temporarily, I can't say for certain. I'll be watching you, always. I do love you, after all. My life with you has given me so much -- I could never properly express my gratitude. But gratitude -- and a bit of fear -- are not enough to prevent me from wanting to try to find a country where I feel more at home.