I am sitting in a cafe in a picturesque small town. I’ve got a pretty view, a table to myself, decent coffee, a few staples, and my trusty laptop. They’re playing country music on the radio. The good stuff, not the modern Nashville prepackaged bullshit.
I said something about loving the song to the woman behind the counter.
“Yeah, we get a lot of older men in around ten, and they are amazed they are actually hearing Willie Nelson.”
“I love Willie Nelson,” I enthused.
“Me too. I grew up with the stuff.” And smiling, humming under my breath, I sat down to get some work done. (Which is why I’m writing a blog post.)
I grew up in the South, where people talk to each other. I spent my twenties as a bookseller, so I’m used to talking to people even in the urban northeast. Unlike many people I know, I actually talk to strangers who talk to me when I’m not getting a weird vibe. And sometimes even then.
“It’s quite a picture,” the guy at the next table says to me.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You’re sitting there with a tub of salad, bread, coffee, and…a laptop?” I’m dressed in jeans and a black hoodie. As usual, I am wearing sturdy shoes and no makeup. I think I brushed my hair before I left the house?
I think he meant I was an anachronism, with my laptop and the classic bread and salad (to be). However, I feel much less of an anachronism here than I did back in the urban northeast with my sturdy shoes and my love of country music. Lots of people here talk to each other and work at home. Or at their local cafe.
I guess it’s been a while since I have been comfortable in a place. Life is weird.
Are you comfortable where you live?