Claiming My Citizenship

-- but not a second passport.

Photo by Global Residence Index on Unsplash

As I approach the 2-year mark since Susan's death, thoughts turn once again to where I am and where I want to be. I wrote about this almost a year ago, in my essay "Where is Home?"

https://halgrotevant.substack.com/p/where-is-home

The following paragraph from that essay seems at least as pertinent today:

I recently had a conversation with a wise friend, during which I commented, "I've been such an academic nomad and have lived in so many places -- most of them have been related to school or work. I'm not sure where I fit now." I expected him to respond about the pros and cons of different locations, but instead, he simply said, "Where do you want to fit?" Ah. Such an elegant re-frame. It allowed me to exhale.

I did exhale; and for that, I am grateful. But now, "Where do you want to fit?" is taking on new meaning -- it's no longer hypothetical. It feels like it is requiring more definitive action than just thinking about it. I do find that taking action sometimes brings more clarity to a situation. I did "X" and realized it wasn't for me; or I did "Y" and found that I really liked it.

Gradually, and not always consciously, I've been figuring out my new connections with people and places. Last July, I wrote about the power of shared experience in finding one's "peeps" and shaping one's connections.

https://halgrotevant.substack.com/p/who-are-your-peeps

The connections with people have been rewarding and exciting; they are essential to my health and well-being, and they bring me great joy. The connections with place have been slower to come. Perhaps this is due to my own history -- my parents and our family moved several times while I was growing up (father's employment); and Susan, our kids, and I moved several times for academic employment. Over the course of our marriage, we lived in Texas, California, Minnesota, Texas (again), Minnesota (again), New Mexico (Susan), and Massachusetts. Finding the right job was much more important than finding the right place. But now that I am (mostly) retired and employment is no longer the issue, commitment to place is coming into sharper focus. What does that actually mean?

I'm realizing that we moved to this place because we loved the house we found and it was reasonably close to the university -- but we knew relatively little about the community. All this time, I've felt more a part of the university community and its town (Amherst). I sense a shift beginning to happen here. Here are a few developments that illustrate my current thinking.

At a recent gathering of friends, a number of them were talking about a relatively new community in one of the neighboring towns. It has single family homes, townhouses, condos, and apartments as well as an assisted living facility. It was purportedly within walking distance of downtown. So I went over and drove around. First of all, I did not think it was within walking distance of downtown! But more importantly, I couldn't see myself there. I did expect (and find) smaller homes on smaller lots than mine. But the neighborhood just didn't do anything for me. I couldn't envision being there. This action (driving around for half an hour) made me realize how much I love my present home. So I needed to pay attention to that. That experience renewed my commitment to my current place -- which is a beautiful home in a bucolic setting. My deck has an unobstructed view of the mountains to the west, and I can enjoy the sunset while hearing only the sounds of nature. What's not to love?

Now that retirement has given me more unscheduled time, I realized that I can finally read more -- but I had never gotten a library card in my current town. The university library met my needs for professional information, and I had little time for pleasure reading while I was working. (And Amazon was so convenient. But, like many, I am trying to reduce my reliance on Amazon.)

Now seemed a good time to explore the benefits of my local public library.

Since moving here from a large city, I had been somewhat puzzled by the way that public libraries are structured here in western Mass. Every small to mid-size town has its own independent library, and they all seem to be short of funds, while needing more modern facilities, more space, and more up-to-date tech equipment. I was used to the model of consolidation of libraries in an urban area into larger centers with many books, many reading nooks, ample space for community gatherings, lengthy hours of opening, strong tech access, and so on.

But when I visited the website of my local library (Clapp Memorial Library in Belchertown, MA), I discovered a real gem, just 10 minutes from my house. And my subsequent in-person visit helped me understand why people are so loyal to their local libraries, despite their limitations.

When I stopped by to get my very own library card, the librarian at the front desk greeted me warmly and was happy to show off the building and tell me about its history. Although one might think it used to be a church (because of its being built in the Romanesque Revival style in the form of a Latin cross, complete with beautiful stained glass windows), it was originally built as a library - in 1887 - for the grand sum of $46,000. (According to measuringworth.com, that would be equivalent to $17,494,962 in today’s dollars for construction of a building.) She proudly pointed to the framed photo of the library's four "Founding Dudes." It's a very beautiful building - complete with dark wood and creaky floors. Kind of a Harry Potter vibe.

The stained glass windows pictured here were "crafted from sand and silica mined in western Massachusetts" (from the library website). My eye was immediately drawn to the large window honoring music -- the other large window honors poetry. Two of my favorite things.

Honoring music…

Honoring poetry…

I immediately felt comfortable there -- at home. Although the collection is not huge, I was assured that virtually anything is available at my fingertips through the network of regional libraries -- or, failing that, through connections to other libraries across the country. Something clicked -- hmmm, this is my home.

In prior essays, I have written about how widely dispersed my friends are across the country and the globe. That is still true, but I am now building more (non-work-related) relationships with people who live nearby. These are people I can meet for breakfast (I'm on a first name basis with the owner of the local Roadhouse Cafe -- known (to me) for its excellent gluten free pancakes). And there are people I can make music with, or have over for dinner, and watch the sunset with from the deck. These shifts have been small and gradual, but now they seem to be adding up to something bigger.

I am claiming my citizenship right here. And that is making me very happy.

I'd be interested to learn more about your relationship to the place where you live. Have you always lived in the same community, perhaps just assuming you'd always be there? Or have you hopscotched across the country in connection with school, jobs, or relationships? Will today's financial uncertainties make you more or less likely to consider relocating? Feel free to share in the comments.