Writing From The End of the World

As I sit on a Sunday morning, reading through stories on this wonderful idea called Medium, I came across something that I never knew I had: an inferiority complex.

Wow…where the hell did that come from?

I have no clue. I didn’t know I had it until I wrote it down.

What do I have to feel inferior about? I live, as my buddy Rick puts it, “at the end of the world.”

I don’t, of course. But I do live out in the country.

Living in the country means I have to drive anywhere to get everywhere. There’s no public transportation, no taxis, and Uber and Lyft are a great idea, but they won’t be out here any time soon. I actually checked.

Living in the country also means I don’t get to savor the flavors of the various fast food restaurants that city dwellers take for granted. Plus, I’m not talking about the exotic or really popular ones, but the really giant corporate ones, like McDonald’s, Taco Bell, and Starbucks. Sure, the nearest town has a couple of those, but Domino’s doesn’t deliver out to me. But I can go get it, if I want to drive the 15 miles to go to town. If I’m jonesing for Starbucks, that’s about 40 miles: needless to say, I don’t jones for that too often.

In truth, I am lucky; I have broadband. I have a friend who lives so far out in the sticks, he can barely get phone reception, and wifi is a pipe dream. he usually has to get about four miles away from home to catch a signal. I told him to talk to the local County Co-op that supplies power and he said they couldn’t help him. They don’t do internet that far out.

I haven’t been to a movie theater in so long, its ridiculous.

I haven’t been to a play since I was in one in high school.

The last time I went to a night club, I was ready to leave in the first five minutes. Then I actually saw someone approximately my age, and she was nice to look at, so I stayed. Once I discovered a few people my own age, it wasn’t so bad, until we tried to leave. The traffic was horrendous. We drove two hours to get there, and three and a half hours to get out.

I pay more for everything too. Gas is usually 30 cents a gallon higher out here, and don’t ask about cigarettes, wine or beer. You have to go to town to get liquor. All we have close is a convenience store, and that’s about five miles away. But they do have a bar connected to them, so there is a little entertainment.

So why feel inferior?

I have no idea.

I lived in the city before. I know what it is like. I’ve lived in different sized cities (I consider a small city anything over 20,000 people, even though I know some will complain. That’s my way of thinking, and if you don’t like it, tough noogies…) such as Nacogdoches, Texas. I’ve lived in huge metropolitan areas, such as the Bay Area in California. I’ve lived in the high plains, in the desert, and by the sea. I loved some places, couldn’t stand others, and ended up out here.

Yet, sometimes, when I read about these cities, I want to go back.

Not to stay, but just for the conveniences.

Then I remember the price you all pay to live there.

I remember the cost of living, crime, and the traffic. I remember not knowing my neighbors right next door, much less in my apartment complex. I remember having to go outside the city to see a field of grass. I remember the stress of driving with all those maniacs out there, and having to drive like them to get where I was going. I remember the speed of life.

So, as I ponder my inferiority complex on this Sunday at the Beach (Yes, I live about a half mile from the beach), I feel the breeze coming in off the Gulf of Mexico, and I wonder.

What the hell do I have to feel inferior about?

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.