Dear World: I Have Theories About How to Change Your Life

I’m Ash, and I’m a writer, traveler, nonconformist & nomad, and every week I’m sharing funny field notes from around the world. Currently, I’m in America writing about what it’s been like to return home to my small town, twenty years after living abroad.

Most people go to places like New York or Tokyo or Paris or London when they’re in need of self-reinvention. (Or at least a decent hair cut, which is fair.)

But, there’s no place better to reinvent yourself than a small town.

When you think about renewal, you think about second chances, right? A makeover. A reboot. A rebirth, which is an annoying term, but one that probably belongs in this paragraph.

You can makeover your entire life in a place like New York, but who really cares? Does anybody even notice? They are fine with or without you—you are an insignificant crumb on their lapel from some drunken night in the West Village where they called you “Amber” all night long and will never remember you exist the next day. And, maybe that’s why so many people looking for reinvention go there: existing feels heavy. They don’t want to exist—not in the same way. They want the safety that is anonymity. It’s a cocoon where you can try on any different life you please—and, no, no one will care. That’s the point.

BUT.

I’d argue that the same anonymity that insulates you now, will also eventually drown you.

Winning requires witness.

When our work is seen and recognized, we feel validated. And, that’s no shit: validation is an important human need. (I know, I hate needing things, too.) Validation makes us feel seen, like we ARE more important than the speck on some douchebag’s lapel.

And that’s where the small town really shines.

It is easy to matter in a small town.

The smallest of things feel like a tornado.

For example, I am still mowing the town square every week, and every week people drive by and stop to say hi and marvel at how lovely it is that I have volunteered to do such a thing. They notice. (And I still get to cosplay as the Straight A good girl student I once—GOLD STAR FOR MY EGO.)

This might make me sound like a selfish prig only interested in it for the attention, but I must say: isn’t attention what we strive for our entire lives? Isn’t that what a college degree is for, and what a resume is for, and what a LinkedIn profile is for, and what every single thing you post online is for?

Isn’t that what the entire internet is for?

Isn’t that what you spend your entire career seeking?

Attention isn’t always vain; sometimes, it’s a legitimate emotional payoff. We need emotional payoffs: it’s why you can’t even watch a movie with a bad ending without feeling MASSIVE DISAPPOINTMENT AND BORDERLINE MIDDLE-AGED RAGE. There needs to be a satisfying conclusion—that is why we’re watching. We sit there for hours, only to feel that feeling that comes in the last five minutes: it is the payoff we receive for our effort.

This is how I view attention: as the emotional payoff of sincere effort. It’s a reward. The hacks don’t deserve any rewards, and that’s why they don’t get any. The copycats, the charlatans, the braggarts, the peacocks? They suffer from a severe lack of imagination, and what greater pity is there?

Real attention, on the other hand—the genuine, enduring kind that is offered because it is deserved, not bought—is the result of meaningful effort.

It’s the result of really trying.

And, small towns make trying easier.

Perhaps this is why I like them so: you can see the direct impact of your work in a short amount of time.

And, so can everybody else.

That adorable coffee shop you want to start in town? That’s not just another coffee shop; that is a symbol of hope. It’s a major, community-changing event. It’s a sign that there is still life; still opportunity; still something to feel pride in. And pride is important. Without it, we don’t have anything to root for.

In this way, a new small-town coffee shop is so much more than a new small-town coffee shop—it is a fucking flag.

WE ARE STILL HERE.

Just the other day, I talked at length with the neighbors—two young and enthusiastic women in their early 30s—on starting a beautification project in town. What would that look like?

And, more importantly, what might the ripple effect be?

When there is momentum, and you can see change, it automatically lends itself to more change.

Most change at the political level is invisible.

And, that’s a problem. You already know what kinds of problems that causes. You’ve been watching it play out on American soil, plainly and clearly, for years now.

On the other hand, something as simple as getting 25 flower baskets donated to a town, to hang from the telephone poles, to liven up a main street—that can change an entire town’s attitude. Not just toward their town, but toward the hope they experience for themselves.

Visible change = hope.

And hope = motivation.

And motivation = more change.

And, so the cycle begins.

Sometimes I think what people really mean when they say “make America great again” is actually “give me hope again.”

But, politics aside, the real beauty here is not about the value of small towns (though I’m obsessed). It is this:

In changing something else, you can change yourself.

You have a chance to wipe the slate clean and become someone new, solely through the actions you take. Whatever you do today is who you become tomorrow. And, small towns allow for that in a way that big cities cannot.

Small towns see you.

Small towns give you a chance to be recognized for the person you are becoming.

And, despite their reputation, they can be secret meccas of renewal—if you’re willing to see the possibility.

Sure, you can be anyone you want—that is true for both cities and small towns. But, in a small town you can also can change anything you want. You can impact anything you want. You can matter to anything you want.

Your work directly impacts other people. It is visible. And, as a result, you are visible too.

What a satisfying emotional payoff, indeed.

And, if that’s not a second lease on life, I don’t know what is.