I have lived in rural America for nine years, first in Michigan, where I got my PhD; then in central Illinois and now in Indiana, where I am a professor. In a place where most people have lived the whole of their lives, I feel like a stranger. There are few things I enjoy more than complaining about my geographic isolation. I'm a vegetarian, so there's nowhere to go for a nice dinner that isn't 50 miles away. I'm black, so there's nowhere to get my hair done that doesn't involve another 50-miled drive. And the closest major airport is two hours away.
I recite these gripes(牢骚)to my friends. We all have grand ideas about what life would be like if only we did that, or lived there. And there's this; I really don't intend to change most of the things I complain about. Griping is seductiye on those days when happiness requires too much energy. Bur it also makes me lose sight of the fact that I was born and grew up in Nebraska and have lived most of my life in one of the plains states. When I go to the coasts, I am struck by how unappealing big-city living can be.
While I may not love where I live, there are plenty of people who are proud to call this place home. At a party with colleagues, I was going on about everything I couldn't stand in our town when I noticed that they were silent and shifting uncomfortably. That moment forced a change in me. Complaining may offer relief, but so does acceptance. There is no perfect life. By focusing on gripes, I risk missing out on precious moments of appreciation. When I get home, I stand on my balcony, look into the night sky and see the stars. I know that I have absolutely nothing to complain about.