Whilst organizing my photos the other day, I stumbled across this picture that I took with an old cell phone at Dunnegan Park in good ol' Bolivar, Missouri a few days shy of two years ago.
Bolivar, Missouri. The bubble. The epitome of "small town." The first eighteen years of me. Where everybody knows your name, or at least your mother's name or father's name or sibling's name.
This picture got me thinking about how different my life has been post-Bolivar. Three years split unevenly between three different cities, one of them currently on a second run.
The other day, I joked with a fellow Bolivarian that my experience growing up in Bolivar lied to me about how the rest of the world functions. The reality is, it's true. I'm tempted to be really nerdy and sociological here, but I'll boil it down to the fact that the small town experience is the minority in this country.
Thus, the past three years have involved much "grown-up growing up." Meeting people from many different walks of life. Learning that not everywhere is as cozy, "safe," and sheltered as Bolivar. Seeing that my experiences don't always reflect those of many people, if not most people. It's been an enriching process, and I have really enjoyed the journey. They have been some of the best years of my life.
But, I can't say I would trade my upbringing in the 65613
for any other.
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