Dear Mr. Mellencamp

Today as I ventured out my front door in an effort to reach the 10,000 steps I still hadn’t attained, the earworm badgered me again-“I was born in a small town-and I live in a small town-I’ll prob’ly die in a small town….Oh, those small communities.” That song has brought great vibes, great energy whenever I’ve listened to it. But today I began to hear these lyrics too literally.

While my feet picked up to the beat in turn bringing the old heart rate up, I wondered if the lyrics would become prophetic- “Gonna die in a small town, Ah, that’s prob’ly where they’ll bury me.”
The sky began to look ominous. The streets were empty, the storefronts emptier.  It was at this point that I told John he was wrong. “No, Mr. Mellencamp. Life in a small town ain’t that great!

I don’t know what bothered me more, not making my 10,000 steps or the fact that I began feeling stuck in a small town. I think the latter. Unlike Mr. Mellencamp, I wasn’t born here-didn’t want to move here-and ‘for sure’ won’t spend the rest of my days here. “So, why are you in this small town?” I heard John whisper. I stopped in my tracks, sat down on the curb and had a heart to heart with my Rocker friend. “It all started with a family crisis, a major illness struck my daughter who by the way, is a single Mom of two. It was so sudden and severe that my own motherly instincts went into overdrive.” “I see, John replied, You hang in there.” “Thanks, John. I needed that.”
Yes, I live in a small town-and for now it’s ‘good enough for me too.’Image



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