Nestled in a river valley surrounded by majestic mountains there is a little town. Not a town, really. An unincorporated area. There are two traffic lights, a grocery store, one fast food restaurant, two gas stations, a smattering of small businesses, a fitness center, five fire stations, a handful of churches, and five schools. There are rows of produce warehouses. Running through the center of the community is a river. The lush bosque near the river is green. The whole area is verdant by comparison. A desert oasis. It's a destination for birders, in fact. It's a pastoral community with open fields that used to be filled with cattle and horses until a developer got involved. Sometimes cows roam freely through the middle of the community. Sometimes deer prance across the road. Running parallel to the river is a freeway on one side and a railroad track on the other. Every few years there is talk about the possibility of Walmart coming to town.
In that unincorporated desert oasis area there are people. Quite a few, actually. Those people are hard working, down to earth, friendly, warm, and neighborly. There is no town hall. The community revolves around schools and churches and youth sports and running into your neighbors at the grocery store or while taking an evening stroll along the walking trail with your pup by your side. Most people who live there commute to jobs in a neighboring city, or even travel miles and miles away to work. But, still, they choose to live there. The people are diverse. The majority are Mexican Americans. There are Caucasians. There are Asians. There are rich people, poor people, and in-between people. There are ranchers, teachers, entrepreneurs, doctors, lawyers, dentists, retail workers, and law enforcement officers. There are people who send their kids to public school, people who homeschool, and people who send their kids to charter schools.
If we're being honest, and we are, we'd acknowledge that there is poverty. A lot of it. Not the same kind of poverty that one might find in a city where people don't know each other, but it's there. It's different because it's small and people know each other and people take care of each other. It's less harsh. There are also drugs and drug smugglers and human trafficking. There are also the people who fight drugs and drug smuggling and human trafficking. It's a parallel universe. A family community on one hand, and criminals in the shadows on the other hand. The two rarely knowingly cross paths. Even so, the local crime rate is low. The river, though life giving, is polluted. You shouldn't wade in it. It's contaminated by international waste water. Or at least it was once upon a time. It still has a reputation. Speaking of waste water, there is an international waste water treaty and an international waste water treatment plant right there in the unincorporated area.
In spite of the family oriented culture, a lot of people look down on that little unincorporated area. With the exception of the grocery store and Family Dollar, there are no stores around, not for miles. Weekend entertainment options generally consist of karaoke at a hilltop resort and hanging out at the saloon. Or, some people choose to cross an international boundary to the south or drive an hour north to reach the big cities. There are no museums, no cultural landmarks. Just people living their lives and cows roaming the streets and javelina foraging in garbage cans and snakes slithering through yards and coyotes howling in the night. There are stars, too. The sky is huge and bright.
It certainly doesn't seem like much. But it is. The valley is surrounded by natural beauty. There are man made lakes not too far away. Mountain trails, creeks, birds, and other wildlife. It's peopled by the salt of the earth. A few miles up the road you have an old Spanish mission and a few miles even further up the road you have a village filled with southwestern art and architecture and restaurants with delicious food. A few miles down the road you have an international border with all the associated benefits and drawbacks of trying to make fences work to make good neighbors.
What I've just described is Rio Rico. For better or worse, it's my hometown. When I was 14 I tearfully begged my parents to please move us the heck away from there, and the second I turned 18 I did move away (after I got home from my Grand Canyon trip). I lived in Tucson for a few months, and then I lived in Idaho for two years. Then, I moved back to Rio Rico to work and figure out what to do and where to go next. I moved to Utah. Then I moved back to Rio Rico to prepare for a mission that never happened. Then I moved to Tempe, and then back to Rio Rico. Then I moved back to Tucson, and then back to Rio Rico. Then I sold most of my stuff, packed up my car, and moved to North Carolina for two months. Then, in true boomerang generation fashion, I moved back to Rio Rico. And then, finally, one more time, I moved to Tucson, and three years after that move, I'll be moving back to Rio Rico. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll settle down somewhere in between.
There must be something wrong with me. This must be the reason I'm still not married. Maybe I'm an introvert with the dangerous capacity of becoming a hermit if I'm not careful. Oh the places you'll go! Oh, the places I've never been. My life must be so narrow. But, in reality it's not that limited. After all, I have lived in three states, traveled to or through 25 states, and visited two countries and two continents. I have a college education, and I've been gainfully employed my whole adult life (except for three semesters in college). But still, many people choose not to live there. They choose to leave and never return. So, there must be something wrong.
Or, maybe there's not something wrong. Maybe I like walking out my front door at night and seeing the vastness of the universe in the night sky or hearing the soothing sound of coyotes howling in the distance. Maybe I like open space. Open spaces make good neighbors. Maybe I like running into acquaintances at the grocery store. Maybe I don't need to have easy access to shopping. Maybe I find being surrounded by people speaking a foreign language feels secure and like home to me. Maybe I like living in an interesting place that people can't understand unless they're from there. Maybe I like living in the zone between two worlds. One in which both abrazos and handshakes coexist. Maybe I like being surrounded by the world's best tacos and tres leches cake and flan, while also being surrounded by American food. Maybe I like mariachi music and American jazz.
I taught for eight years in the school district where I spent part of my childhood learning. I left that job for financial reasons, but quickly learned that more money does not translate into a better quality of life. I love the people in that community. I love my former students and their siblings, and I feel called to help them access their greatest potential. Hopefully, most of them will leave, and will only come home for visits. Or, maybe they'll leave and return because they love the place and the people and they want to help them thrive. I love their parents, and I love my colleagues. I love the supportive community.
It's an interesting feeling when you know it's time to leave a place. I felt it three years ago. I feel it now. I'm grateful for what I've gained personally and professionally over the last three years. In a way, I feel like I've wandered through the desert for three years. It's been tough. It's been tough emotionally, physically, socially, spiritually, and professionally. I've grown so much. At every transition stage of my life things have fallen into place in a way that I've known in that moment where I was supposed to go and what I was supposed to do, but rarely have I known the why. Someone once accused me of committing social suicide by moving back to Rio Rico. That person has never been to Rio Rico.
One of the reasons why I'm afraid to go back to Rio Rico is that I'll be going back to my comfort zone, and I'll be missing out on opportunities to grow. I feel like I'm at a point of no return because of my age and stage in my career. I should settle down. I should buy a house and plant a garden and raise chickens and maybe foster children. Maybe there are ways I can help my community grow, and in the process I'll grow, too. It's not likely that I'll find a husband in Rio Rico, and if you know me, you know that's been part of my life plan. It's not impossible, though.
So, friends, as you can see I have enough conflicting thoughts and feelings running through my head and my heart. I know, because some of you have said it all before, that you have opinions about my life, my job, and where I choose to live. I don't need your opinions. I just need you to know that I've looked over my options with care, and about some of those options I have said "I don't choose to go there." I pray about my life, and my job, and my choices, and I do what I feel is right for me. All I need from you is support, encouragement, and love as I try to figure out how to thrive and serve others in my little desert oasis.
No comments:
Post a Comment