City Mouse, Country Mouse

Bill asked me yesterday (as I sat panting, exhausted, sweaty, bloodied by thorn-snags and scratching bug bites, after spending an hour down at the pond picking blackberries):

"You're not really a city girl anymore are you?"

"Nope!" I replied cheerfully. "I'm not sure I ever really was, even when I lived there."

Whereas the outdoors may have natural dangers and rural life its multiple inconveniences, and small towns have their politics and problems, I have rarely been afraid in my limbic brain since I left the metropolitan life. When I lived in Los Angeles, Irvine, San Jose, and Vallejo, I was always on high alert, somewhere in the underpinings of my mind. Whenever I visit New York, or San Francisco, New Orleans, Seattle, Washington D.C., etc., I am always in a state of barely-controlled panic, trying to keep nameless fears at bay. When I traveled alone in Australia and New Zealand, Fiji and Hawaii, I was a formidable shell of false confidence on the outside and quivering blubberiness on the inside.

I'm not sure what I was or am afraid of. All I know is that the constant noise and choking traffic keeps me on edge, in a constant state of fight-or-flight. Big-time stress. My eyes flicker across the faces of people I walk by, assessing their stability. I am at the start line, tensed and ready to leap out of the way of a runaway vehicle, should it suddenly caroom onto the sidewalk. It's almost as if I am always looking for an escape route, should I need it. I find living in the city makes me crazy, as if I'm constantly being assaulted with shots of adrenaline, keeping me on edge, as if my worry-mind will keep me safe and invulnerable from random events and dangerous people.

Here in what Bill and I laughingly call "Paradise," I am constantly aware of natural-lurking dangers, but the awareness doesn't scare me or crowd my thoughts. I watch where I put my feet and hands because there could be snakes and wild critters about. I think about what I'm doing before I use power tools or do something physical that has the potential to harm me. But for the most part, I move through my world with confidence and calmness. My brain is not constantly shouting "beware, alert, danger!!!" like it does in the city.

Did I become more afraid after I had my children, when there were my small, defenseless progeny to protect like a mama lion? I think so. I was always on high alert for potential dangers to them, perhaps overly protective, and maybe it suffused my own personality so that I unconsciously kept myself in a constant state of readiness, whether I wanted it or not.

When the kids were little, they had a children's book titled City Mouse, Country Mouse. The plot, like most juvenile books, was simple: Two mice cousins switch venues, and discover what it is like to live in each other's environment.

I grew up as a City Mouse in suburban Los Angeles. I learned how to drive on 75 mph, bumper-to-bumper freeways at rush hour. I did reckless, dangerous things as a teenager, seemingly careless to the possible consequences of my behaviors. But thinking back, even then, my happiest and calmest times were when I was outdoors, down by the ocean picking through the tidepools for shells, or camping with my family, or apple picking in Oak Glen, far away from the nutsiness and crowds of people. Perhaps even then, I was a closet Country Mouse at heart.

As a City Mouse, I can function, but I'm not comfortable--it's just too noisy and scary for me to relax and have fun at all. As a Country Mouse, I can hear myself think. And all I'm really sure of is that here and now, I'm happy and I'm at peace.