The Way Things IS

I’m finding it more and more difficult living in Bartlesville. It’s just a place, I tell myself, but still I cannot shake the feeling that maybe I would feel differently if I were living in Tulsa or anyplace bigger than Bartlesville. The other day I had just left my supervision meeting. I was in Tulsa. The weather was not as muggy as it has been. The sun was shining. It was the start of the weekend. And I really wanted to go out to dinner with John, sit on a patio somewhere, eating and drinking a glass of white wine, maybe go for a walk down by the river as the sun was setting. Instead John was making his hour-long commute south from Coffeeville to Bartlesville while I was just starting my 45-minute long commute north from Tulsa to Bartlesville.

Would it really be different if we lived in Tulsa or do I simply lack the guts to “make it” in a place like Bartlesville. And for a town of 30,000, you would think there would be more to do. There is one movie theater, one bowling alley, one mini golf place. The restaurants are not so much restaurants as buffets and diners, which leave foodies like me no place to indulge. Sure, I like chicken fried steak and pizza and BBQ. But I also appreciate a good steak, excellent service, and good wine. All of which seem lacking in Bartlesville’s restaurants.

I asked myself that same question—if it would be different if we lived in Tulsa—as I was finishing my cardio yesterday at the gym. I had sprinted until my legs felt like Jello. I wanted the endorphins to pump hard enough to make me forget for a moment at least how unhappy I am here. But I left the gym pondering the significance of place on our happiness. Would it make a difference if I was able to go to a spinning class and be surrounded by a bunch of people rather than working out by myself in an empty gym? At least in a gym full of active men and women (not just the big burly dudes who hang out at my gym), there is an energy that is contagious. People are socializing. They may or may not be working hard, but there is a sense of purpose. An excitement.

And I am not sure that life would be different if we lived elsewhere. I’ve lived in cities before where there was a sense of possibility and purpose, and yet I still felt as though I was just on the perimeter with no way of entering in. At some point, you have to stop looking for the source—whether the problem is in you or the place or your partner—and just admit: You are unhappy. There is no blame. It just is.