Exposing the exposition of Villages: how to not be a cog in the rumour mill

Howdy ho, neighborino!

What brings you to this neck of the woods? What made you move out here? How do you like it? What do you do for work? What are you doing now?

The now

Life in a small village has its charms, and its curses. It’s been two years since I left my “life-long career”. Looking back, despite the pension, benefits and respectful social image of the job, it was not ever sustainable. I was a woman in a man’s world, not there to change the tune of times, just there to fuel a passion – one for machinery and challenges, metalwork and troubleshooting. But missing one crucial skill, I’ve realized, I would have never succeeded long term.

The missing skill was to deflect misogyny, have it roll off my back and down the drain. The ability to let things slide and not get worked up. No, I kept furious notes on every account of harassment and they slowly built up, lodging between the neural firings of my brain, fogging my memory till I fumbled every task. I was defeated. I bounced between jobs, with varying setbacks, I wondered if I was slightly disabled, incapable, even a burden on my partner. My neighbors, through their curtains could see it, each attempt at stabilizing I struggled to keep balance.

It sometimes felt as though each time I stepped foot outside, through the bushes would emerge a neighorino. Some I’ve learned to welcome with an open heart, through their rash firings and spittins’ of politics, there are gentle “how are you’s” and deep interest in my well being. With others I’ve rather awkwardly adjusted to keeping my senses reserved, for their inquiries seemingly riddle and rhyme with personal gain and gossip. Admittedly, it’s been rather difficult coming to terms with the small-town rumour mill. Being both a product for circulation and being the circulator at times. Some reflection in each of these positions has realized a cause of the symptom.

The why

The other night at our friends house for dinner, we shared our personal accounts of the happenings surrounding Jagged Peak Village. We each contributed to the ongoing conspiracy surrounding the fish farm oil-spill, the recent influx of German tourists, and the ridiculous rigamarole of house renovations. Amidst the environmental and social engagements, our friend commented on the toilet recently dropped off at the free store. Despite that being a crime in itself, someone had further vandalized the scene by dumping used motor oil in it. He was suspicious of the intention, if it was a direct jab to our small but mighty Public Works team. I could see his ailment, and at the time, I had been working for Public Works and had assisted in disposing the oil-laden toilet at the dump. I reassured him that we thought nothing of it, that we had suspected meddling kids and it was but a small blip in the ongoing efforts to wrangle a small Village of bored kids, young and old. Like, very old.

That evening, I realized the why. His sympathy for Public Works had boiled over into disdain for an unnamed suspect – someone to blame. When what to blame was simply our isolation, both in the form of boredom leading to meddling antics, and cooped up ideation on the instigator. Simply put, our tiny Village tucked away in the shadow of a Jagged Peak might be spiraling with boredom.

In my efforts to return to a level society considers functional, I have perhaps allowed boredom to creep into the dry cracks of a disengaged malnourished brain. I’ve developed cooped up ideation of the instigator, my neighborinos, whose boredom is likely leading to their meddling inquisitive antics. Surely, the sensitive nature of my situation is churning up misguided beliefs of curiosities and I should really just pound sand. Likewise, my neighborinos should see me pounding this sand and have no time to keep up. Perhaps, I am leaning back into an old way of being, my old self. To commemorate and remember, I deliver to you the how.

The how

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” – Bilbo Baggins, J.R.R.Tolkein

Excuse me, what? As Bilbo gave his 111th birthday departure speech, he took many of the hobbits off-guard, left deciphering this rather round about complement. No doubt Bilbo could relate to the rumour mill. The shire being not so different than Jagged Peak Village, filled with curious souls, well-meaning meddling, and too much time to think. I’d like to consider his journey, not only through Middle Earth, but through the well-to-do hobbits of the Shire, taking his wisdom with me on my own journey.

To not be a cog in the rumour mill of a small community, is to not let idleness invent a vicarious adventure where none exists. Therefore, go out into the world, one foot in front of the other, and in time, the perils of others will simply roll right off your back.