My mother has a number of irritating sayings, and “bloom where you are planted” is one of the worst, particularly when I’m struggling with “my life sucks” syndrome. There’s also a horrible poem she used to make us read when my sisters and I fought with each other about how “God made us a family” that we still joke about, but this post is about really living where you are, growing wherever and out of whatever you were planted in.

I just had a woman at the Post Office I seasonally work at tell me she envied me. After asking me questions about what I’ve been up to, she looked at me straight in the eye and told me she envied me. That took me by surprise, but you know what? My life is awesome. People are always telling me that, and I look at them like they’re crazy, but really. My life really is great.

I live in the peace and quiet of the country, surrounded by vibrant nature. Though money is tight, I get the chance to work a variety of eclectic jobs and take part in world travels and adventures and fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants activities most people my age don’t get to do anymore. Sometimes I’m working the night shift at the post office and get up at horrid hours and have crazy sleep schedules, but I only do it for three to six months and so it becomes an adventure rather than a job. Sometimes I sleep in, sometimes I drive down the road to wherever I’m working at the time. Sometimes I crash at friend’s houses, empty cabins or even abandoned office buildings to save on gas, making sure I’m never in a rut. I’ve been a reporter, a teacher, a graphic designer, a waitress and always self-employed. I’ve played in an orchestra and violin group. I live in a great little community where I know everyone’s name. I don’t suffer a desk job, and I haven’t worn pantyhose since 1995, for crying out loud! I have good friends, good health, a great family. I have a college education. I have friends in other countries that I’ve visited. This house is very much my home. I’m surrounded by books and pets and art and all kinds of possiblities. My life is wonderful. I’ve no doubt I’ll forget all this in five minutes and start wishing I had someone else’s life, but really. I’m living some people’s dream. I’m as free as it gets.

That’s why I hate to see a friend desparage an earlier stage in his life, throw it off like garbage and not see something of worth in it, now that he’s moved on. Twice this week I’m afraid I set fire to bridges with two people, the importance of living where you live coming into play in both instances.

It is with one of these instances I’m most concerned with. A friend showed me something very ugly about human nature, whether he intended to or not. This friend used to live in the area for nearly ten years and participated in our trips to Nicaragua. He moved away earlier this year, but still planned on going on the upcoming trips. In fact, last year he even expressed an interest in going to language school and living down there most of the time. He truly seemed to have a heart for the children and people, and I know they will be looking for him on our upcoming trips which he plans on going on. I was excited for his interest in the people and the country.

Except now that’s gone. He isn’t going on anymore trips, and I emailed to ask why not.

Over and over he told me how he hated his life back here and how he didn’t fit in and now he does because the people accept him, how things are so much better, how he probably saw going to language school and the mission field as a way to get out of a terrible life. Then he talked about a trip he went on with another group to Nicaragua during the rainy season and in a different part of the country, and referred to our experiences as being “in a bubble” compared to what he saw. He didn’t have interest there anymore, he said. The new place he was at was going to do their own missions thing. Everything was way better than back here, and his comments let me see that although he’d been hurt by people here (which I already knew and tried to be kind to him) he still carried that with him. Flippant comments didn’t distract me from seeing in his email the kind of thing the class nerd feels when he comes to the ten-year reunion all grown up. Put down what was in the past so what now is seems that much better.

I didn’t have much of a problem with his new-found happiness and obvious relief at his position in life, except for one thing: every good thing he had to say was always preceded by a negative comment about when he lived here. Maybe it served as a foil, showing me just how much better everything was in contrast with what he had felt here.

But I am not fooled.

I have discovered, sometimes to my dismay, that a change in geography sometimes is just that. The problems you had before you left you take with you. His answer to a unhappy existance was to move away. I have often wished I could just go somewhere new, and obviously I can if I want. But I don’t want to move away for the sole reason of running away to make things better. That’s no life.

After our last email, I told my friend to have a good life, and I meant it sincerely. I told him that no, I didn’t understand what he meant about how a new place makes everything perfect, because I’ve lived here forever. I told him I have to, each day, find a way to work through the “my life sucks” pity party and see how truly blessed I am. And I told him that I was looking forward to my trip back to our “bubble” with my “rose-colored glasses” full-on. I love the people of Nicaragua, and just because our trip isn’t as miserable as others who have made the trek doesn’t make it any less true.

I don’t know that I will keep in contact much with him anymore because I am tired of hearing how others did him wrong with no acknowledgment of his own failures in the matter.

I wish my friend happiness, but I do not wish that he use the place I live in, the people here that didn’t flow well in his life, and the life I have and the things I enjoy doing, as lesser-than contrasts in talking to me and others. The position of looking back and telling us that still live here that “it’s so much better over here now”, as if we were the problem all along and not him, is called a high horse, one meant to be fallen off of. It also makes those of left behind wonder why we wasted our time being a friend to a person who seemed to find only misery here and doesn’t seem to recall anything good.

My friend is probably very happy at the moment. But he will find, in the coming decade, many of the same problems he had here, mainly for the simple reason that most problems in life are not caused by others. They are our own fault.