Going Home

On Valentine’s Day, I found myself following a funeral procession. I didn’t attend the funeral, but I knew of the man who passed away. You couldn’t not know who he was in our town.

And, I knew that the funeral was that day.

I just didn’t know I would be right there… in it.

I got the kids a little early from school in hopes of having some fun to celebrate the holiday with my little loves and Adam, who was finally home from a week in Louisville. But, on our way home, a Sheriff held traffic at a light as the large funeral procession turned onto the country highway and made its way towards our small town. The final car made the turn and then the Sheriff waved us across the street to begin normal traffic once again.

Except the drive was so far from normal.

It was a whopping 7 degrees that afternoon and many families stood at the end of their driveways as cars slowly drove by. Some people held posters and even a large pine tree was draped with a sheet reading, “Thank you.”

The man that passed away ran the funeral home in our town and the family even lived in a beautiful, old home right next door.

Very “My Girl,” at least in my mind.

But, what didn’t get through in that amazing coming of age story or in Dan Ackroyd, is that this man saw so many members of our community on their worst day. He was right there- right next door. He was a part of their heartache and he made it just a little better. His work was often overlooked and in the background, but so important.

As the procession crept into the main part of our town, two fire truck ladders reached to the sky and, together, held a large American flag. More people lined the street, including the entire fire department. It was impressive and it was very hard not to cry.

But, I had seen this town do this before. A few times actually.

It had been done for a couple police officers killed while on the job and soldiers who never made it home. But, this Americana pomp and circumstance has also been put on display for teachers, young people and now the local funeral director.

When I got home, I told Adam about it and asked, “Were funerals always this big when you were growing up? I feel like we have seen 4 or 5 funerals like this. I never saw anything like this growing up.”

“Welcome to life in a small town,” he replied with a smile, “There may only be 1500 of us, but we all make an impact on each other.”

I thought for a moment.

For a long time I felt strange claiming this small town as my home. If we are really being honest, I still kind of do.

My high school had 2000 students. And, my town had three high schools of the same size. It was completely normal to not know anyone when you went to the grocery store or when driving down the road.

In the early days, people- even good friends of Adam’s- thought I was a little cold when they see me out running an errand or when I didn’t wave back when driving. It sounds dumb, but has just been such a strange new habit to get into to know that you will likely see people who know you (and want to say “hi!”) when you are driving.

The first time Adam brought me here was on 2008’s New Year’s Eve. We were headed to Purdue to celebrate and he had to swing by his dad’s office. When we got to Purdue and the night began, one of his friends asked, “So, Claire, what did you think of Russiaville?”

I shrugged, looked at him and then to Adam, “I mean, we just ran by the office, I didn’t see much of it.”

Adam lifted his beer to his lips and just before he took a long pull, he said to his friend, “She saw it all.”

There isn’t much here.

There isn’t a Starbucks. There isn’t a bar or even a stoplight. But, there are 1500 people.

1500 people that live in community every day– so much so that they wave when driving and pull out all the stops for the funerals. Especially the funerals of those who committed their service to this small town.

Small towns and even the whole middle part of the country get a bit of a bad rep for being isolated. Sure we don’t have public transportation or share walls with other people, two things that- I think- rely on the goodness, neighborly feelings found in living in community. But, we do have funerals like these.

Goodness, love, community and service lives here too.

And, so do I.

This year will mark the longest I have ever lived anywhere. This home that I am in now- the one in this small town- will surpass the length of time I lived in the home I claim to have grown up in.

Note: I say “claim” because… There were a lot of them. So, I feel like in exchange for being the “new kid” multiple times, I get to have a choice.

Before college, I lived in seven different homes in many different cities across the midwest making the question “Where are you from?” still tricky.

Chicago sometimes is the answer because I was born there and that was where we were in many of my years before 10. But, Dublin, Ohio wins out a lot too because it was ages 10-17 and I feel like those were more formative years than those pre-10.

But, these last seven in little old Russiaville may have been even more so.

There has been work and learning done here that is some of the most important I have ever done. Even more important than those lessons in high school and my own coming of age.

There has been care shown to me here that surpasses even some of the care of my early years in Chicago.

It’s crazy, really, because this is the most unexpected place I have been in my life. More unexpected than the Mexican family party I was attended in LA, dancing on the bar on a mountain in Switzerland, in the Dean’s office for underage drinking, washing cars in a dry clean only suit paying my dues at my first job, or crying as I collect called home from Australia at thirteen. (Just a whopping $300 phone call… Thanks, Mom and Dad.)

But, it has been this growth and this love that has made this place my home.

It’s not exactly chic, there isn’t much to do and you won’t find it on a “Must Visit” list. There are part of this town that has room to grow in mind and millennium… But, it’s where I live.

And, it’s also where a lot of people I have grown to know and love live too.

In the last few weeks or so I have felt the “blah” feeling I have come to find normal in entrepreneurship. The “Why do I even care…?” and “What is the point?” and “Maybe I should just go find a normal job…” stuff. I circle back to this place that sends creativity and drive to a standstill (and sends me to waste hours on job boards…) often.

Like, maybe quarterly.

But, this funeral and more importantly this outpouring of straight up love on a day best known for it has helped shake me of the funk.

Because when I dream of growing my company- my biggest, crazy dream- it isn’t about the world at large or a massively HUGE impact. I need to remind myself of this because I get hung up in that thinking I have to serve everyone. I have to be it all and go so big. This stops me because who am I to think that is possible? Who am I do be that person?

But, really when I stop and think about it, it’s about them. It’s about Russiaville.

It’s about providing good food and the families I know and love cooking at home, together. Gender roles and gas station food be damned. It’s about creating safe, rewarding jobs and maybe even someday a fun place to make memories together as community. It’s about being a part of the conversation of growth and what that looks like in so many ways. And, if I reach a little more, it’s about maybe even putting this place- my home- on a “must visit” list.

If you are in the middle of building something like me, know that these feelings and the little voice telling you to quit are normal. And, know that I wish more people talked about this.

If you want to make change, do something creative or make an impact, this spot where it all feels terrible and that you are not making anything worthwhile is a real thing. And, it’s a crusher.

If you have dreams of reaching the masses with words or products or colors and textures or a mission that you feel in your bones that you have been called to share and it feels like you are not doing a thing to make progress, take a moment and remember who it is about.

Most likely, it is about love and the everyday people who are right in front of you. So, go home and love them.

This tiny, sleepy town has been mine for the last seven years. It isn’t exactly chic. There isn’t all that much to do. It’s not the world’s stage.

But, it has loved me, taught me things and made an impact on me.

It is my home.

It is the place I least expected to be, but also first place I put down roots.

It is in the middle of nowhere; but, it is where I found purpose, love, growth, myself and true community.

This place is my greatest teacher and my most epic adventure.

This is my home.