I live Nowhere, exactly between Somewhere and Somewhere Else. This observation occurred to me during a walk last week. I have all sorts of splendid awarenesses during showers and walks and you, dear readers, get to share the wealth.

If you’re reading this, odds are that you live Nowhere too, otherwise known as Jacksonville. What prompted my astute analysis was the comment, from two different people (one local) that Jacksonville is “nowhere,” as in, “You live in the middle of nowhere.” (Never mind Britt, the wine country, the National Historic Register.)

Now I personally have lived Somewhere and Somewhere Else, spending a couple of decades in Chicago and Portland and San Francisco, places that elicit an odd respect when one speaks their names, as if they are more real and legitimate for their size. I enjoyed living in these places; it was fun and enlightening and certainly broadening. It was also quotidian and lonely and frustrating and all the sorts of other things that follow us around, perhaps because they are part of us, and not independent feelings at all.

My brother, a confirmed San Franciscan, calls our little town “Pleasantville,” a moniker that hints at a quality of artifice. I thought about his sobriquet as I drove back into town over Bellinger Hill last week. It was a heavy, fog-laden day and most of my sight was obscured by the gray winter shroud. But as I hit the crest of the hill, a blue sky appeared precisely above Jacksonville, providing a crystalline backdrop to the courthouse tower with it’s flag waving, the town just below, and I smiled as I said aloud, “Pleasantville.”

Friends used to ask me how I could live here, in such a small, remote place. My answer was always and remains, easy. It’s easy living here. That’s what I love about it. I love that “traffic” means waiting ten seconds at a stop sign. I love that the people at the market all know me, and that when I call Fernando for take-out he says, “the usual?” I love that when I forget my money at the Good Bean that I can pay them later and that I don’t need to lock my house when I leave. I love that deer and turkeys hang out in my yard and that we have a place like the Mustard Seed, where it feels good just being there, feels like you’re part of something. I had a breakfast spot in S.F. that I loved, but no one ever knew my name let alone remembered me or handed me a free iced tea when I stopped by to chat.
There is an argument to be made for the availability of museums and good theater and restaurants found in more urban environs. But ask urban dwellers how often they attend these offerings and the usual answer is that they almost never do; it’s a cliche. I still hope our museum will return, and some great new performers for Britt, and I still hold out hope that someone from Top Chef will choose Jacksonville to open his or her new wine country hot spot, but that’s icing on an already tasty cake.

All this by way of saying that Pleasantville is not perfect, but it’s pretty great. The truth is, our little Nowhere is populated by escapees from Somewhere Else: really interesting, smart, talented people who design and make movies and write and run high tech businesses, people who chose to come here precisely because of its out-of-the-way location and because it’s charming and beautiful and peaceful. I am constantly delighted to discover the most amazing people here: talented professionals who sit down with you over coffee and make deals without contracts–my designer and editor included. I defy anyone to tell me that it’s a whole lot better Somewhere Else. Between the local talent and technology, living in Jacksonville is hardly living nowhere. Pleasantville: now with wi-fi access.

The truth is that just about everyone wants to live in a community where they feel they belong, where they are known and even appreciated. That can be found in a city, where people tend to hover around their particular neighborhoods, but it’s far more likely to happen in a small town. Sometimes it’s good to be nowhere, where everyone knows your name, rather than somewhere, where you feel like nobody. It’s painfully easy, in this era of high tech-low touch, to become isolated and autonomous: living here goes a long way toward avoiding that pitfall. As a writer, it keeps me sane.

A sense of community and a connection to nature are two vital components for well-being, components that are part and parcel of living Nowhere, a word that can also be read as Now-Here, as in, present, in the moment. A person doesn’t require a four-star restaurant to be happy (I remind myself), but everyone needs some degree of community and nature to be truly healthy. The definition of soulfulness it is that which is meaningful, moving and essential. It is the ground of being. Pleasantville, with it’s history and beauty and community is soulful in spades.

Being Now Here in Nowhere is about as good as it gets.

Kate Ingram, M.A. is a writer and professional counselor. To find out more about her work and her new book, please visit www.katherineingram.com.