Unrealistic Expectations and Rural Living

The Chronicle of Higher Education has a piece in the career section that suggests that we need to think not only about "fit" with the university, but also "fit" with the town.

This, in and of itself, is not bad advice.  Our jobs are not our entire lives: professors live in the real world, with mortgages and town councils and volunteer work.  We are a part of our communities, and not only in our capacity as representatives of our institutions; we are citizens of our towns.

However, the article misses much of that point.  The tone is snide, and the author is completely dismissive of small towns and rural areas of the country.  I think that her attitude about the small towns is what makes her actually rather provincial, rather than the sophisticate she claims to be.  (Incidentally, WB suggests that The Chronicle seems to be doing some affirmative action for jerks lately. He responded to a differently obnoxious article the other day.)

The article annoyed me from the opening question:

Can a Ph.D. who wears perfume made by an obscure order of French monks find happiness working in a town where everyone buys their clothes at Farm King?

This just drips with pretension -- and maybe even a little desperation. And it just gets more frustrating.

The basic story is that the author interviewed for a job as an assistant professor of history at a state university.  She explains that she had to travel to "far-off part of the country" for a job interview (she clearly forgets that New England is not the only part of the country -- and that for many people that "far-off part" is actually quite close). To get to this school, she took a plane, then a four hour train ride, and then was picked up at the train station by the department chair.  The train ride, which she describes as dreary, was less pleasant than the department chair suggested it would be (seriously, do you not know that the committee is actually also trying to sell you on the place? They're going to play up certain features.  When I interviewed for my current job, the department chair described the area as "pastoral").  The train ride itself brings about a crisis in confidence:

Something told me that there was little chance of a world-class orchestra or art museum being even within driving distance of the town. I started to get depressed on the train, because then I had to really think about whether or not the job was right for me. I had been so busy pursuing the interview that I had failed to take into consideration the one thing that would have saved me and everyone else a whole lot of time: Did I really want the job? Was it right for me?

The ensuing description of the interview suggests that the author really isn't aware of what goes on in most job interviews (or perhaps she does, but she just didn't like this group).  She's dismissive of the fact that at the breakfast, someone started asking her questions about the Holocaust (and the question she was asked is one that sounds exactly like the sort of question that you'd hear in a job interview); she's dismissive of the types of questions that she was asked in her job talk (because, you know, it's actually pretty fair to ask questions about Bakhtin when you're talking about the festive nature of the hippie movement); and she's dismissive of the committee at the dinner, because they talked to one another and she felt, at times, a bit left out (which is a pretty good sign both of the committee's fatigue and fact that you've tanked the interview).

What gets me most of all, though, is the insistence that there cannot possibly be "culture" or "civilization" in rural places, even rural places centered around a college or university (she writes that "I hated the place with a passion born from a desire to live above the minimal standard of living." Excuse me?).

Actually, no.  That's not what gets me most of all.  It's the fact that she insists that she's not being a cultural elitist.

I realize that our university is located in a rural region that's relatively close to a major metropolitan area -- and closer to an urban area than the college that this author visited (most of the commenters on The Chronicle posited that the school is somewhere in the midwest and that she flew into Chicago.  And I totally admit that midwestern small towns are more dispersed than small towns on the eastern seaboard).  But we are rural; we are in a very small town.  And I'm from Chicagoland.

But I love it.

I recognize that not everyone will be happy at a small school in a small community (don't apply for them, folks), but I think that dismissiveness of such places is uncalled for.  Working at small university in a small town has transformed my life in many ways. For one thing, I'm now the type of person who shows up at the Folger Library to do research in a skirt and heels (I used to do it in jeans) -- essentially, I'm more of an adult.

But I'm also now the type of person who knows the people who run for town council -- and I know that I'm able to have impact on my community, to be able to contribute to the town in ways that make it a better place.  When we lived in Florida, I didn't know anything about local politics -- and frankly, I didn't really care.

Being in a small town has also meant that I've had to learn new things, that I've had to broaden my own culinary skills.  When we lived in Columbia, I was able to eat Indian food anytime I wanted (I still miss that restaurant) -- and the author of the article is correct that we don't generally have a wide variety of food choices in small towns.  But I have learned to make a couple of Indian style dishes. And Japanese style dishes.

In many ways, it's about resourcefulness -- and about realizing that I'm not actually entitled to the "civilized" things in the city.  We travel enough that we can still eat sushi and pad thai and naan bread; we can get to an airport (almost as quickly as I could when living in Chicagoland); we still are able to do all of the things we enjoy doing (it just takes a tiny bit more effort); and we're really, really happy to be able to own a home.

It's not a perfect place to live -- but then again, what is?