The young man is from a small town, not the romantic Americana version, not John Mellencamp’s version. Or maybe it was and he didn’t notice. But couldn’t this or something like it be said of all of us, inhabitants of small and big towns alike? You see what you see for the time being. And then that shifts, and you see something else. I’ve heard it referred to as travel. After a while you may get downhearted and not want to see much of anything, or you might swing the opposite way where your eyes and heart get so big, you can no longer measure the size of the town or anything else, and perception zeros in on no particular thing, just roams in easy pleasure across a landscape without a border. This border-less joy is not known to the young man, or perhaps it is known but he is forgetful, and like a person who can never remember where he left his keys, the young man likewise loses track of his uninterrupted happiness, which you may think is hard to do, but is it?

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