One of the things I found most exhilarating about living in a big city was that I was completely anonymous.
Walking the streets of my big hometown, no one knew who I was, and there was an even more remote chance that I would run into someone I knew. On the campus of my extremely large university, ditto. I couldn’t even find the things I was looking for half the time (friends, professors’ offices, the good vending machine that still had Cheetos in it even though we were knee-deep in midterm season). It was safe to say that the vast majority had no idea who I was once I stepped outside that classroom, and that was fine by me.
But as I discovered quickly, there is no such thing as anonymity in a small town. By virtue of my job, I think it’s safe to say that many people knew who I was almost immediately, and I’ve spent the nearly year and a half since then meeting even more.
I was chatting with a friend the other day, coincidentally about the GFI volunteers. This year over 200 people put their time into making the tournament a success. That seemed to me to be a fairly incredible number, and my friend and I discussed the team that led the charge so to speak. In that discussion, I said, kind of offhandedly, “oh, he’s the baseball guy.”
That quickly turned into a discussion of how people become known for their “things” in a small town. The lead volunteer was “the baseball guy,” while the friend I was talking to was “the video guy.” We reflected on the many more people we knew, and what they in turn were known for. The theory goes that in a small town where volunteer work is crucial and where every skill finds its niche, it’s inevitable that you’ll become known for something sooner or later.
“That sounds like a column,” he said.
It goes without saying that the addendum to my name is “the reporter.” I’ve gotten so used to people tacking it on to the end of my introduction that it almost seems bizarre when it isn’t there — sometimes I’ll stick it there myself. In my experience, people get a little funny when they find out they’ve been chatting with a reporter unaware.
“Meet Kate, the reporter at the Gazette.”
“This is Kate, she writes for the paper.”
“Kate takes all the photos for the Gazette.”
These are all introductions I’ve received. It makes sense — most people in town read the paper, so it’s a good way to nearly instantly familiarize yourself.
Then there’s my friend, the video guy, so known for his work chronicling city happenings. There’s the GFI guy, who I hope is taking a much-deserved break this week after that huge success of a tournament.
There’s the library lady, and the visitor’s centre lady, and the Lung Association lady. The Habitat for Humanity guy, and the Whispers of Hope guy: each of these people known for their incredible work with one organization or another, often so good at what they do that you come to associate them with that organization singularly.
That’s not to dismiss their other interests and skills — just a reflection that in a small town, it’s easy to become known for something, especially if you do it well. In some cases, a person’s “thing” is their full-time job, but in many other cases it is the hobby or causes they feel incredible passionate about, and serve because they truly love it.
So, if upon reading this, you’re left wondering what your “thing” is, there’s an easy test: If you run into someone on the street, what are they likely to ask you about? It might be a cause you believe in, a job you’ve held, or an organization that uses your specific skills.
And in the meantime, I’ve come to accept that there’s no anonymity in a town of 4,000 people, and even come to like it. There’s a certain comfort in knowing you have a community behind you.