“So where are yiz from?” asks the girl behind the counter at the gas station as she rings up the total for my chocolate.

I smile as I step back and turn to my friends.  By this point, I have this explanation down pat.  “I’m from South Carolina, those two are from Baltimore, she’s from Illinois, and she’s from Michigan.

“You’re here on holiday?”

“Actually, we’re here studying playwriting, creative writing, and journalism.”

“So do yiz like Armagh?”

I ponder the question.  “I do.  It’s a nice balance between small town and modern civilization.”

Something about the look she’s giving me tells me she doesn’t feel the same way.  Kelsey picks up on it too.  “You don’t?”

The girl gives an awkward smile and shakes her head.

I suddenly find myself out of the conversation as the two girls talk about their love for the city.  I don’t get it.  What’s so horrible about small towns?  Everyone knows each other, the world is a manageable size, the town has palpable character, and you never get lost or smothered in the crowd.  Give me a small town over a city any day.  I love towns like Mayberry, Storybrooke, and Ephesus (the last one is one of my creations).  They’re all less like living places and more like families.

Then again, I guess small towns can be smothering in their own way.  A smaller world doesn’t give you as much room to stretch, especially if you feel the need to do something really big.  And if you’re one of the few young people in a town full of middle-aged and elderly people, you can really feel held back.

In hindsight, I’m starting to feel like my character from Kimberly’s play Siren’s Call.  O’Sullivan doesn’t understand his mermaid wife’s need for the city beneath the waves, just as I don’t understand the girls’ need for a city on land.  Which is ironic, because guess who’s playing the mermaid wife?  Here’s a hint: it’s not the girl from the gas station.

So maybe I’m being a stick-in-the-mud about this whole city thing.  Maybe they aren’t so bad for some people.  And the more I think about it, I enjoy visiting Armagh, but I’m not so sure I’d want to live here (although a place out in the Irish countryside wouldn’t be too bad).

But I’ve still got to ask: is changing where you live really going to make you happier?  I mean, if you’re unhappy when you’re poor, you won’t necessarily be content when you’re rich.  If you’re unhappy without a boyfriend or girlfriend, having a significant other won’t always make you happy.  So why would moving to the city make you any more content with your lot in life?  Maybe I’m missing the point and Armagh is secretly such a horrible place everyone wants to leave.  But where would they go?  Belfast with its scars and prejudice?  Dublin with its tourist facade?  Every city and town has its downside, and there’s a lot to be said for being happy wherever you are.

Then again, maybe it’s more about home than about where you live.  I can’t deny there’s something very special when the two are the same.  So maybe that’s the point of leaving for the city.  If you feel at home there, great.  My home is in Greer and in Tigerville, in the Upstate I love surrounded by the people I love, and I take it for granted way too often.

And now I realize I’ve taken a blog that supposed to be about “Armagh: the place, the people” and turned it into five paragraphs of philosophical and psychological ramblings about cities and small towns, so I should probably stop now.