I took a solo road trip to Ohio a few weekends ago. And when I say solo, I mean solo…not even my bulldog daughter was invited on this road trip. Dodging out of work a few hours early, I navigated swarms of Cubs fans, rented a Chevy Impala (as if my graying wig and collection of elbow-patched attire wasn’t enough…thanks, Hertz), and got the hell out of Dodge. Keeping it simple, I had a small bag of clothing and unearthed a giant book of CDs (remember those!?) that was embalmed and buried circa 2002. It was destined to be a good road trip, even if not a good weekend (another story altogether).

In the mad dash I was making to beat Friday traffic, I failed to remember one thing–there is no beating Chicago traffic. Thirty minutes later, I found myself weaving through downtown, following detour signs leading to more detour signs. When I the highway finally found me, it took the duration of Talk of the Nation and Science Friday on NPR to finally see the bustling metropolis of Gary, Indiana. Say what?

Traffic eventually picked up and I made my trek to Ohio, which looks a lot like Gary, Indiana incidentally. I had never made the comparison, but fits.  As I drove through the tiny town my brother calls home, I was struck by two images–a house displaying a Confederate flag from its porch and a pickup truck with a bumper sticker that read “Obama Sucks.”  Two things: 1. The last I checked, Ohio was a free state during the Civil War.  2. Perhaps bumper sticker wit is in a recession of its own, but that message seems rather void of personality, doesn’t it?

It was at this point that I realized the theme of not only my weekend, but my life of late: Patience.

Thinking about my day-to-day life in the city (via the lens of trying to get out of Chicago), physical patience is a huge component. From not freaking out on overly-crowded trains and buses to biting my tongue when the couple ahead of me in the grocery store check-out waits until their order is fully bagged to whip out a checkbook (why not cart around you ink well and quill while you’re at it!?…You’re only in your 30s, for chrissake!), city life requires a ton of patience. It’s an obvious byproduct of fitting so many people into such a small space. It’s undeniably physical patience.

Small town patience is an entirely different beast, however. I know this well, as I worked in the field for 18 years or so. Back woods living–if you have an intellectual or empathetic bone in your body (or all of your teeth, for that matter)–requires unimaginable amounts of mental patience. Rationalizing others’ ignorance and bigotry without recommending state-wide sterilization is a virtue. As is not calling Child Protective Services when you see the “food” that parents feed their children and accepting “Mountain Dew Mouth” as a real medical condition.

Overall, my weekend trip to the buckeye state cast a light on my preference for physical patience. I will take a physically uncomfortable environment that supports liberal-minded diversity over geographic space any day.  Mental claustrophobia? No, thank you, I like mine physical. Trees are nice, but new ideas are nicer.

So thank you, Ohio. Thank you for first teaching me and then reminding me of how to be patient. And thank you cities of the world–San Francisco and Chicago in particular–for teaching me (and often reminding me) how to be patient without being complacent.