Iowa is a lot of things. But mostly I find that it’s a place where my car seems to steer itself to my exact destination, even if my brain hasn’t quite connected where it is I need to end up. Something fires with my synapses to turn the car right, then left, then right again, and I am pleasantly surprised when I’ve arrived at point B.
Iowa is also a place where most people are giving and interested. I got a haircut this afternoon, from the girl who’s been doing exactly that since before I officially hit puberty. I complained about my salon experience in Denver last week and before I left today, she handed me a twenty five dollar bottle of special conditioner to fix last week’s hair debacle.
“Ah, you didn’t add that in to your services,” I said. And she said to me, “Just take it. Who knows, maybe it won’t even work.”
Iowa, I have found, has made me a better person in adulthood than I’m guessing anywhere else could have. It has made me appreciative, a hard worker and a giver in times where it would be easier not to. Even though I don’t have to, I’ll go back to the salon on Monday and pay her for the conditioner, with an extra tip for Christmas. And as my car steered itself home this afternoon, I realized that I’d never find myself in the same situation in Denver. It just wouldn’t happen. And I find that unordinary niceness quite remarkable, which is why, I suppose, I always like coming home.