Villages distort your perspective. Not simply in the traditional Big Fish/Small Pond way, but - and most likely primarily - introspectively. Their meat-grinding rumor mill can unseat the most deeply founded inner convictions. Their steam-roller educational system exhalts mediocrity. Their jack-hammer societal hierarchy arranges marriages, approves mortgages and signs report cards. They demand conformity and quell expression. Individualists have two options for rebellion. The extrovert must run away. The introvert must run inward. Those who fail to take the appropriate action must sit on the porch and drink iced-tea.
I believe myself to be an introspective ex-villager.
Of course, my perception of the village - and of myself, for that matter - could be distorted. And their flouridated water supply does make for a pretty strong mouthful of teeth. So there's that.
I admire Bob Dylan's willingness to be misinterpretted - Dosteovsky's fluid, yet tightly woven stories - Robert Pirsig's honest uniqueness. I adore Kurt Vonnegut for not worrying much about any of it.