When No One Else Says Yes

In her professional life, she has often taken on extra tasks. Marketing questions. Pricing issues. Things that were not originally part of her job. She did not feel exploited. She felt curious. She learned. She was even a little proud that they asked her. It meant trust.

In private life it is different. It is not about learning something new. It is about roles.

Her daughter has just moved into an apartment and needs internet installed. The daughter hesitates. She is a bit afraid to organise everything alone. So the parents step in. A technician is coming next week. It is not dramatic. It is just how it is. A mother helps.

Her own mother needs a new doctor because the current one will retire soon. Phone calls. Searching. Discussions with medical cabinets. Finally, acceptance as a new patient. It is relief, but also another small responsibility added to the list.

She does not complain. She calls it life.

Now something else has entered her life. She agreed to put her name on a local electoral list. Only one list in the village this year. No competition. No dramatic campaign. No posters everywhere. Just a group photo taken on a Sunday.

She does not even know her exact position on the list. Probably toward the end. New people are usually there. It is not important to her. At least she says so. She is curious more than ambitious.

Why did she do it?

She says it quite simply: if everyone refuses, nothing works. If everyone thinks only about themselves, the village will have problems. Someone has to say yes.

There is also another reason, more personal and quieter. Her daughters are leaving the house, one already gone during the week, the other planning to study soon. Her husband works long hours. The house will be more silent. She does not want to sit inside that silence without purpose.

This could be something new. Six years, maybe seven. A chance to learn. To meet other people. To understand how decisions are made.

She does not idealise it. She has seen enough to know that people can criticise easily. If they do not like a name on a list, they may reject even good ideas. In small places, reputations travel faster than facts. She is aware that some may look at her surname and connect it to other family members. She shrugs slightly when she says it. It is part of village life.

There are real issues to deal with. A former bank building has been bought and renovated to host medical professionals. Windows replaced. Insulation done. Everything prepared. A young doctor was interested — then withdrew because the hospital needed her more. So they continue searching.

The main road will be renovated over several years. Discussions about whether to put electricity underground. Costs shared between commune and inhabitants. A vote that passed by just two percent — and might be questioned again. She listens to these stories carefully. She has only attended one meeting so far. She does not pretend to know everything.

She notices that the village has lost many services. The bank. The bakery. There is one restaurant, one butcher. For cash, you have to drive elsewhere. She remembers someone driving far just to withdraw money for a meal. It sounds small, but it changes daily life.

Nearby towns seem more dynamic. They have pharmacies, supermarkets, housing for elderly people close to services. Here, things feel quieter. Older. A bit more fragile.

She does not speak with anger. More with a kind of practical observation.

There are strong associations, clubs, volunteers. People are active there. The council supports them. Financially, the commune is stable enough to invest, but large projects depend on higher administrative levels. Millions are not decided at a kitchen table.

She knows it will mean time. Meetings. Small tasks. Helping at community events. She is used to that from sports clubs and school activities. She does not like standing still asking what to do. She prefers to move.

There is no big campaign energy before the election. Some friends did not even know she was on the list. It is almost discreet. Perhaps too discreet. She smiles at that.

She does not know yet what will change for her personally. Maybe nothing visible at first. Maybe everything slowly.

What she knows is this: when the house becomes quieter, she wants her life not to shrink with it. She wants to step a little outward, even if it is into muddy courtyards, complicated votes, and meetings about roadworks.

It is not heroic. It is not dramatic.

It is just a decision, made in a warm room, on an ordinary winter evening.