My brothers believe home is where you lay your head. But they are far more gregarious than I am. When they enter a room their peers instantly take note. Me, I am more inclined to slip in and observe my surroundings before being the fulcrum of attention.
This week a handful of people have asked where I’m from. The obvious answer is Florida. But, unless I am pressed I never provide a city. No one has yet to inquire further, but the idea of how to answer that question was one that led me to ask “where is home?”
Is it the ritzy city of money and retirees that hardly acknowledges it has a black population? Or is it the small town where nostalgia for it trumps all other memories? Perhaps the city that educated me and went from the bane of my existence to a begrudging enclave of peace.
My two outgoing brothers — one who is five years younger and the other who is 15 years older — would quip something about Victoria, Texas being my new home and I better get used to it. There would also be an unrepeatable joke from both that would make me laugh with politically incorrect delight.
As large as Texas is, it feels so quiet when I come home from work. Unlike Florida there is not a foundation of friends to lean upon in person here. I think it was mother who said it was a chance to reinvent myself as a journalist and become a better person since the only thing people out here knew about me is what I told them.
Outside of a summer in Shreveport and my two weeks in South Africa, I have lived in the most unique of the 50 states.
People have asked whether I am homesick or miss my Whitney. Honestly, I have not been away long enough to truly miss either. But I do know I will be reunited with both again.
#LifeinTexas, as I am fond of tweeting, is a learning experience. Not all of us are fortunate enough to have a chance to sink or swim, become a man or a mouse. It is a chance to figure out if I am going to be person or the pork.
I was a closeted emo kid for high school and early college, spending countless hours writing about feelings, emotions and other things interconnected with the eagerness and angst of leaving home. After A Decade Under the Influence of amateur then full-blown adulthood I realized Coming Home, wherever that may be, is not selling out.
Laughs and liveliness,
-Wb
This week a handful of people have asked where I’m from. The obvious answer is Florida. But, unless I am pressed I never provide a city. No one has yet to inquire further, but the idea of how to answer that question was one that led me to ask “where is home?”
Is it the ritzy city of money and retirees that hardly acknowledges it has a black population? Or is it the small town where nostalgia for it trumps all other memories? Perhaps the city that educated me and went from the bane of my existence to a begrudging enclave of peace.
My two outgoing brothers — one who is five years younger and the other who is 15 years older — would quip something about Victoria, Texas being my new home and I better get used to it. There would also be an unrepeatable joke from both that would make me laugh with politically incorrect delight.
As large as Texas is, it feels so quiet when I come home from work. Unlike Florida there is not a foundation of friends to lean upon in person here. I think it was mother who said it was a chance to reinvent myself as a journalist and become a better person since the only thing people out here knew about me is what I told them.
Outside of a summer in Shreveport and my two weeks in South Africa, I have lived in the most unique of the 50 states.
People have asked whether I am homesick or miss my Whitney. Honestly, I have not been away long enough to truly miss either. But I do know I will be reunited with both again.
#LifeinTexas, as I am fond of tweeting, is a learning experience. Not all of us are fortunate enough to have a chance to sink or swim, become a man or a mouse. It is a chance to figure out if I am going to be person or the pork.
I was a closeted emo kid for high school and early college, spending countless hours writing about feelings, emotions and other things interconnected with the eagerness and angst of leaving home. After A Decade Under the Influence of amateur then full-blown adulthood I realized Coming Home, wherever that may be, is not selling out.
Laughs and liveliness,
-Wb
