In My Home Town…

For those of you who don’t know my life story, I’m a recently displaced young professional (if you want to insert sarcastic quotation marks around the world professional, go ahead). I’m working in the lovely state of Wisconsin. Madison is debatably the friendliest city I’ve ever lived in, and the weather is an adventure from start to finish. But it’s different – so very different – than my home state.

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When I journeyed through France, I missed America, but I didn’t miss being American. I still was American. But now, as a permanent resident of Wisconsin, I don’t legally belong to Washington anymore. If I travel to Texas and some asks, “Where ya’ll from?” I would answer “Wisconsin, dontcha know.”

(Accent stereotypes are fun!)

So why do I feel the need to identify with my home state so strongly? Why do I come to work decked out in Seahawk gear – more than I ever wore at home – and why do I feel the need to brag about how I have coffee running through my veins instead of blood? I don’t think it’s empirically better to be from Washington than Wisconsin, and I don’t even necessarily plan on moving back.

You know what I think it is? I just really, really love my home state.



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