Within the last two weeks I have seen a familiar face at many of my writing Meetups in a woman who moved here from Alabama via Los Angeles. She is nice enough; she always has a friendly smile and is always eager to talk.
At the writing Meetup "marathons" on Saturdays or Sundays the day is comprised of three sessions of writing, separated by breaks where you can snack, check your messages, chat with other members, etc. before you get back to the business of writing. In last Sunday's Meetup I was asked about my farm/rural childhood between the first and second sessions, and during the break between the second and third sessions this new San Franciscan asked me how long it took me to get used to California. (Four years, although some days I'm still stumped, albeit not heartbreakingly so.) Then she asked me if I ever miss the Midwest. (Sure, when they have snow. When the leaves change. When it comes to barbecue. And the work ethic.) Then she asked what I did to get over the homesickness of back home.
Uh-oh.
Three years ago that question would have gotten her a dirty look. These days, and I never thought I would say this, but I am never homesick. I haven't been back to Ohio in nine years and I haven't been back to Missouri since I left in 2004. There are a number of reasons for this. Smug natives of the land of California think it's because Ohio and Missouri don't warrant visiting. They do. But I know from friends and relatives that things have changed there and what I loved about the states I can't find in a "visit"--I'd have to go back. And those things aren't powerful enough to go back for.
I have a feeling this woman wants someone to rag on California with, and she's a little late. I have my brother. Both of us know California about the same, and we don't even rag on the entire state--just the two most prominent metropolitan areas. (My sister-in-love, from the Central Valley, hates these discussions but is fully aware that we consider the Central Valley to be like the Midwest in many aspects, so she knows we aren't picking on her.) We both hate the work ethic that we encounter much of the time, or the state motto that both of us have informally attributed to the state regarding many of its inhabitants: "It's Ok, Someone Will Come Along and Take Care of It." My brother and I also recognize that there ARE people here who have a work ethic, and we are friends with those people. (My brother also firmly believes that to increase your chances of getting an employee with a solid work ethic, the employee should have been born outside the state of California. That counts in terms of immigration as well.) We both make fun of California drivers. We both make fun of crowd mentality in the cities here. (I have more fun with that one than he does, since he's agoraphobic.) And we both make fun of the transportation issues in this state, whether by Caltrans or by mass transit.
Knowing all of this, my brother and I were talking last week when he came up about travel. He knows I have a huge crush on New Orleans right now (the only thing keeping me from going is the heat and humidity), and he asked me, "Anywhere else you thinking of going?" I shrugged. "Maybe to see you guys," I said, "but honestly? I live in my vacation destination." My brother nodded emphatically. "Me too," he said. "My buddies back in the Midwest don't get it. If I had a week or two off, I would just comb the lagoon in Carlsbad for bat-rays. They have to go somewhere." We don't understand a lot about our state, and we wish we could change a lot about our state. But we love it, all the same.
When I first moved here, however, I wanted to do what this woman wants to do--I wanted to downplay it. The rest of America is constantly told how great California is, and it is wondrous, but that opinion has to be earned. If she knocks California to me, I get rankled. Only I can knock California, and I can only do it with the guy who did the same thing I did. If this woman wants to catch up with me in seven years, she can, but by then I will have been here for fourteen years and I will have a whole new slant on the world. It's just not the right time.
I feel empathetic for her situation, but my best advice to her? Join more Meetups. Join the ones in particular that are among new transplants. When you want to get back to talking about writing, come back to this one. She didn't take that advice, and I don't know how much writing she's getting done, but I didn't bring that up in last night's Meetup with her. She's responsible for her acclimation...just like I was.
Just like I still am.
Onward, dear reader.
P.S. - This is where the title of this post of Life For Rent comes from. I'm a huge fan of Rufus, and I wish he was available to play on my team...but alas. He can talk about California with me any time, if you get me.
No comments:
Post a Comment