Not an Okie, Not a Who Dat, Not a Yankee

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m not from here originally.”  I’ve gotten very familiar with repeating this response to a question about directions.  This has been my response for about 4 years now.  After about 2 years in Louisiana, I was finally starting to learn my way around and then I started completely over in OKC.  And here, well, I’m not totally sure I’ll ever learn the numbers of all the highways.  Where I grew up, there were two highways: I-95 and Rt. 1.   I knew all the back roads to get anywhere if a detour was necessary (and let’s be honest, it usually was).  I knew how to navigate icy roads by pumping the brakes and what kind of snow was ok to drive in (usually the big, pretty flakes don’t stick, it’s the freezing rain you have to worry about).  I got to where there wasn’t a single street that wouldn’t prompt some kind of memory for me.  When I talked about “back home” I was always referring to Bucks County.  Now I don’t know what “home” is.

Yep, that sign says Chocolate World.  Hershey, PA is a beautiful place

I went back last month for my best friend’s wedding.  This is the second time I’ve been there since moving to Oklahoma and the first time I’ve been back by myself in more than 3 years.  I’m sure most people who go home after a few years notice that things have changed.  We were in Tulsa a few weeks ago and Philip said several times, “Well, that’s new.”  But, the town I grew up in develops CONSTANTLY.  I saw 3 new neighborhoods built within a mile of my old house.  There’s hardly any open space in that area and if there is, give it a month.  I spent the afternoon with one of my college friends who did not grow up in the area, so I had to navigate for her while she drove and I screwed up so many times.  There’s new construction here, you can’t park in that lot for this store, that place isn’t there anymore…  It was at this time that I realized I can’t really act like a newcomer in Oklahoma anymore.  If any place is “home”, it’s definitely not the town I grew up in anymore.

This isn’t to say that I’m forgetting my childhood home.  I’m certainly not.  I will always think back fondly on Yardley and I’m pretty sure I’ll always have friends there, so it will always be a home to me. 

Hanging out on Bourbon St.

When I first moved to Louisiana, it was very obvious to everyone I met that I was not from there.  I know this because I would just say “Hello” and they’d say “Where are you from?”  I was called a Yankee fairly regularly.  And Oklahomans knew I wasn’t from here because of my major fear of tornadoes.  I don’t want to watch twisters from my front porch, so I’m definitely not one of them.  But, I’m also not the person I was when I lived up north either.  I’m known to say y’all every so often.  I catch myself saying things with a different accent.  I used to get annoyed by chatty salespeople, and now I’m the one starting the conversation. 

Wearing our orange for the Cowboys!

So, what does this make me?  I don’t fit in a regional mold anymore.  Sometimes it’s fun to be the outsider, but I don’t really want to live my life that way.  I think I need to just be content with being a hybrid. 

I’m an Oklahoman who’s afraid of tornado season, loves crawfish and beignets, and who’s a Phillies fan.  I always drive the speed limit (going against my Pennsylvania/New Jersey driving background), I hate red beans and rice (going against my time in Louisiana), and I don’t really have a strong personal connection to OSU or OU (although, if my husband asks, I’m a Cowboys fan all the way!).  Am I exaggerating the importance of having a regional identity?  If you were born and raised in the same area, do you think that place defines you?  Or are you your own person, regardless of your location?

Personally, I’m happy where I am.  And I’m happy with the experiences I’ve had in other places.  So, I think it’s time to start learning my way around here.