Michigan has been on my mind a lot lately. There is the fact that it seems to be coming
up in random conversations, from work issues to occasional comments I pick up
on here and there. As in most things in
life, this is no coincidence. The
reality is that I have been feeling this growing desire to go back. Actually, it’s more than a desire- it is a flat
out need. The need to go and revisit the
place where I am from. Where I left
three years ago and believe that this place- where I grew up- would no longer
recognize me as the person I am now as I cross the state line. The place where I will nervously return to in
just a matter of weeks.
Michigan, where I am from, is this paradox of industry and beauty. Where people are connected through the common thread of automotive giants to the countless lakes that we live by or vacation on. It’s a place where you don’t see the sun for months, but you are so used to the winter gray that you just don’t know any different; it seems to just blend into the remains of the last snow fall that is now slush piled to the side of the road. But all of that is easily forgotten when the seasons change and the State comes alive. The beauty of Michigan is unparalleled. And while I may be biased, I feel that I have done my fair share of travel and can appreciate the striking beauty of Scottsdale to the picturesque surroundings of the Cape- but I guess the saying is true that there is no place like home.
Michigan is where I became who I am- where I spent every family vacation navigating the waters of the Great Lakes and learned to love the Big Ten. In college I knew what it was truly like to walk up hill both ways in 2 feet of snow as I trudged to class (and perhaps to Waldo’s. And by that I clearly mean the library, not the bar.) It was where I took my girls sledding for the first time- on the same hill where I went as a child- and I relived my memories while they created theirs. It’s the place I knew every street, called out neighborhoods by those who lived there and the elementary school they are associated with. Where the real four seasons are Fall, Winter, Spring and Construction, and everyone has a great venison recipe. Where every milestone event of my life took place- first loves, real friendships, graduations, wedding, first house, first child, second house, second child, and countless more memories with great friends and family- lived 93% of my life- all until I left.
Georgia is where I live now. It is the splendor of sunshine, nature, overly polite people, amazing food and a slower pace that I am still not used to. It is the place where I hike up a mountain, surrounded by Civil War battle fields that live in infamy. Where people are outside all the time- because they can be. Locals let you into traffic, slow down to let a pedestrian cross, let an elderly person have their seat and use Y’all and Yes Ma’am more often than not. Where I find myself using Yes Ma’am more than I would like to admit. Where the landscape of the North Georgia Mountains calls my name every spring and fall, and I so easily get lost in all its wonder. I have learned that a true Southern conversation starts with “What’s your family name and what church do you go to?” That the genuine sense of community is just that- genuine - and it still makes me feel uneasy because as much as I know it’s true I tend not to trust it (getting better at that, though). Where football and BBQ are a religion, both fueled with such intense emotion that you can feel the electricity in the air when two people are discussing their following for either. Where apparently anything looks better with a monogram, and girls still wear bows in their hair so big you wonder how they don’t topple over.
And both of these places have made me who I am. I still like to reference that I am from Detroit because there is a certain Bad-Assness that comes with it, and yes I’ll let you think that I know all about 8 mile if you don’t know any different. The street smarts I learned in Detroit- walking to the Fox, catching games at The Joe- I carry with me everywhere, as I do the love of multiple cultures that I learned working in Dearborn and having my dad take me to Eastern Market. Where I miss my city, my state, and wear my mid-west roots with pride- but yet am honestly afraid to return because as much as I have changed, I know that it has to. I want to remember the old times- the better times- and revel in those versus the uneasy feeling of trying to understand who the other one is now, and having to admit that perhaps we just don’t “fit” anymore. Where I have taken many lessons from the South- how to talk a little nicer, walk a little slower, and that it really is normal to speak to strangers on the street. That learning to embrace my femininity is a gift, and being “girly” does not make you weak. That boiled peanuts sold from the back of a pick up truck off the side of the road can be a delicacy, and that southern food is truly made with love. And while no one has yet to be able to say our Polish last name, they all just smile and accept you just the same… and I have yet to fully understand how these lessons apply to the Northern part of me.
I have to admit, when I think about it, neither place truly feels like home. But I do know that I take the lessons that each place has taught me wherever I go. Each place has molded me into who I am now. Michigan- in what was created in my core- strength, resilience, an undying passion to make it, to survive. And in thinking about it, that is exactly what Georgia has taught me as well- strength, resilience, and undying passion to make it, to survive- just in another way.
And should I ever live anyplace else, I know that I will gain these same gifts from wherever it is that I end up. But maybe that’s all you can ask for; that while perhaps you don’t immediately think of a place as home, if your heart does in the moments that you are there, that’s the most you can ask for. Because in the end, every place changes you just a little bit into the special, unique and strong person that these places has molded you to be.
And most importantly, will always be a part of who you are.
Michigan, where I am from, is this paradox of industry and beauty. Where people are connected through the common thread of automotive giants to the countless lakes that we live by or vacation on. It’s a place where you don’t see the sun for months, but you are so used to the winter gray that you just don’t know any different; it seems to just blend into the remains of the last snow fall that is now slush piled to the side of the road. But all of that is easily forgotten when the seasons change and the State comes alive. The beauty of Michigan is unparalleled. And while I may be biased, I feel that I have done my fair share of travel and can appreciate the striking beauty of Scottsdale to the picturesque surroundings of the Cape- but I guess the saying is true that there is no place like home.
Michigan is where I became who I am- where I spent every family vacation navigating the waters of the Great Lakes and learned to love the Big Ten. In college I knew what it was truly like to walk up hill both ways in 2 feet of snow as I trudged to class (and perhaps to Waldo’s. And by that I clearly mean the library, not the bar.) It was where I took my girls sledding for the first time- on the same hill where I went as a child- and I relived my memories while they created theirs. It’s the place I knew every street, called out neighborhoods by those who lived there and the elementary school they are associated with. Where the real four seasons are Fall, Winter, Spring and Construction, and everyone has a great venison recipe. Where every milestone event of my life took place- first loves, real friendships, graduations, wedding, first house, first child, second house, second child, and countless more memories with great friends and family- lived 93% of my life- all until I left.
Georgia is where I live now. It is the splendor of sunshine, nature, overly polite people, amazing food and a slower pace that I am still not used to. It is the place where I hike up a mountain, surrounded by Civil War battle fields that live in infamy. Where people are outside all the time- because they can be. Locals let you into traffic, slow down to let a pedestrian cross, let an elderly person have their seat and use Y’all and Yes Ma’am more often than not. Where I find myself using Yes Ma’am more than I would like to admit. Where the landscape of the North Georgia Mountains calls my name every spring and fall, and I so easily get lost in all its wonder. I have learned that a true Southern conversation starts with “What’s your family name and what church do you go to?” That the genuine sense of community is just that- genuine - and it still makes me feel uneasy because as much as I know it’s true I tend not to trust it (getting better at that, though). Where football and BBQ are a religion, both fueled with such intense emotion that you can feel the electricity in the air when two people are discussing their following for either. Where apparently anything looks better with a monogram, and girls still wear bows in their hair so big you wonder how they don’t topple over.
And both of these places have made me who I am. I still like to reference that I am from Detroit because there is a certain Bad-Assness that comes with it, and yes I’ll let you think that I know all about 8 mile if you don’t know any different. The street smarts I learned in Detroit- walking to the Fox, catching games at The Joe- I carry with me everywhere, as I do the love of multiple cultures that I learned working in Dearborn and having my dad take me to Eastern Market. Where I miss my city, my state, and wear my mid-west roots with pride- but yet am honestly afraid to return because as much as I have changed, I know that it has to. I want to remember the old times- the better times- and revel in those versus the uneasy feeling of trying to understand who the other one is now, and having to admit that perhaps we just don’t “fit” anymore. Where I have taken many lessons from the South- how to talk a little nicer, walk a little slower, and that it really is normal to speak to strangers on the street. That learning to embrace my femininity is a gift, and being “girly” does not make you weak. That boiled peanuts sold from the back of a pick up truck off the side of the road can be a delicacy, and that southern food is truly made with love. And while no one has yet to be able to say our Polish last name, they all just smile and accept you just the same… and I have yet to fully understand how these lessons apply to the Northern part of me.
I have to admit, when I think about it, neither place truly feels like home. But I do know that I take the lessons that each place has taught me wherever I go. Each place has molded me into who I am now. Michigan- in what was created in my core- strength, resilience, an undying passion to make it, to survive. And in thinking about it, that is exactly what Georgia has taught me as well- strength, resilience, and undying passion to make it, to survive- just in another way.
And should I ever live anyplace else, I know that I will gain these same gifts from wherever it is that I end up. But maybe that’s all you can ask for; that while perhaps you don’t immediately think of a place as home, if your heart does in the moments that you are there, that’s the most you can ask for. Because in the end, every place changes you just a little bit into the special, unique and strong person that these places has molded you to be.
And most importantly, will always be a part of who you are.
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