I left my hometown in January. It was somewhat abrupt even though I planned for it. It’s not even the end of May and I already can’t remember my life there. My life here is still completely foreign. Everywhere I go is new and people are consistently surprised by me. I am admired often but not welcomed in. That’s the nature of Seattle.

People here dismiss the enthusiasm of newcomers, especially from The South. It was comforting at first, getting automatic sympathy for my tribulations. After a point, it becomes patronizing. So many people having an opinion about a region of the country they have no idea about. Sure, other regions pigeon-hole the PNW with untrue stereotypes. Just like NYC and LA. The South, however, gets the brunt of misinformed opinions and prejudice. Not that they don’t deserve it but that’s still my home.

Lumping us together as ignorant narrow-minded rednecks is demeaning.  Most Southerners understand how terrible it is, they just can’t do anything about it.  Speaking up is getting easier but doesn’t happen often enough.  I lived down the road from the reason why.  Martin Luther King, Jr. comes to Memphis and gets shot.  It’s why we have the civil rights museum downtown at the Lorraine Motel.  In response to that installation, an old black woman sat diligently at a table passively protesting the gentrification of that neighborhood.  How’s that for irony?

Before I left, I often fantasized how much easier everyone’s life will be without me. The person I miss the most doesn’t even know I exist.  I got out without hating the South.  I feel like a refugee at times, but that’s more a result of emotional isolation than the region I hail from.  I’m observant enough to know if I have any pejorative -ism’s hiding in my closet.  I harbor my prejudice in the same space I keep my ego on life support.  I’m so ready to give in and let everyone else be right.  But I know, deep in my soul, there are hard truths in this world that most people don’t want to face.

I’m shiny because I look head-on into the future and smile.  It’s a beautiful destruction, like receiving a back-rub from Shiva.  Knowing the inevitability of death and not minding so much.  I’m certain my best times are behind me.  I can see the green pastures I’ve left.  The calm valleys and idyllic vistas.  I see all the offers before me, dinners and decks near beaches with fancy drinks in hand.  I still believe I’m meant to fly.  Or die trying.  I’m not a common whore – I’m a Pretty Woman.