When I studied abroad I remember feeling lost. I was proud of the fact that I had opted to study at a university with an international student population instead of one whose student body consisted exclusively of Americans studying in London. I was also proud of the fact that all of my flatmates were British.
I think about this now having moved halfway across the US. When I studied abroad and was making friends from other parts of the world, saying I was from New Jersey was meaningless. After all, if you’ve never been to the US, why would you care if I was from New Jersey or Wyoming? When I was in London, New Jersey didn’t have any of the baggage it had back home.
Being in Austin is weirdly similar in that sense. When I tell people I’m from New Jersey, it’s not met with much of a response. It’s kind of like people know where New Jersey is, and that it’s a state, but we’re far enough removed from The Sopranos and Jersey Shore that it’s mostly anonymous. It could be Delaware or South Dakota and it wouldn’t matter. Plus, a lot of people haven’t been there which, when I think about it, really isn’t that surprising.
This experience has me again thinking about how much of our identities are tied up in where we are from. Or, more accurately, other people’s understanding of where we’re from. It doesn’t matter if we’re trying to prove them wrong or right, but in some messed up way it’s reassuring if people go, “Oh, okay, you’re from there,” and have an opinion about it. It gives you a place in the world.
When that’s stripped away, it feels like there’s a pretty big gap in your personal story that needs to be filled in with something. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe the void is okay. But right now it’s feeling like a pretty gaping hole.