An American Tale

I have lived in three places in my life:

1) Fargo, North Dakota (ages 0-18)
2) Phoenix, Arizona (ages 18-30)
and presently,
3) San Diego, California (almost one year)

Now that I live in San Diego, a third location, it's become harder to explain the past to strangers. In Phoenix it was simple. People would ask, "Where are you from?" And the easy answer would be, "Fargo, North Dakota." I grew up there. I moved from Fargo to Phoenix. Point A to Point B. All understood.

I even earned a little respect. In a weird way, Fargo seems exotic to most people in this part of the country. It's freezing and off-the-beaten path. Most people don't know anyone from North Dakota, so already, you earn some cred. In fact, most people don't know anyone whose even traveled there. The best you get is someone who might have traveled through there. So, people are mildly interested. They might even ask you questions.

Plus, thanks to the Coen brothers Oscar-winning movie "Fargo" circa late 1990's, the town name itself strikes a chord of positive nostalgia that most people easily convolute with their feelings towards me. I damn the day that "Fargo," the movie, fades from national consciousness.

But now that I've moved to San Diego, I've lost some of my geographical mojo. When people hear that you've just moved here, the typical question is, "Where from?" Well, I moved to San Diego from Phoenix.

This answer irritates San Diegans. Phoenicians are not a well-respected group of people here in SoCal. Due to their five-hour-drive proximity to each other, most Phoenicians have been vacationing in San Diego for decades. These "Zoni" tourists crowd their pretty beaches, hotels, and restaurants during the better parts of the year. Phoenicians, understandably fleeing the desert during the 110-degree-plus summer days, treat San Diego like their own personal day spa.

On the flip side, most San Diegans, have also traveled to Phoenix at one time or another during their lives due to something unforeseen, like a cousin's wedding or free tickets to a Coldplay concert. When they return, they don't have much nice to say, cept' Phoenix is flat and dry and hot and beige. They feel towards Phoenicians something like mild pity.

So when I tell them I moved here from Phoenix, they politely nod and mumble, "oh." But what they're really thinking is, "What a surprise. Of course you moved here from Phoenix. I sure wish you hadn't. Sigh. Are there more coming?"

Sensing their disdain, I attempt to thwart their perception by quickly adding: "But I grew up in North Dakota."

But this falls on deaf ears. People can only combine two cities at a time for you, not three. You're like a nomad to them--a rootless gypsy.

When your persona is made up of three parts (part plains, part desert, part coast), people don't have any idea who you are. And that makes them uncomfortable.

In San Diego, it's like my North Dakota roots have disappeared. I can't say I like that. I can still feel the bone chill of winter in my teeth. I can still feel the summer sting of a mosquito on my leg. I have a dry sense of humor that I guarantee you came from the bonfires of my youth.

I'm not from Phoenix. I lived there. For over a decade. And yes, it lives in me too. Those hot desert nights seduce me. That pastel sunset leaks into my dreams.

I empathize with those military kids, who when asked where they're from, they say, "I grew up in a military family. We lived all over." We kind of toss them aside, don't we? We consider them unknowable, rootless. We learn that we've learned nothing about them by asking the question.

But I imagine if we did get to know them, over beers and fries and backyard barbecues, these kids are conglomerates of where they've been. I imagine they have pieces of all over etched in their bones. I imagine they themselves feel parts of themselves in each place they've resided. Just like I do.

I realize that where I've been has something to do with who I am, but I haven't learned how to explain these nuances quickly. Perhaps, like the military kids, I'll one day give up trying to draw out the map for strangers. I left my heart here, here, and there too...

Oh never mind. I'm here now. I'm right here...