I have lived all over the East Coast and quite frankly, I am sick of it. From the North to the Mid-Atlantic to the South, I’ve seen it all. And I’ve seen enough. Certainly I am not the first to feel the westward pull, just the most recent. You are all witnesses to my Manifest Destiny. The goal: Colorado.
Currently, I live in the South. The “New” South they call it. It is the land where northern transplants migrate in search of greener pastures and warmer winters. It is the land where the good ol’ boys, their heels stuck in tar, cling to an increasingly obsolete way of life. The cultures clash like tectonic plates grinding together in a societal earthquake.
The famous “Southern Hospitality” keeps things civil. But Yankees are hardly welcomed with open arms. And the thing we’ve noticed most about “Southern Hospitality,” is its lack of depth. You often get smiles to your face and snide remarks when you turn your back. The sting of losing the War can still be felt.
If this is indeed the “New” South, I shudder to imagine the Old South. The thought of raising my kids, the unfortunate natives, in this sticky mess of humidity and ignorance makes me sick to my stomach.
Neither my wife, nor I chose to settle here. But circumstance brought us together as kindred outsiders on this Bible belt, along Tobacco Road. We’ve made it work now for a dozen years. Recently we took a break from the rigors of everyday life. We both had the same epiphany: Why do we still live here? Other than the proximity to our families, we could think of no reason. So we decided to make it happen, to get out of this place.
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