On Wisconsin

Last year was my 10th anniversary high school reunion. I didn't go. I didn't like most of those jerks back then and I certainly wasn't about to spend several hundred dollars to hang out with them. It's like that cliche says, you can never go home again. When I was 18 I wished hard for that to be true. I left home with the hopes that I never had to go back again,but a lot has changed since then. And I do go "home" occasionally, not quite so regularly anymore, as both my parents have relocated to other states, but from time to time, I make the pilgrimage back to Wisconsin...which is where I have been since last Thursday. My Dad and I caught a flight to Milwaukee where we hung out with my Grandma and my aunt for a bit. Then I went on a solo mission to Madison to see some long time friends.

It's always a bit strange being in Madison, the mix of simultaneously being an outsider and an insider, getting lost, but on streets that are absolutely familiar. It's kind of like having a conversation with a relative suffering from alzheimers: sometimes they are right there with you, they know exactly who you are. In their eyes you see the gleam of recognition, of shared history, and then just as quickly you are strangers, still close in proximity, but miles apart in being able to know and understand one another. I've always felt this way about Wisconsin.

Technically I was born in Iowa, then there was this 7 year stint I lived in Colorado, but when anyone asks me where I'm from I say Madison, because it's true. I hate beer, winter, brauts, and football, arguable 4 out of the 5 staples in Wisconsin life...the 5th being cheese, which I actually love. I also think people who wear shorts in the snow are stupid and begging for hypothermia...which describes at least a quarter of my high school graduating class. I also like good music, which does not mean loud music, or solely rock music. I like music I can dance to....oh I can't talk about the tragic rythymlessness native to my home state, it will just upset me. Let's just say I'm one of those adopted Wisconsinites with none of the genetic impurities or the rest of my brethren. I like to think of myself as the quentessential opposite Wisconsinite, but when I leave and come back my hypothesis leaks a little. It's in my accent, the way I make eye contact, and in my limited tolerance for passive agresssiveness. I am undoubtably midwestern. I guess even when you leave home, it never really leaves you... (my grandma still has a southern drawl and she's lived in Milwaukee for over a decade, not to mention two decades in California before that).

During my short sojourn back, I stopped by some of my old haunts: got a pedicure at Spa del Sol, walked up and down State Street, had breakfast at Lazy Jane's on the East side, sunned myself on the terrace of the Memorial Union, and ate Michael's Frozen Custard on on a park bench in front of lake Wingra (two of best friends since I was twelve sitting on either side of me). I even drove by my old school and where my mom and I used to live. Some people measure their growth in notches carved in closet doors, but I see my life's progress reflected in these trips back, where I remember who I was and what I experienced, through the lens of who I am now. I had some pretty miserable times there, but summers were always beautiful and I made some friends in Madison that I can't seem to get rid of, no matter how many continents I flee too. They are my sisters, people I can fight with, and stop talking to for years at a time, and still fall into step with when all is said and done. Though I still prefer my new home, to my old home, I can't hate a state that produced such great friendships...not to mention the icecream.