I’m from dusty highways that stretch out ahead of you, leading straight to the end of the world, running like gray ribbons between fields spiky with brittle stalks of cotton after harvest. I’m from vivid sunsets that splash the sky with their colors, bands of cerulean and gold and fiery orange, smudged with deep purple and pink, an ever-changing painting – and no trees to block the view.
I’m from hot Friday nights at the football stadium, sweating in our heavy band uniforms, bangs plastered to my forehead by a ridiculous plumed hat, the satisfaction of hitting every step and every note just right.
I’m from a town where everyone knows your name and everyone’s mom knows what you’re up to, where it’s impossible to go to the grocery store without running into someone you know.
I’m from a dry land made rich, and periodically made poor, by the oil hidden far beneath its surface.
I’m from summers hot enough to make you sweat during the two-minute walk to your air-conditioned car from your air-conditioned office, when you wear cardigans at work in the summer (to avoid getting chills from the a/c) and sandals for half the year.
I’m from a campus community that loves and prays and fights for its own, where lots of people are related by blood or marriage but even more of us are related by friendship and faith.
I’m from Southern twangs and warm tortilla chips, served with a bowl of salsa that’ll burn your mouth even as it delights your taste buds. I’m from hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurants full of creamy enchiladas, smoky fajita meat, big red plastic glasses of ice water with a slice of lemon.
I’m from hugs in place of handshakes, and frequent occurrences of the phrase “bless your heart.” I’m from several circles of folks I consider family, some of them blood relatives, some of them not, all of whom love me fiercely, all of whom I miss.
I’m from a place where tank tops and sandals get far more wear than rain boots and wool coats, where we watch the sky and pray for rain, where summer thunderstorms are a welcome sight and winter snow is a novelty, not an annoyance.
I’m from West Texas, and even though I’ve lived across the ocean and am now living far across the country, I’ll never forget where I came from. And though I am grateful for my new life here, a part of me will never stop missing my home.
you write well!better than tahat fantastic.i want more!from harvey
Dear Katie,
I have recently been getting your blog in my feeder and enjoying your savouring of every day! This morning I had to blink twice when I saw the lovely format of your post — and immediately shared it with friends. These women and I try to meet together annually when we can, coming from a distance to meet ‘part way’ and have a loosely arranged retreat. “Where I’m From…” was an ‘exercise’ that was introduced by one of them, a psychotherapist and writer, and we devoured it…what a wonderful process it was – and how different each of our offerings were. And then it developed a life of its own…sharing it with my own adult children and on it goes!
Thank you for the remembrance of it in your poignant piece here. I believe I’m going to resurrect it again!
Lovely.
I could smell, taste and feel West Texas in this, even though I haven’t been back in years. Beautiful.
Lovely, poignant description of your home and roots, Katie. This ex-pat will have to try this exercise. I hope you are finding things to love about your new home, also.
Lovely, Katie, just lovely.
Beautiful!
I’ll echo everyone’s comments. This was wonderful. I think I may have to borrow this idea.
You sure did hit it on the head!! I grew up there too! You are a wonderful writer!!
Lovely! And a great idea for a writing exercise. 🙂 Can’t wait to try.
I just love this exercise. What a great idea to get words flowing. The post is so beautifully written. I am also an expat who longs for home, but enjoys my new surroundings, so I found this a pleasure to read. I am also going to borrow this idea and discover where I am from through words!
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Gorgeous. Thanks for sharing. My Texas is a little different from yours, but mostly the same.
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