I have spent the first past few semesters at Tulane in a state of being I can only describe as floating. I bounced around from group to group, desperately trying to find someone I had something in common with past the usual, “yeah I like Shameless too” exchanges that I had grown to know. I want someone to know what I’m talking about when I say that there’s nothing better than a county fair in late summer. I want someone to relate when I say that I’m from “bumfucknowhere”. I want someone to laugh when I tell the story of how our rival high school used to chant “start your tractors” at our student section during basketball games. Most of the time I get blank stares, sometimes pity, every now and then a smile. The truth is, for a long time, I wanted so badly to fit in with the Manhattan-hailing kids that I denounced my small town every chance I got. I wanted nothing more than to separate myself from the Coors Light T-shirt clad population that had embraced me for the past twenty years.
   I have recently had a change of heart. A few weeks ago, I can remember waking up with a pit in my stomach. I can’t explain why or what brought it on, but I knew there was something missing. I missed Pennsylvania in the worst way, and not just my family. I missed the way the air smelled after it had just rained. I missed driving by people just getting out of church on Sunday. I missed not being able to go to Walmart without seeing at least three people I knew. I missed the simple happiness that seems to radiate from my small town.
   It’s hard not to get caught up in the social hierarchy of Tulane. I’ll admit that I have recently found myself adopting the “I have no consequences” way of life I had so often been warned about, so I went back to where it all started to gain some perspective.Â
   After a weekend in good ole Pennsyltucky, I came back with a new perspective. I spent the weekend questioning my newfound distaste for my once beloved home. I have come to the conclusion that it’s not my town I’m ashamed of at all. Maybe it’s me. Central PA is not without it’s problems (heroin epidemic, alarming teen pregnancy rates, subpar public schools, blind support of Donald Trump, etc.) but there are a lot of wonderful lessons to be learned in a quiet, blue-collar town. When I was questioning where I was headed and the person I wanted to be, I was embraced once again by my small town. I believe it will always be there for me. That’s all that really matters.Â
   So the next time somebody asks where I’m from, I’ll answer the same way I always do, but this time, I’ll say it with pride.Â