in 8th grade i had to write an essay about a city that i’d never want to live in: i chose phoenix, arizona. true story. you can ask my parents, who still have the evidence stored in a plastic tub.
and even long after my california license plates had been swapped out for arizona, i fought it. “where do you live?” people would ask us. my reply, “i’m from california, but i live in phoenix.”
perhaps it was partly since i didn’t live in a city deemed cool by the rest of the world. maybe it was watching my college girlfriends sip beachside cocktails via myspace from my cactus cubicle. or was it looking at everything phoenix didn’t have instead of focusing on what it did have? probably a combo of it all.
but over the past couple of years, something has clicked. i started living with both feet inside my state lines and now danny is teasing me for my overt phoenix pride. in two recent instances i’ve gotten defensive and slightly confrontational defending phoenix’s honor. ha! who would have thunk it. moi? mrs. phx.
but i do now. i’m proud of us for squeezing every drop we can out of this city. for finding our nook.
it’s about the life you build, not the zip code you build it in.
i’m sure a thousand people told me this before, but like all lessons in life, they’ve gotta be learned firsthand.
