Home?

This week I think I’m going to try to stick to a theme of identity—trying to pinpoint what some defining features of my identity are and how I feel it has developed.

For today, let’s talk about the Midwest*, Minnesota, and home.

I’m not a native Minnesotan. Sure, my parents are both from Minnesota and Iowa, but I was born in the Garden State.

On the other hand, I’m definitely not a Jersey girl. My accent is pleasantly neutral. I neither hang out at the shore nor serve hot dish for dinner.

In a way, I’m just as much a product of California and New Mexico—places my parents lived for extensive periods of time before I was born. Dinner could be venison stew, or, more likely, tofu stir fry. And, about the time the generic icicle lights go up, chili pepper lights are strung on the mantle and tin ornaments from Santa Fe are placed on the tree.

So really, I don’t fit in particularly well with any American regional subculture. I identify with parts, but definitely not the whole of any of them.

Which is why Carleton is so comfortable for me, I think. There’s the ever-present feel of Minnesotan culture in the background at all times, but at the same time I’m interacting from people all over the country. And, to be honest, most of the friends I have made are either from the upper Midwest of from the West Coast, so it seems like home.**

Yet I hesitate to actually call Carleton “home.”

There’s far too much of a displaced feeling, I think on most people’s parts, to really feel at home at Carleton. People come and go, and we all know that in four years our time will be up. There’s little that is stable about the Carleton community, and for me, one of the defining aspects of a home is stability.

On the other hand, I hesitate to call my house in the suburbs home. It’s not like I’ve been there particularly much in the past two years. Plus, my parents have pretty much figured out the empty-nester thing now. So, while I know they love having me at home, it always feels like I’m just a guest.***

So this really leaves me without a place I can call home.

It’s an odd feeling, really.

*For the record, I really consider the Midwest to be the Dakotas, Minnesota, Iowa, and Wisconsin if I’m feeling charitable. Technically the Midwest spans east to west from the Dakotas to Ohio and from north to south from Minnesota to Texas, but I don’t really identify with the culture outside of the Northern Great Plains area.

**Sorry kids from out East. I love you too! You’re just not in the majority.

***Don’t worry, Mom. I will still come home when I can, and home is still “home,” just different. I promise.