The Upstater’s Experience: Not Everyone is Upstate

I flatter myself to think that I am a relatively frequent traveler. I take some small pride in being able to say that, aside from spending the first eighteen years of my life calling the same small town “home,” I have lived in North Carolina, spent summers in Virginia and South Carolina, visited sixteen states outside of my own (with every intention of expanding that list quickly), and dabbled in international travel. I regularly make considerably extensive road trips, often by myself. Suffice to say, I am not a complete homebody, which certainly made things emotionally convenient on some level when I decided to move away.

Unfortunately I have a tendency to look back, all too frequently, after making a rather big move. This is where the cliché “the grass looks greener on the other side” collides with “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” Seeing new places is great, and the memories from each previous place are sweet, but at each location friends are left behind. I love being able to boast of having friends spread across the country, but the majority of my closest friends are at least a considerably long bus trip from Brooklyn, if not a day-long journey or multiple plane rides.  Maintaining these friendships is a worthwhile and rewarding effort, but I often allow myself to get so caught up in past relationships that I neglect forming new ones.

Recently I was, yet again, bemoaning the difficulty of maintaining a long-distance acquaintance to one of my gracious roommates. He patiently reminded me that “not everyone’s Upstate.” This stunningly simple statement, for whatever reason, struck me in a way that previous conversations on the subject never have. Although prone to wander, I leave so many of my emotional investments behind me, and I fail to take full advantage of the opportunities of the here and now. I often spend more free time on Skype chats and calls home than on reaching out to the city-goers around me, and upon moving to Brooklyn I quickly shied away from making new friends or tracking down old ones.

Perhaps my wariness indicates my hesitation to adopt Brooklyn as my home. During the early planning stages of the move I found it hard to believe that I was actually moving to the vicinity of a city I swore I would never permanently inhabit, and out of stubbornness – or perhaps fear that I would get too comfortable in a place I may not be able to afford to live in – I systematically put up some emotional barriers to protect myself from growing too attached.

This is not the first time I have taken this route, but now recognizing this harmful pattern, I have begun taking steps to break down these walls and establish the roots I need in order to truly invest my time here wisely.  Wouldn’t you know it; my efforts were not in vain. A few olive branches later revealed that, in spite of my estrangement, not everyone is as introverted as I am. As it turns out, city-slickers and Upstaters alike enjoy pizza, beer, and 90s movie viewing parties.

My old friends are incredible and I would not trade them for anything, but the city contains so many more kind and interesting potential friends than I initially gave it credit for, people willing and open to making friends as long as I am equally willing to put in the effort. It is only fair that I give the new friends a chance to become old friends, too.