There's Something about the South

Okay, fine. I'm ready to make a confession after oh, approximately 10 years of denial.

I like the South. I might even love it. And I don't resent my parents for moving us below the Mason-Dixon line.

In fact, I think the decision was an excellent one.

Between my trip to New Orleans and the one I took to Memphis this summer, I have come to realize my great appreciation for southern culture, and perhaps even acknowledged the existence of southern hospitality. (Isn't it funny how going somewhere else is often the only way to know where you are?)

Whether on Beale Street or Bourbon Street, there's no denying an identity unique to the South. I know that those iconic streets don't have the most wholesome reputations, but they remain unapologetic. They are what they are. Even northerners can relate to that.

And the cities themselves are a delicious combination of sensory experiences. There is more than just bright lights and traffic. The food, the music, the people... I've learned that little of it is greasy, whiny and podunk, as I'd previously perceived.

This new perception comes at an interesting period of my life. I've decided that throughout my undoubtedly privileged life, what I have always lacked has been a sense of culture.

Christmas and the occasional deli order of liverwurst. That is essentially the summation of my religious upbringing and understanding of my German heritage. That's fine. I went to the Greek festivals, to Chinatown, to several thousand Italian restaurants thus far. I know I have cultural options if I seek them out, but I feel like I'm lacking the birthright.

I'm probably being silly, because I was lucky to grow up eating out of the American Melting Pot. Sometimes I just wish my spoon knew where to rest its head at night.

The South could be that place for me. I'm not going to live on fried chicken or (ever) listen to country music, but I could definitely return here, upon spending a few years gaining a worldly perspective and whatnot. There's certainly a lure in metropolises where warmth is locally grown.

Maybe there's just something in the water of the Mississippi.