I never know whether I should grow my hair out or keep it short.
I never know what to eat for lunch.
I never know if I should eat Ben and Jerry’s while watching a dumb movie.
OK, scratch that last one. The answer is alwaysalways yes.
Obvious ice cream questions aside, one of my major conflictions has always been trying to decide in what part of the country I would rather live.
It’s quite the inner struggle.
I grew up in northern states.
I love snow, crisp weather, and all the wonderful items that accompany those things. The excitement that comes from dashing from your car to a building while trying not to take a breath for fear that your lungs will freeze over. That cozy shiver that follows a warm sip of coffee after you’ve been out in the cold. Summer evenings where you still need a sweater after the sun goes down.
I also didn’t realize how much I took gentle breezes for granted until I moved to the land of “impossible-to-not-look-ridiculous-while-wearing-a-dress-outside.”
That’s on the Oklahoma state seal somewhere.
I’m sure of it.
But then there’s the south.
Front porches. Kudzu covered trees. Iconic food traditions. Windless days and nights. Classic colloquialisms spoken with that regional drawl.
I’m not a tea drinker, but I’m sure sipping iced coffee on a front porch would be just as delightful.
It is almost certain that I have an overly romanticized view of the south. I blame it on my overactive imagination mixed with the fact that I’ve been obsessed with Flannery O’Connor since age 14. My subscription to Southern Living doesn’t help things, either. Not to mention that I recreated Gone With the Wind with my Barbies at age 7. (Side note: pipe cleaners are an excellent substitute for whale bones when fashioning Barbie hoop skirts)
For now I’ll keep on longing for the best of both worlds here in the wind-stripped plains.
We do have the Thunder.
At least there’s that.