I’ve been on a lot of planes this year, internationally flying between the US, New Zealand, and Australia, and domestically flying within New Zealand. And soon I will be boarding the final plane(s) of my 6-month journey, from Los Angeles to Philly to –finally—Charlottesville, my home. I’ve been thinking a lot about Charlottesville lately, listening to podcasts and music on my long commutes around LA that take me out of the bustling celebrity metropolis and back into the ease of the Blue Ridge in the summer. With the anniversary of the Unite the Right rally coming up, I’ve been increasingly pondering Charlottesville’s history and my cultural upbringing in the South, compared the upbringing of my Kiwi or Cali friends. I’ve realized throughout my entire trip how much I define myself by my hometown and my place in this country. And I’ve realized that, despite being in one of the most creative, exciting, and nourishing cities for my heart and mind, I’ve never felt more disconnected from myself or who I am internally.
My identity this year has been “Virginia from Virginia.” Everyone gets a kick out of it. My Kiwi friends think of me as a southern hillbilly, my California friends think of me as someone from a small college town who’s yet to experience the thrills of a big, bustling nightlife. And both groups are correct in some ways. While I’m not a hillbilly, my southern roots became more prominent in New Zealand as I told stories of bears on the trails and put on my fake southern accent. The Kiwis played John Denver’s “Country Roads Take Me Home” on full blast and sang “WEST VIRGINIA” at the top of their lungs, pointing at me as I laughed and beamed at the mention of the Blue Ridge Mountains, excitedly pointing out “That’s my home! That’s my home!” My UCLA friends laughed as I talked about UVA’s undying obsession with Thomas Jefferson, as other Charlottesville natives who had long since left the 434-area scolded me for being one of those “Charlottesville girls who never leaves.” When I told people I was from Charlottesville, they would look puzzled and ask, “Why does that place sound familiar?” And their eyes would grow when I told them about the neo-Nazis that came to my hometown, my birthplace, and unveiled an important issue in America: a still-prominent strain of severe racism.
So, it’s pretty safe to say that Charlottesville, Virginia, the East Coast, and the South have all played important roles in my life and in my travels. To some people, the relationships between those regions, and the complicated history that’s intertwined within them all, is a completely foreign concept. Throughout these past 6 months, I’ve grappled with those relationships as well, second guessing myself day in and day out, only feeling solace when I close my eyes and dream about my dogs and the blue mountains. I didn’t think that, in all my life, Charlottesville would have such a large pull on me, but it has. I mean, in high school the only thing I wanted was to leave Charlottesville behind and settle out in LA in the constant sunlight. And that’s something I still plan on doing. But now, I find myself only wanting to be at home. Maybe it’s because I’ve been gone for so long, in the farthest corner of the world, at the bottom of the ocean, isolated from everyone and everything I’ve ever known. But the pull on me is real this time.
I recently listened to an NPR On Point podcast featuring southern writer Julia Reed, outlining her new book “South Toward Home.” Reed is a Mississippi native, whose book reflects the frequent juxtapositions and complexities that run through the south. To some, the South is an alien planet. I’m fortunate enough to be able to study it in depth at UVA, which is another reason why Charlottesville has been at the front of my mind a lot lately. There is so much culture, history, and tradition in the South, that dates back to the very roots of this country.
Not only have I been listening to NPR’s podcast, but I’ve also been diving back into AP US History material and listening to “American History Tellers.” The first episode I listened to revolved around George Washington and the story behind the Revolutionary War. The title of the episode was “The Virginia Planter,” which for some reason made me immensely proud to be from Virginia. The cultural and historical significance of my home state is something that I overlooked growing up. Now, after having been immersed in cultures ranging from the NZ Maori to the celebrity life in LA, I’ve begun to understand just how important and interesting my hometown really is.
In summary, for the first time in my life I’ve really begun to understand how important my hometown has been in shaping who I am. It took me leaving home for 6 months to really grasp this, which makes sense. Before going abroad, the longest I had been away from home was 12 weeks in North Carolina, working at summer camp -- still in the same part of the world. Now, after having flown across the Pacific, I truly realize the pull that Charlottesville has on me. I urge you to look at where you are now and reflect on where you grew up. How has your hometown affected who you are today? How is the culture different? And, most importantly, are you proud of where you come from?
Love, Virg
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