Leaving
Boaz
“You
can take the guy out of the neighborhood, but you can't take the
neighborhood out of the guy.” Frankie Valli
I
have a friend from Boaz, Alabama who went to law school and practices
high-powered corporate law. He once told me, “I thought a thought,
so I had to leave Boaz.” I remember how hard I laughed at
that, and it still sticks with me. No offense to folks in Boaz, but
it is a little bit of a backwater. That same thinking man, however,
could buck-dance like nobody's business! Still a little bit of Boaz
in there, if you ask me.
Some
of us spend our whole lives trying to overcome our up-bringing. I
remember being chastised, insulted actually, in California for having a
Southern accent, and being an oddity in New York for the same reason.
Some days I felt like a trained monkey; “Talk for us, Jane! We love
to hear your accent!” You better believe I tried to lose that
drawl, but it was not to be. It's still here, thick as molasses.
One
of the problems to be overcome, however, if you never “leave Boaz”
is how to expand your consciousness within a container of sameness.
What is there to challenge the way you think? When are you exposed to
new ideas and new ways of doing things if you never leave the safety
of similarity? I suppose books are one way of learning there is a
world out there that is different from your own. But it's easy, oh so
easy, to simply get comfortable with people who think like you and
look like you to the point that you see the world through a tiny
filter of black and white, right and wrong.
Nowadays,
I appreciate my Southern roots. I like the old, deep gentleness of good
manners and soft r's. I am a big believer in embracing all of who you
are and that includes where you came from and “who your people
are.” I hope you love your otherness, too. Being comfortable in
your own skin is the only way to live a happy life, regardless of
whether you ever leave the neighborhood or think a thought.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
1 comment:
Good thoughts about growth, change, and acceptance. Years ago, I moved to California for three and a half years and actually did loose my accent - on purpose. When people found out I was from Alabama, they would be surprised, saying, "You don't sound like you're from the South." What I did not realize at the time was that every time I accepted the compliment of not sounding Southern, another part of me was receiving the message, “You are not OK.” I was not able to affirm my whole self; I could only affirm my California creation with no accent. I had become assimilated, and the very act of assimilation that won acceptance from my peers was sending a negative message to a significant part of my being. I was acceptable only in proportion to how much of me I could keep hidden or disguised.
I came back to the South, regained my accent and began to accept my heritage with all its baggage while still trying to incorporate new ideas. It is the challenge and the blessing of being alive.
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