Home. Sick.

I'm trying really hard not to be homesick.

I really am.

I'm trying to accept my transition gracefully, to be thankful for this roof and for my family's providence.

But Tampa's weird ones call to me daily.  I catch whiffs of salty gulf ocean so ephemeral that I wonder if I just made it up (I did).

I miss it, y'all.  I don't want to raise my babies in bama.  The religion is FUCKING OPPRESSIVE here. The politics are terrible. And I have to seek out my weird ones instead of just stumbling upon them on Ybor's street corners. I want my children to be surrounded SURROUNDED by weird, to be free to be atheists or buddhists or whatever they feel called to be without fear of ostracization, to be within minutes of restaurants and houses of worship and places of business that are all owned, operated, and frequented by folks outside of that "white straight male" box.

Your babies drive you to make the changes that you should have made years ago.

The Transition

I spent the past fifteen years living in a blue county in a swing state.

I was born and raised in a red state. I moved from Alabama to Florida when I was 18 and didn't look back for a long time.  For, well, fifteen years.

I thought I was a progressive before I moved to Florida.  I prided myself on how I wasn't a racist and how I cared for the environment. But then Tampa slapped me in the face.  I got a job at University Mall, and I remember being irritated that the Latinx customers didn't speak English.  "They live America!"  I thought to myself.  "Shouldn't they learn the language here?"  I remember thinking it was so strange to see Muslim women wearing hijabs. "But... they live in America. They don't have to wear hijabs here. Why are they still doing it? They are free, now. They don't have to cover up."

I had a painful transition.  Thankfully I had the support and patience from many folks who helped me understand my latent, Alabama-bred racism.

And now, fifteen years later, I'm back in Alabama. I'm living in a blue county, but I'm not living in a swing state anymore.  I'm living in a state of folks who overwhelmingly voted for Trump and who firmly, deeply, truly, undoubtedly believe in the healing and redemptive power of Jesus' blood. I've never lived here as an adult; I've only visited.  And as a visitor, it's easy to just observe and not feel affected by the surrounding culture. But as a resident, it's not. It feels pretty stifling. And suddenly, I feel a little self-conscious when I talk about... well, most anything that I might normally talk about to folks in Tampa. It's like I have to constantly, constantly, constantly filter my thoughts and words so that I'm not saying or doing anything too "radical."

I'm not good at playing a part. I'm not good at acting like I'm okay with something when I'm really not. I see so many folks here playing the part they're expected to play because the surrounding cultural pressures are so great that they don't want to risk stirring the pot.  I can't blame them. I spent a really long time feeling shamed by my family after I told them I didn't go to church or believe in Jehovah God.  It sucks. So I can understand not stirring the pot to save a relationship. But I'm kind of over that, at this point?? I don't know, I just... I spent too long living an authentically expressed life that I find it oppressive to silence my own authenticity in order to make someone else feel comfortable.  And yet, that's what I'm doing.  Every. Single. Day.

People here are nice. I just don't really know how to navigate my interactions with them. Someone from my parents' church gave me several baby items that I needed, and she was so genuine and sincere and thoughtful, and now I'm included on her group texts for prayer warriors.  How do I navigate that? Do I politely text back and explain that I'm a dirty heathen? Do I engage in the text chain with an emphatic, "Praying!!!!"?  Do I ignore altogether? All those options are either disingenuous, brash, or just kind of rude.

I'll close by doing what I do everyday.  Making sure I don't look further into the future than about two weeks at a time.  Otherwise a panic attack starts to set in.