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My mother went to undergrad at Kentucky State University, a small historically black college located in Frankfort, Kentucky. Frankfort, the state capitol, is a quaint little town nestled in the gently rolling verdant hills of Kentucky's famed Bluegrass country, about 80 miles south of Cincinnati, 50 miles east of Louisville, and 25 miles northwest of Lexington. It generally avoids (at least for extended periods) the type of mind-numbingly cold weather that is commonplace across much of Ohio, but the city is still frigid during most of the fall and winter months; January lows average a balmy 19 degrees, amazingly one degree cooler than those in Pittsburgh. As a sophomore, in this environment, my mom had begun to develop an interest in the state of Florida. Although as a native Kentuckian she had always disliked the weather, there was more to her decision, of course; she was fed up with the poverty, racism, and generally ass-backwards nature of living that characterizes much of the Kentucky culture. So that year, she saved money and spent the Spring Break (in March) on Miami Beach with a good friend. Miami weather in March is remarkably pleasant, with high temperatures in the 80's and lows in the 60's. Overall, the trip was a great deal of fun - she would speak of it often throughout the years - and a nice, big-city break from life back in bucolic Frankfort. The flight back was from Miami to Lexington. Because the weather in Miami was so pleasant, she dressed very lightly - just a nice halter top dress. About two and a half hours later, her plane landed in Lexington - where it was in the mid-20's and snowing lightly. Apparently, given her rather light layer of clothing, getting back to her apartment in Frankfort from the Lexington airport was not a very pleasant experience.
And that, she would tell me decades later, was the moment where it began to strongly "click" to her that living in Florida might just be something in her future.
As I crossed into Florida today for the first time in nearly 5 months, thrilled by the sight of palm trees, ebullient with joy at the feeling of 80 degree weather like some giddy Midwestern tourist, I couldn't help but ponder how remarkably random life is. Think about it. A large part of the reason that I was born and raised in Florida - and subsequently came to adore the state, obtain my bachelor's degree there, and choose it as the place where I want to live and work - had to do with a twenty-year-old's chance decision to visit the state over spring break, coupled with a remarkably shortsighted wardrobe decision on her part that sparked a sudden insight. What if she had spent the trip in Arizona, or California? What if she didn't have enough money to go on the trip at all, or had parents who would not have permitted such an excursion? What if she had actually dressed appropriately for going back to Central Kentucky in early March? Nobody knows, of course, and in the end her long journey to Florida would take her through places as varied as Michigan and Alabama. What if she had developed a particular fondness for Detroit, or Huntsville, Alabama? Isn't it possible that I could very well be celebrating being back in one of those states right now for the holiday break, as opposed to jumping with joy that I'm momentarily back in Florida?
I think that one of the great strengths of this country is our belief in self-determination; our acknowledgment that our destinies are largely under our control, that the future is malleable to a large degree based on our own actions and desires. Yet sometimes, I feel like this American focus on self-determinism ignores the complicated reality of the strong role that environmental factors play in shaping so much of our life. If you're born in most of America, you're likely to be a Protestant. If you're born in France, you're likely to be a Catholic (at least by heritage, not necessarily a devout or practicing one.) If you're born and raised in Michigan, having four sharply defined seasons is a basic element of reality. If, like me, you're born and raised in Florida or another perennially warm Sun Belt state, you likely find the idea of four sharply defined seasons to be irritating at best, downright unbearable at worst. And that's just scratching the surface. People have absolutely no control over the circumstances and environment into which they are born, and yet those factors leave a truly indelible imprint upon our personalities, value systems, and more. Of course, we may choose to shed some of those "heritage" aspects - I am an atheist and secular humanist from a long line of Protestants - but by and large, where we were defines who we become. Rich parents produce wealthy children; kids in poverty struggle to surmount the obstacles presented by their class; people kill each other brutally because of the religious beliefs that they inherited from their elders; and on a much more frivolous note, I am counting down the days until I can relocate back to this glorious state, devoid of wretched winter weather and marked seasonal differences. As much as Americans like to believe that men are greater than their surroundings, I simply cannot believe this to be true to a large extent.
And I can't help but think that it's beautiful. In a world with virtually infinite existential permutations, our roots provide a grounding, a sense of belonging, an amalgamation of experiences and beliefs that form our most rudimentary schema. Everything passes through it, and none of us can escape from it fully, try as we might. Do we really want to live in a reality devoid of environmental context, where a person from Place A has so much control over their own development that they can become virtually indistinguishable from a person from Place B, 4,000 miles away? For me, the answer to that question is a resounding "no."
Kind of like those Dow commercials, this is a key part of the "human element." Although not nearly as corny as those commercials, I would like to think.
And that, she would tell me decades later, was the moment where it began to strongly "click" to her that living in Florida might just be something in her future.
As I crossed into Florida today for the first time in nearly 5 months, thrilled by the sight of palm trees, ebullient with joy at the feeling of 80 degree weather like some giddy Midwestern tourist, I couldn't help but ponder how remarkably random life is. Think about it. A large part of the reason that I was born and raised in Florida - and subsequently came to adore the state, obtain my bachelor's degree there, and choose it as the place where I want to live and work - had to do with a twenty-year-old's chance decision to visit the state over spring break, coupled with a remarkably shortsighted wardrobe decision on her part that sparked a sudden insight. What if she had spent the trip in Arizona, or California? What if she didn't have enough money to go on the trip at all, or had parents who would not have permitted such an excursion? What if she had actually dressed appropriately for going back to Central Kentucky in early March? Nobody knows, of course, and in the end her long journey to Florida would take her through places as varied as Michigan and Alabama. What if she had developed a particular fondness for Detroit, or Huntsville, Alabama? Isn't it possible that I could very well be celebrating being back in one of those states right now for the holiday break, as opposed to jumping with joy that I'm momentarily back in Florida?
I think that one of the great strengths of this country is our belief in self-determination; our acknowledgment that our destinies are largely under our control, that the future is malleable to a large degree based on our own actions and desires. Yet sometimes, I feel like this American focus on self-determinism ignores the complicated reality of the strong role that environmental factors play in shaping so much of our life. If you're born in most of America, you're likely to be a Protestant. If you're born in France, you're likely to be a Catholic (at least by heritage, not necessarily a devout or practicing one.) If you're born and raised in Michigan, having four sharply defined seasons is a basic element of reality. If, like me, you're born and raised in Florida or another perennially warm Sun Belt state, you likely find the idea of four sharply defined seasons to be irritating at best, downright unbearable at worst. And that's just scratching the surface. People have absolutely no control over the circumstances and environment into which they are born, and yet those factors leave a truly indelible imprint upon our personalities, value systems, and more. Of course, we may choose to shed some of those "heritage" aspects - I am an atheist and secular humanist from a long line of Protestants - but by and large, where we were defines who we become. Rich parents produce wealthy children; kids in poverty struggle to surmount the obstacles presented by their class; people kill each other brutally because of the religious beliefs that they inherited from their elders; and on a much more frivolous note, I am counting down the days until I can relocate back to this glorious state, devoid of wretched winter weather and marked seasonal differences. As much as Americans like to believe that men are greater than their surroundings, I simply cannot believe this to be true to a large extent.
And I can't help but think that it's beautiful. In a world with virtually infinite existential permutations, our roots provide a grounding, a sense of belonging, an amalgamation of experiences and beliefs that form our most rudimentary schema. Everything passes through it, and none of us can escape from it fully, try as we might. Do we really want to live in a reality devoid of environmental context, where a person from Place A has so much control over their own development that they can become virtually indistinguishable from a person from Place B, 4,000 miles away? For me, the answer to that question is a resounding "no."
Kind of like those Dow commercials, this is a key part of the "human element." Although not nearly as corny as those commercials, I would like to think.
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