You are your own sight

Having recently been in the Salt Lake City airport twice in the past three days, I am reminded of a time when I lived in Utah. SLC is incredibly familiar and yet simultaneously foreign on my return visits. At this point I have lived in Seattle for more than twice as long as I lived in Utah. As I age, the blip of my life in Utah becomes less and less proportionate to my time spent elsewhere.

I doubt a two-year stint is ever enough to really allow yourself to call a place home, but Utah, and Park City in general will always have a significant place in my heart. Utah was the first place I ever called home truly by choice (as odd as that choice may be). It was always expected of me that I would graduate from high school and go to college; while I had some choice in where that college was, it was the expectation attached to it that makes it less of a free choice in my mind.

At the age of 22, my friend and I loaded her car and drove to Park City (where I had not been since I was 16) from NJ. We had a bit of help with housing initially but we were soon living in a two bedroom condo.

With less than a year remaining until I turn 30, it's with a bit of reminiscence that I think about my 22 year-old self striking out on her own to live how she wanted. While at the time it seemed to completely make sense to me, looking back I give myself more credence for being bold then I did at the time.

I'm learning it is not as common as I thought for people to leave their home state for even college, let alone to start their life as an independent adult. If anything, living in Utah was a great success story. I survived on my own, saved a little in my 401K, got to ski a ridiculous amount for little to no money, and left without any debt. This all sounds good on paper, but while I was there I never once felt as though I belonged.

I did ok while I was in Park City, but venturing down to Salt Lake or other, more remote parts of Utah were always somewhat intimidating. As odd as this sounds, I always felt as though everyone around me knew I wasn't Mormon.

When I was a sophomore in college, I distinctly remember hanging out in my room with my roommate and some of our mutual friends. At one point someone said: "Hey, you're the only one in here who isn't Asian! What's that like to be a minority for once?" At the time, I hadn't even noticed and when they asked the question I answered honestly: "It doesn't feel any different at all"

Fast forward 3 years to Utah. This time around I DID feel like a minority, and thought about it all the time. Whether or not I really was the only non-Mormon in the Crown Burger, I felt like I was. It is doubtful those around me even noticed (as I hadn't when I was in their position) but in my mind they were all looking at me, knowing and judging that I was not like them.

I can't claim to ever have lived a minority life, or know what it is like to be discriminated against purely because of the way I look, but just being in that minority mentality has given me more insight and empathy for others who always feel the way I felt for two years. And it is actually for the gift of this discomfort that I am most grateful for my time in Utah.

That, and the ability to rip when needed.

Song of the Day: Wide Open Spaces - Dixie Chicks