The first time I met New York, she dazzled me with her towering skyline, endless bustle and contagious energy. She welcomed me with open arms as I stumbled awkwardly into the tourist hub of Central Park and graciously accepted my naive infatuation with Times Square. It was love at first sight, childish at first, but 11 years later, it’s a love fueled by the creativity, people and ambition of the city.
And, just like most kinds of love, as it matures, it becomes more complex. It requires compromise, critique, understanding and respect. But as my decade-long dream inches closer and closer to reality, I find a new, unexpected emotion emerging: guilt.
***
I was born in St. Joseph’s Hospital, a mere 15 minutes from downtown Ann Arbor and 10 minutes from the first house I lived in on Page Street in southeast Ann Arbor. Following my brother’s birth, two years after I was born, we moved to the northeast part of town, and my family of four has called our place off Plymouth Road home for nearly 20 years.
My first semester at the University of Michigan was defined by a near constant back and forth of the question: Was Michigan the right choice for me? But four years later, endlessly grateful for my time in Ann Arbor, I am certain it was. Over the past four years, I have been surrounded by family, friends and Midwestern charm as I navigated the growing pains of college, job searches, a breakup, finals seasons and a particularly tumultuous time as co-editor in chief of The Michigan Daily.
Beyond the proximity to my family, I found comfort in the familiarity of Michigan. In the hardest times, I was grateful to fall back into the arms of a place so known to me. Despite my own love for my state, I became determined to prove Michigan’s brilliance and beauty to my friends, in an attempt to justify that my decision to stay close to home was not out of a fear to leave, but instead out of love.
I watched as friend after friend fell for the city and state I had lived in my whole life. I led Fall Break and weekend trips to the western and northern parts of Michigan and encouraged everyone I met to visit Detroit at least once, not wanting to leave a single part of the state’s beauty undiscovered. From our travels, I watched with pride as my friends became enamored with the slow-paced, mild-mannered and kind nature of Ann Arbor, finally feeling like my decision to stay was understood.
One day, after a particularly restful and scenic trip up north, heading south on I-75, one of my best friends commented, “I think I could see myself living in Michigan long term.” But instead of feeling pride at her statement, my heart sank. I laughed at first, unsure if she was serious. After spending four years trying to convince myself and my friends that Michigan was the best state, I never thought their love for the state would go beyond the prescribed four years at the University.
My mind flipped through a series of judgmental and horrified questions, ignoring the generations of Michigan residents my family came from. How could anyone want to spend the rest of their life in this state? Did they not feel suffocated by the slow pace and mild-mannered Michigan nature? Could this state really fulfill and sustain someone for a lifetime?
After spending the past four years determined to justify my decision to stay here, why was I so desperate to leave?
***
After my junior year, I spent three months living and working in New York. I lived on the Upper West Side and worked in the Financial District and became certain that this is where I wanted to spend the rest of my life. I memorized the subway lines, and my initially awkward navigation transformed into an instinctual understanding of how the city worked. It carried me through even the busiest parts of midtown, a sign that maybe the city I had dreamt of for so long was also accepting me.
As the summer went on, I began to identify and frequent favorite restaurants and corners of the city. Gastropubs, tucked-away spots in Central Park and favorite streets stood out as quiet seclusions from the bustle of New York and evoked an unexpected nostalgia for my home state. My favorite corner in Central Park shared the same makeup of bird calls and squirrel chatter as the one outside my childhood bedroom window. On my favorite street, two Shinola bikes glistening in green and orange, leaned up against a row of townhouses. My favorite bar welcomed me as a new Mets fan, and always seemed to have one TV turned into the Detroit Tigers games, where I knew my dad was watching 620 miles away.
As these patterns and similarities grew, so did my certainty that New York was the city for me. Yet, as I skimmed through the catalog of my favorite places, I wondered if what I liked most about these restaurants, bars and streets was that they reminded me of home. And how was it that home was the same place I was so desperate to leave?
***
As graduation inches closer and closer and my self-imposed deadline to move to New York nears, I find myself preoccupied with my desire to leave the Midwest. When did I decide that leaving the Midwest was a form of abandonment, leaving behind a family and community defined by its resilience? And when did I decide that if I stayed in Michigan, I was settling, deserting a dream and plan that has underlaid every decision I’ve made for the past 10 years?
As if my conflict wasn’t strong enough, over the past six months, it seems as if there’s a new wave and resurgence of Michigan resilience. Headlined by the Detroit Lions’ historic season and centered by Gov. Gretchen Whitmer’s campaigns dedicated to increasing young talent in Michigan, I worry that by leaving, I am betraying and missing out on Michigan’s revitalization and pride — instead, choosing to flee to a place that always has been and always will be admired.
Part of my guilt of leaving the Midwest comes from the fear that my understanding of life and community as taught by the Midwest will be washed over, rinsed clean and hardened by a city that doesn’t reward smiles at strangers or holding the door.
I was raised by parents who were arguably too nice, always reminding me how a smile and empathy can go a long way. For us, Midwest niceness was more than a state of mind; it was a way of life. Yet, upon my arrival in New York, I watched as those values were quickly obscured by protective guardedness and a learned coldness as I navigated Manhattan. I noticed how my body language and stature changed, warping my outward presence into one I would’ve scoffed at in Michigan. But when I moved back to Ann Arbor to complete my final year of college, I immediately noticed my posture softening, my face falling back into its natural smile, my eyes lifting up to greet others walking along State Street instead of looking down at the scuffed Manhattan sidewalks.
And while I don’t think New Yorkers are as mean as their reputation, there’s a sense of camaraderie among the people who can make it in the city; I still wonder if my relocation will result in an erasure of my public niceties and optimism toward strangers. Is it naive of me to hope for a combination of the Midwest nice and the East Coast bluntness? Can I survive in New York as a transplant unwilling to release my Midwestern culture?
My decision to leave Michigan and the Midwest is a deeply personal — and ultimately selfish — one. It’s an investment in myself. And after 21 years in Michigan, the past four which I have spent telling other people’s stories, for the first time, I am learning how to accept and welcome a focus on myself.
But it would be foolish to ignore and undercut the importance of the place that raised me. I know that because of the resilience, empathy and pride that defines the Midwest and my “Mitten State,” that it will wait for my return, free of judgment, abandonment or settling.
Statement Contributor and former Co-Editor in Chief of The Michigan Daily can be reached at sstockin@umich.edu.