A Confession to my dearest Fort Worth

Dear Fort Worth,

I’m going to say this fast. Please don’t talk until I’m finished. Just hear me out.

I CHEATED.

It got to be September and it was still hot and I just started thinking stuff like: if I just lived in the north, I could wear sweaters; if I lived by the sea I could eat fresh seafood; if my town was smaller, I’d feel more peaceful, like Ree Drummond probably feels or maybe Michelle Duggar.

So we bought plane tickets to New England. The mister and I. We cheated. We left the hustle and bustle and the stress and the smog and ALL THE CARS (does no one have a day job anymore?), and we escaped, fully expecting to find greener grass.  And it was – for three days. We saw historical sites, we rode a trolley, we caught and ate Lobster, we strolled through Louisa May Alcott’s house, we breathed the fresh country air, we ate Dunkin’ Donuts (so?).

We wondered if we could live there. We dreamed.  We plotted. We tried to plan a way out of the Southwest and into New England.

But then about three days in, something changed. I don’t know why or how we took off our happy goggles and saw New England for what it is, another place where people live: happy people, sad people, cranky people, kind people, hurting people, poor people, rich people, and former President people. It’s just another place in our amazing country, the only difference being…the Sea (ah the sea – I’m such a sucker for it).

There was of course, the pretentious lady from the lobster place, who name dropped famous New Englanders and politicians and scoffed at the idea of homeschooling our children. “Children must be socialized”, she chided with faux concern, wine colliding with her Ivy League vernacular right after she deemed herself “open-minded.” But every place has name droppers, she wasn’t why we lost our happy goggles.

So hear me, Fort Worth, when I tell you. New England was lovely, but it was a fling. It meant nothing.

And even though your grass, Fort Worth, is often brown because you won’t let us water our lawns and it never rains (or because I’m lazy and don’t care for my lawn), it’s not better in New England  just because it’s green. It’s just different. And it’s not home.

You are home, Fort Worth.

You are the place I moved back to 4 times in my 34 years, all but once in the August heat.

You are where I fell in love.

You are where my children are growing up.

You are where I learned to love baseball and the joy of extra innings and the taste of ball park franks.

You are the place where a girl can wear cowboy boots by day and heels by night.

You are a big city where everybody still knows each other .

You are the one I come home to at night after tiresome shopping days in Dallas.

Your skyline makes my heart skip.

You are where I can’t decide which Mexican or steak place to eat because they are all so. dang. good.

You are forward thinking with your bikes and your trails.

You have the best stinkin’ downtown on Earth (and I’ve seen a lot of downtowns).

But what do I love about you most?

You are the home to wonderful amazing people. Loving. Down to earth. Phenomenal people. People who get along.

You are in my blood, Fort Worth. Cowtown, you are under my skin. And even though the sea feels millions of miles away, you are home.

Yours,
Anna