Yesterday at Thanksgiving, I was helping my niece put together a puzzle of an outer space scene. We pieces together each of the planets one by one until a cohesive picture began to emerge. I was putting together Saturn I think when my niece shows me her completed Earth.
“Look!” she said. “This is Michigan!”
I never thought about it before, but when you’re little, the world seems simultaneously huge yet tiny. To her, Michigan is the world. And if I’m honest, Michigan is my world too.
I was born and raised in south Detroit, just like a certain city boy who took the midnight train to anywhere. Technically, “south Detroit” is Downriver, a collection of blue-collar suburbs just south of the big D. It’s admittedly a bit of an industrial wasteland in some areas, and a little more “Kid Rock” than I’d like. Like, confederate flags aren’t an uncommon sight, despite being in the frickin’ north. But it has its charm, and I don’t have any regrets about growing up there. It made me who I am.
Still, I never left the safety of the Mitten. I chose a university that was within the same area code as my hometown. After graduation, I briefly moved to Florida, decided it sucked (it does), and came back to Michigan within two months. And after marrying my wife, we settled in the posh northern suburbs of Detroit where she grew up.
Michigan is my world.
So why do I have this wanderlust?
I’m not well-traveled by any stretch of the imagination. The furthest I’ve been from home is Denver, Colorado, and that was a relatively recent development. I’ve been out of the country once — to Canada, which doesn’t count if you’re from Michigan. Michigan is Canada Lite, with the Tim Hortonses to prove it. (Is that the plural of Tim Hortons? Because there’s definitely more than one.)
I guess I feel like I’m missing out on a grand wide world by being stuck here, within 100 miles of where I grew up. That’ll be changing soon, as I’m moving to Fort Wayne, Indiana for my internship. But still, it’s Indiana. I’m not even moving out of the Midwest. I’m arguably moving to a worse state. Like, what reason does anyone have to visit Indiana? Aside from my girlfriend and my internship, there’s not really anything there for me. Corn? A racetrack?
I hope I get to see all the wonders of the world someday. I hope I get to try the sushi in Tokyo, which I’m told is out of this world. I hope I get to see Britain, where my family came over from all those years ago. I hope I get to go on a safari in Africa, or take a train through Europe. I wish I had the money, means, and free time for all of this stuff. I envy those trust fund kids who get to jetset around the world and blog about their adventures, while I live vicariously through other people’s Instagram feeds.
I’m lucky in some ways, though. There’s a joke that there’s three classes in the US: those who go to Disney World once a year, those who’ve gone once, and those who have never gone. I’ve gone a few times, certainly not every year, but more than the average American has, probably. I should count my blessings instead of longing for a life that’s out of my reach.
That, or hope I get that one song that blows up so I can go on a world tour with my band in our private jet.
I can dream, right?
JESSA JOYCE 