For many reasons, where we are from impacts the kind of people we are more than any of us would like to admit.
I’m from a small town in the Hudson Valley, just north of New York City, called Poughkeepsie. The land had been home to Native Americans (primarily Wappinger tribe and other members of the Algonquin Federation) for centuries before the Dutch infiltrated in the late 17th century and began to industrialize the area. It was, at one time, the second capital of New York State, it is home to the storied Vassar College, and the Walkway Over the Hudson, the “longest elevated pedestrian bridge in the world” (Shout out to the National Parks Service for this fact).
Though I would never have admitted it at the time, I was incredibly lucky to call this place home for my adolescent years. I was privileged enough to attend exemplary public schools, hike the Catskills or take the train to Manhattan and call it a day trip, stare out at one of the most beautiful rivers in the world, and eat a wide variety of incredible food at locally-owned restaurants up and down the Hudson.
As a teen, angry at the circumstances of my personal life, I whined that there was nothing to do, that the town had nothing to offer me, that when I left for college I was “never coming back.”
But I did go back. Every summer during college. And then almost every summer I was a teacher as well. And now at least once a month, for a weekend or longer, as a year-round working adult Something kept drawing me back to the valley.
There’s a word for this phenomenon, topophilia, love of the land we’re from. I’ve felt it ever since I moved away permanently, most especially as I stare out at the river when I ride the train back upstate from the city.
I’ve noticed recently, in my interactions with others, that for some reason, people try to deny their own sense of topophilia, regardless of where they come from. They might diminish their hometowns as being “sleepy” or “boring” or having “nothing to do.” I find this to be the pursuit of insecure individuals. After all, it’s much easier to put down the people, places, and things around us than to address what’s missing inside ourselves.
These interactions left me feeling frustrated. Especially when I was talking to people from my hometown, and they were insulting a place I love.
It’s not cool to hate your hometown. Whether we like it or not, the places we are from are part of us. To hate where you are from is to hate a part of yourself. To diminish where you are from is to diminish a part of yourself. And why would anyone want to do that?
In my deepest periods of self-loathing, I, too, hated where I was from. I took any opportunity to tell people all the reasons why I would never move back to Poughkeepsie or live in the Hudson Valley again. But as I healed myself, my perspective changed. I saw the beauty in the valley, I felt the serenity of a summer day on the riverbank, I appreciated my young life in a way I hadn’t been able to before. And it felt better than I ever imagined.
Whenever I picture the Hudson Valley, I imagine the way it looks in August. The novelty of the sunny heat has worn off, and the towns along the river sit in a sleepy lull. There’s a certain quiet to the valley that invites you to drift off into a daydream as you meander through the walking trails beside the embankment. The grass is tall in the fields, and you can run your fingertips over the top and feel the blades sway with the breeze coming off the water. If you sit down and close your eyes long enough, a sense of timelessness washes over you, and tranquility sets in.
I don’t know if I’ll ever live in the Hudson Valley again full time- the economic situation has changed, and many of the jobs in my skill set are based in New York City. But I would never rule out the option. When my friends, or friends of friends, or strangers on the street, say they’re going upstate, I immediately offer them an unsolicited itinerary of all my favorite places. I’m constantly trying to convince people of the splendor of the Hudson Valley. I fully feel the effects of topophilia.
If you don’t, it might be time to look inward. And if that feels too daunting, maybe just start with limiting the amount of negative talk surrounding the amazing places we come from. They’ve made us who we are, whether we wanted them to or not.
Leave a comment