I've always thought it unfair that I was born in California because it robbed me of my American birthright -- discovering California for myself.
Because that's what California is, right? It's the place people go to, not the place people are from.
My mom escaped from a cloistered Iowa farm town to sing in the People's Park of 1960's Berkeley. That's an American story. I grew up playing in the hills of Marin County, and now my commute takes me by the Golden Gate, which I sometimes remember to notice. That's no kind of story at all.
My whole life, I've cursed my good luck. Is it too much to ask to grow up in a no-name backwater, aching for and then finding California freedom?
So I've decided to take matters into my own hands. In two weeks, my girlfriend and I are moving to Massachusetts. My goal is to become a real New Englander. A real New Englander who knows, deep down, that he doesn't belong on the East Coast.