Drive.

 

It is a long story as to why I didn't get my first driver's license until 2 weeks prior to my thirty-third birthday. While I did live in New York City for most of my adult life and certainly didn't need to drive during that time, I'm not actually from NY so that's not really an excuse. Mostly I was just too damn busy. I spent the summers of my teen years living in a small beach town where I could walk or bike everywhere, and during the rest of the year I was so involved in school and local theater that I couldn't be bothered to find the time to learn to drive. We weren't allowed to have cars on campus at my small university in Pennsylvania anyway, and then I high-tailed it up to the big bad Big Apple as soon as I could. I lived in walkable South Beach while in Miami, and while in west midtown in Atlanta for a few months I really never needed to drive as my jobs and social life were all in a small easy radius of my loft. The more time that went by, the more I learned to live without driving a car, and to be honest the more the idea of it frightened me. When you're older you have had the chance to see the damage that driving can cause, and you've probably lost a friend or two in accidents. I was in no hurry to take on that level of responsibility, thank you very much.

But it was always understood that when I moved here to Dallas I would need a car, and a license to drive it. It was usually one of the first remarks made when I brought up the subject of moving; "I guess you're going to have to learn how to drive then!" I accepted this reality and knew I would have to get over my fear. Friends in NYC graciously offered to watch my daughter while I took a few lessons from the local driving school, but driving in Queens is nothing like driving on Texas highways. Nothing. And my Texan's shiny black Audi A5 is a little different than the driving school Toyota Corollas. So taking "lessons" from him when I arrived here was like starting over completely. Not knowing my way around didn't help. I couldn't have found Dallas on a map before a year ago.

Luckily, living in West Village has been really wonderful, with multiple boutiques, salons, a Starbucks, yoga studio, grocery store, and restaurants within walking distance, as well as my daughter's school. It's been a lot like back home, only cleaner and quieter. The free Uptown Trolley takes us down to the Arts District and everywhere in between, and cabs, my Texan and his family have been sufficient for the rest until now. I'm sure I've been quite the sight around here, walking between Albertson's and the bank and our townhouse carrying groceries and drycleaning in my reusable canvas shopping bags, with the other hand holding a cup of coffee and phone, just like I did in New York. That aside, it has been nice to get out and learn my neighborhood and I like to think I may have inspired a few other people to leave their cars behind when running local errands.

But with the approaching summer and the beginning of my job search, we knew that it was only a matter of time before a car was a necessity. My Texan has been an incredibly patient instructor over the last eight months, whenever we had the time for him to teach me, which wasn't often. With every work trip I went weeks without getting behind the wheel, delaying my progress considerably. Still, he would insist that I drive during our weekend pilgrimages up to Allen, giving me the highway experience that I had lacked. I was scared to death, with you people in your big SUVs and trucks speeding down 75 and my daughter singing or sleeping in the back seat. But he coached me and encouraged me, teaching me everything I needed to learn for my test and also the more practical lessons about Texan drivers and roads.

Finally I felt somewhat ready and realized that I wanted to get this thing before my first birthday in Texas. I filled out the necessary paperwork, stood in multiple lines at the DL office in Cedar Hill, and made the soonest possible appointment for the driving test, 2 days before my birthday. If I didn't pass I wouldn't make my goal, making me even more determined. The day arrived and, with the loving encouragement from my fiance and little girl, I got in the car with the stoic man who would decide my fate. I bombed parallel parking (I'm blaming nerves) but aced the rest. I parked the car and he said "you passed," and a few tears came to my eyes and I couldn't wipe the grin from my face. I waited twice as long as most Americans for this milestone and that made it so much more thrilling. And a relief. My birthday was a celebratory occasion for so many reasons this year, but this was the biggest.

***

Bread Winners was one of the first places I went to in Dallas for brunch. I'd forgotten about that until returning the other evening. My Texan told me even before I moved here that it was a top brunch spot for Dallasites, and after experiencing it I understood why. There were (and are) always lines of people waiting for tables weekend mornings, and deservedly so. But last week, I was invited to a lovely event at the Inwood Village location highlighting their sexy new cocktail menu. As a new girl in town, I am so appreciative the invites that come my way and I was excited to see some of my favorite new people there, and of course any opportunity to sample new cocktails is always welcome. I mean, really.

But attending this event meant driving all by my lonesome for my first driving night out. I would need those cocktails when I arrived as it was. But the day before, while cramming into the back seat of the 2-door car to replace a freshly laundered car seat lining, I heard a thump in the front and turned around in horror to find my 4-year old daughter holding the rear-view mirror, the wires still attached to the windshield. My Texan handled it surprisingly well, and he and I spent the next half hour trying to re-affix the mirror, to no avail. It was clear that we needed professional help but there would be no opportunity for a few days. The more experienced driver of us was fine of course, but I was not happy about this at all. Not one bit.

Determined to make it to the event at Bread Winners out of appreciation for their hospitality and a need to get out of the house (working from home is not always ideal), I kissed my loves goodbye and set out for Inwood Village. With a brand new license, 5-inch heels, and a useless rear-view mirror dangling from the windshield, I made it to Bread Winners and was rewarded generously with good friends, new friends, and their mulitple new cocktails. I couldn't drink too many of those, being far too nervous about my ride home, but I sampled quite a few and they are not too shabby. This ain't just brunch-land anymore.

But all of the sampling aside, it was wonderful to catch up with some friends in the light and airy atmosphere and make some new friends too. I am sure most of the people there had no idea what a monumental evening that was for me. I delayed my exit for a bit because of my nerves, chatting up all of the other fabulous attendees as long as I could, but eventually is was time to get back in the saddle, so to speak. And so I did. I grabbed my bag of Bread Winners cookies and walked solo across the parking lot towards that beautiful shiny black car with the dangling rear-view mirror, opened the door, sat in the driver's seat and smiled.

***

I made it home sans incident that night, despite the availability of so many beautiful cocktails. The mirror was fixed the next day. This weekend I had my first opportunity to drive around a borrowed Cadillac Escalade monster to escort my visiting family around town and was reluctant with that too at first but didn't do too badly. My driver's license card came in the mail this week and although a few friends tried to bribe me to NOT drive in their neighborhoods for a few months, I am really looking forward to the next invitation and solo night out. And of course the next big step of buying my first car. I will still be walking around my neighborhood a lot regardless; it's convenient, it's healthy, and above all I like to do it and it reminds me of my old life. But I admit that it will be so nice, for the first time in my life, to have the option to get in my car and drive.

Identity.

culture shock (noun): a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment

assimilation (noun): a process by which members of a minority group lose cultural characteristics that distinguish them from the dominant cultural group or take on the cultural characteristics of another group.

Assimilation usually involves a gradual change and takes place in varying degrees; full assimilation occurs when new members of a society become indistinguishable from older members.

1369.87 miles. That's how far I am now from the place I called home for the most formative decade of my life. Before I moved there I was mostly still in the same geographical region; a full-fledged "Yankee" my entire life.

People keep asking if the transition has been hard. And the easy answer is no, it hasn't been hard. Dallas is still a modern and fashionable city full of interesting people and a thriving arts and food scene. I'm lucky to live in a rare urban section where I am two blocks from some of my favorite boutiques, restaurants, and salons.  In terms of convenience, with the exception of the lack of a corner bodega and readily available public transportation, it isn't much different. Here I have without a doubt an easier life and a healthier life because of that.

In New York it was only me and my daughter and some incredible friends and neighbors when I really needed them and was actually willing to ask for help. But here I have my amazing fiance and an unconditionally loving and supportive family (for the first time in my life). And he, the man who I dated via email, long late-night phone calls, and a plethora of miles on American Airlines, has done everything in his power to help me adjust and to welcome both me and my daughter into his home and friendships. The rest of the people I have met have been unbelievably welcoming and warm, and I have been overwhelmed by how many I have come to quickly adore, and the number of opportunities I've had to meet more. With the traveling that I do for my NY-based job and the time I spend with my family, I have not been able to attend or participate in so many things I have wanted to. There is no shortage of things to do and to keep me involved and enjoying life in Dallas when I have the time for them. And of course I now actually have a washing machine, a dishwasher, and a pool; luxuries that most Manhattanites can only dream of.

I am working on getting my driver's license, which will make things even easier for me, and I am on the hunt for a Dallas-based job that will keep me in town more often. My fiance and I are trying to figure out where in the world (literally) to hold our wedding and once we get that figured out we can get to planning and get that stress off of our shoulders.

The transition, logistically and superficially, has been easy.

But emotionally and psychologically it has been and continues to be a challenge. When you spend your whole life thinking of yourself and your friends in one way, and you suddenly have that thinking turned upside down, how do you handle that? It's not about New York vs. Dallas, or even North vs. South. It's simply one culture- of my family, my neighborhood, my childhood environment, my way of thinking, vs. another- the one I've been surrounded by since my move here.

When I was 16, I was awarded a scholarship to participate in a summer exchange program and lived with a family in Greece for two months. A lot of life lessons came from that trip. I had to step out of my comfort zone every day. The food, the smells, the language, the alphabet, the styles, the weather, the music, everything was different. But I adapted. And I fell in love with that country. That was the trip that made me appreciate food and hospitality to the extent that I do today and I am beyond grateful for that experience. After that I would say you could pick me up and plunk me down anywhere in the world and I would be fine. I would adapt. I am a natural chameleon.

Anywhere, I would joke, but Texas. And everyone would laugh because it made sense. I was "such a New Yorker!" friends and strangers alike always said. I grew up loving everything about that city; I had posters of the skyline on the walls of my childhood bedroom and even on the worst days during my time there, I loved it. Everything was beautiful and interesting and amazing and I knew at my core, I belonged there.

And so when I first started dating my Texan it was hilarious to everyone who knew me. I wasn't serious, was I? But I was. I fell in love with a person and everything about our relationship was right, regardless of the geographical and cultural differences. I knew this move was something I had to consider back when it was only a flirtation. It was just another state, another city. It was still part of my country; surely it couldn't be that hard.

I know it's usually a light-hearted joke when Southerners talk about the Yankees, but you all know that there is usually truth in jest. Most of it comes from confusion. Why do they do the things they do and think the way they think? It is confusing so we make jokes out of it. But it is true that the inherent culture is so drastically different. You can talk all you want about people just being people and it's a big city like anywhere else, and to some extent of course that's true. But to adapt to a new culture you have to step out of your own and this is the first time I've had to step SO FAR out of my comfort zone in order to really see the people and the culture around me for what they were. Traveling abroad I found more people who were "like me" than I've found here, in a city that is in my own country. And that's okay, but it does take some time to adjust to.

The women here are beautiful, there is no doubt. But it is hard to accept a culture where aesthetic beauty is valued so highly, when you are raised in a culture where it is devalued. Life experience, education, knowledge of the events of the world are what I always looked for in friends and colleagues, and so did they. We endeavored to improve ourselves intellectually and culturally, not aesthetically. We, as a culture, were proud of aging gracefully and used any cosmetic enhancements sparingly. So when I first came to Texas my guard was up and I was initially turned off by the southern belle stereotype and the requisite "bling," cosmetic surgery and big hair. The first girls I met in Texas were fodder for countless jokes in my NYC office for the months before my move. It's no secret that I started off with the "us versus them' mentality and it was frustrating. It was mostly frustrating because once I moved here, I really liked the majority of the people I was meeting and that caused so much inner conflict. But I have worked really hard to embrace what makes Dallas special, even if that means going out of my comfort zone as I learned to do 17 years ago.

When we got engaged last August and officially decided that I would be the one to move cross country, one of the first things I did was walk into the Sephora on 5th Avenue on my lunch break. I was asked how they could help me. I said "I'm moving to Dallas."

"OH HONEY.... WHY?!?" was the response from the lovely young male make-up artist working the floor. I told him I fell in love with a Texan. And he sighed, grabbed my hand, pulled me over to his work bench, and said "ok, then. let's get to work." And he proceeded to explain the process and required items for doing a full face of make-up, Texas-style. I had no idea what some of those brushes were for, but I do now.

It was funny,  and as much as I grumbled (especially at the credit card charge), it was fun. It was my first step towards assimilation. It was just superficial and I was okay with it. I was teased by everyone in the office but in the end they told me I looked good, even if a little too "Southern." I took it in stride. The nice thing was that my Texan man didn't expect me or ask me to do this; it was my own gesture. He seemed torn too; he liked me for who I was when we started dating, but he had to admit the "prettier" version wasn't so bad at the appropriate times. I figured if the culture here is to step up the make-up a bit, I certainly didn't want to embarrass him or myself by digging in my heels. It wasn't that big of a deal.  Getting rid of my daily ponytails, geek chic glasses, and black midtown office wardrobe has been a little more difficult and I promise that they will not disappear completely. But I admit it is nice to have society's permission to get a little prettied up sometimes. In true Rodgers and Hammerstein fashion, I'm enjoying being a girl.

But the deeper stuff is harder to accept. The jokes are different, the assumptions are different, the tastes are different. What I grew up understanding was "bad" is celebrated; what I understood was universally accepted as "good" is often a punchline. I have moments when my head feels fuzzy and the ground feels shaky and I wonder what rabbit hole I have fallen down and what alternate universe I've woken up in. I am not saying that what I knew and understood before was "right," in fact quite the opposite- I'm questioning my understood reality for the first time in my life and that is what is so hard. The more conservative ways of being and thinking, (and yet more "liberal" way of dressing), the easier, simpler, and slower life, gradually building my own Texan pride with the voice of so many mentors still cracking their jokes about life below the Mason-Dixon line; this is where adapting is hard. I am getting the "who are you now" bitterness from old acquaintances and family members up north who do not like the changes they are seeing. And I'm still teased occasionally here about being a Yankee. So the struggle is constant, and has become part of my daily life.

Right now the pendulum is still swinging dramatically. I go from being determined to remain a New Yorker to my core, to suddenly seeing the negative parts of my Northeast upbringing for what they are. On the flip side I go from being annoyed by the differences here to embracing them and subconsciously completely assimilating, bringing me to momentary states of shock. I suppose the right place to be is the exact place I will end up when this pendulum finally slows to a halt: right in the middle; maintaining my roots but being truly comfortable in my new home. I know I have no plans to leave any time soon and fighting any changes will not do me or anyone around me any good.

I've been here for half a year and have purposely made it a year of new experiences, constantly and deliberately putting myself out of my comfort zone in a wide range of ways, from singing the National Anthem at a sports event to painting my toenails electric blue to learning Mandarin. I will write about all of these experiences in detail when I reach my one year Texas anniversary in November. Right now I'm about to celebrate my first birthday in Texas, and in a few weeks we will celebrate my daughter's.With each milestone I become more deeply rooted here.

This morning in yoga class we learned about Svadhyaya, which means becoming close to oneself through meditation and self-exploration.  It refers to knowing more and more about oneself, intentionally. I laughed to myself during the lesson; I have been in a self-reflective state for eight months now and there is still so much to learn.