Just a portion of an amazing article by an old friend of mine… Nice to see that someone else feels the same as I. Read the whole thing. Beautiful Paige— Thank you.
Someone once told me, “The more words it takes to describe what your career is, the further you are away from actually doing something.” My friends in Bakersfield are teachers, lawyers, small business owners, and, mostly, farmers. Most inhabit a world of one-word job titles like cards from the “LIFE” board game. And when Bakersfieldians talk about what they do, it often revolves around something they’ve produced from the earth: oranges, almonds, carrots, milk, cotton. When I talk about what I do in D.C., I talk about the ideas and concepts I try to capture in my writing. I struggle to define how I’m contributing to society, because I come from a world where people put their hands in the dirt. In Washington, D.C., we argue over what laws may or may not be passed or how much money should be extracted and spent; meanwhile, the sons and daughters of Thomas Jefferson’s ideals are out there toiling for our dinner.
The truth is I often dread going home to try and answer questions from the friendly neighbor walking her dog or the high school friend at the next table in the restaurant. I suppose I dread it because I don’t have it all figured out in Bakersfield terms. What feels like a perfectly acceptable paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle of a journalist in D.C. does not feel so glamorous in my hometown. I dread the measurements of Bakersfield being applied to my life in Washington. They don’t apply, of course—the cities are vastly different—but they still gnaw at me. After I’ve been home for about 72 hours the dread quietly leaves my body, and I start appreciating how much my family takes care of me and how much my friends seem to take an interest in what I’m doing. (Especially when I say I’m writing a piece about Bakersfield. Everyone, it seems, wants to make sure that it’s something that reflects well on our beloved home.)
