Last Friday night, I said something aloud that caught both me and two of my friends off guard. We were innocently watching What Not to Wear on TLC, and this particular episode happened to feature a Minneapolis woman. During some b-roll, they showed some video of the Minneapolis skyline and, without thinking, I exclaimed: “Awe, my city!”
Yep. “My city.”
I immediately slapped my hand over my mouth and looked at my friends in horror. One friend, a Minnesota transplant as well, returned my horrified look. The other, born and raised in the Twin Cities metro, started laughing. I mean, I proudly share my NorCal roots. I’m tried and true Californian. I sheepishly asked no one to tell my parents or post anything to Social Media, and tried to pretend the situation never happened.
The following morning, my Minnesotan friend/roommate and I walked to breakfast downtown, and I started to recall my frightening declaration from the night before. As we navigated the streets and skyways of downtown Minneapolis, I started to become less and less bothered by the fact that I had called Minneapolis “my city.”
Minneapolis is the first true city I’ve lived in. I suppose I could claim Sacramento as “my city,” but I’ve never gone farther than telling people I grew up near Sacramento (in fact, I say, ‘near Sacramento, but not in Sacramento’). I shared these thoughts with my roommate, and she reinforced my feelings. I moved to Minneapolis and got an apartment in the city, not in one of the suburbs. I work downtown. I shop downtown. I take the bus pretty much anywhere I go solo, and cabs at least once a weekend. I’m growing up and striking out on my own here. I’m living a pretty urban lifestyle, in Minneapolis. So yes, I think it is safe to say Minneapolis is “my city.”