Staying true to my roots

I've been living out here on the East Coast for about half a year now, but I'm still Midwestern to the core. How do I know? Simple: I still make eye contact with people on the street in downtown DC. In fact, I still sometimes say "Hi," no matter how many times they've reminded me that's just not done here by walking coolly by without so much as a nod.

People are serious here. They're in a hurry, they're on the phone, they don't want to be bothered, I get that. But it makes the city feel kind of lonely, when you're surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people and none of them want to acknowledge your existence. Yes, I still wear some of the same clothes I wore in high school, but I don't think they're tattered enough yet that people are mistaking me for a hobo trying to hit them up for money. And it's not as if I'm marveling at the tall buildings with a big, hick grin like Mary Tyler Moore ready to throw my hat in the air.

On the Metro (DC's version of the subway), on the other hand, I'm not invisible. Far from it. There's perhaps no greater blow to the male ego than when a young lady gets on the train, looks at the open seat next to you, looks at you, and then remains standing near the doorway. What she's saying is, "I could sit in your general vicinity, but I'd really rather stand... in five-inch heels... on an unsteady surface... while carrying this 20-pound purse. That's how much I want to avoid you."

Fortunately, though, at the end of the day I get to go home to my little Salvadoran sanctuary in the suburbs, where people still smile at each other and say "Hi" (or gently correct me when I say "Buenas dias" at a time of day that calls for "Buenas tardes").

There's definitely good things about living out here. The different cultures, for one. Also, I've lost about 15-20 pounds in the past six months, perhaps because I no longer consume cheese and red meat at every meal. But all in all, I miss the Midwest.