There's a reason it's called Fly Over Country
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1/24/2008
Soon after I arrived here from Arizona in January 2004, I wrote the following in an essay:
'I remember that day in the desert when Minneapolis called to me. It was August. Monsoons had brought rain for six weeks straight, but it was little relief. Humidity was high, my spirits were low and I was looking for a way out. “Minneapolis”, my mind whispered. It was a gentle sound that drifted into my conscious on a stagnant breeze. “Yes”, I thought to myself. There was no question as to why. It just felt right. It really can’t be explained any better than that. I had long been in the practice of denying my intuition its voice for fear of it leading me astray, but this time its quiet persuasion gently impelled me to book a flight to a place I’d never been but intuitively, and magically, knew I was supposed to be.'
Boy was I wrong. In the four years I’ve been here I’ve encountered nothing but short-sighted, narrow-minded, passive-aggressive provincial sandbagging, both socially and professionally. Sad, since those are the two areas I wished to enrich by coming here. On paper this place seemed so great. In reality, I entered a Circle of Hell Dante never could have imagined the moment I crossed the border. I can only guess the producers of The Mary Tyler Moore Show never step foot in this state. “You’re gonna make it after all”? Only if you’re an incestuous, nepotist sycophant.
The reason Minnesota is considered “flyover country”, apparently, is because you want no one but your own kind here. Well, they can have it. I’m leaving. I wish I’d never moved here. It’s done nothing for my resume (if anything, I’ll be spending the next 10 years rehabilitating my career. I’ve never had to chase down more rejections anywhere, and I’ve worked from L.A. to Boston. Even in L.A. someone’s assistant assistant eventually returns your call). It certainly has done nothing for me socially. What is it with everyone still hanging out with their high school gang? I gave up high school on graduation night and have never given a thought to it since. But here I’ve never met more people who haven’t expanded their horizons past the street where they live (my mistake for thinking an outlander could make it here.) And while Phoenix has long since become another Los Angeles, people at least know how to drive there. Minnesota = Worst. Drivers. Anywhere.
Four years. And yet I feel I’ve reached the end of myself. When I got here I thought I’d give it five years, thinking I’d never have to. But they've exhausted my ingenuity and patience in, really, half that. I’ve only stuck around because I’m bankrupt. That’s right, not only have they ruined me socially and professionally, but financially as well. Debt upon arriving: zero. Debt now: about twenty grand. It’s almost as if they want to enslave me here. With no room to move or opportunities left to grab to help pay for it all, my choices are to stick to it and die a slow death or outright kill myself. Well, there are plenty of them I’d rather see dead more than myself. I’m leaving before the last nth of desperation leaves me with no other choice.
Garrison Keillor extols mediocrity. I guess Minnesotans deserve him.
Rob | Robbinsdale, MN