life as understood

Listen up, because there's a good chance I'm never going to say this again in public.

Utah is a cool place.

And you thought you knew me. This all started Sunday afternoon during a leisurely Sunday drive Sarah and I took through the south end of the Salt Lake Valley, rolling between mountains, temples, and new housing developments. As we began our return to her parents' house, the conversation turned to a familiar topic: the question of where to spend our lives together.

Sarah moved to Utah when she was eight, and loves it as one should love her home. I came in college, not intending to stay long, but after five years, I became softened by something that often skirts cursory conversations about the Beehive State: nuanced reality.

You see, for me, growing up near the state but not in it, Utahns were the annoying neighbors and perpetual joke-butts. Stereotypes, of course, ran rampant. Since before I can remember, it's been a place constantly derided by friends, family, and others who have spent many years there and elsewhere. I myself even participated in this action on occasion, tossing the term "Utard" around more than I'm comfortable admitting now.

(For a full and proper context, please see my landmark June 2009 posting "Striving to Improve Idaho/Utah Relations.")

Actually, many people jab at Utah from inside and out, but it's important to note that nearly 100 percent of the derision is directed solely at its residents. No one really speaks ill of Utah's cities, which tend to be clean and modern, or its natural wonder, which is extraordinary. A hefty portion of the derision comes from Mormons from other states, but that's not the issue here.

The issue is this. I live a couple states away now, and when I tell people I'm from Idaho, I get a wide variety of reactions--potatoes, skiing, fishing, neo-Nazis, BSU football, hicks, corn (for those confusing it with Iowa)--and this is good. Variety and reality, out of which a friendly conversation may ensue. But try to tell someone you've come from Utah, and the initial reaction is the same every single time. It's remarkable. All 2.8 million people, including the 1.2 million who are active Mormons and the 1.6 million who are not, are painted with the exact same brush. I've watched it countless times--in a split-second, the person looks you up and down and almost nods a little, then gives a distinct look that says they immediately know everything about you. Say no more. You're from Utah. I've heard about you.

The easy answer, of course, is to not let this bother me. First of all, I'm not from Utah, and secondly, the majority of Utahns don't seem to let the profiling and essential condescension hinder their ridiculously high quality of life. Who knows if we'll ever move back here or not, but if we decide to, I might have to do a little maturing in order to fit in, considering my upbringing.

That, and I'd have to stop using my turn signal. Zing! I'm sorry, I know. Sort of sends a mixed message about the place.

Well, hey.