I’m a hick.
I grew up in a little town in a mostly empty county in the Rockies. There are about as many people on my block in New York as in my home county.
Before last fall, I had never been east of Mount Rushmore. Spokane was the biggest city I had ever lived in. The biggest cities I had ever visited were Seattle and Portland.
I got my first degrees at the state university. I got my advanced degrees there and at other state universities, all in cities with populations under 100,000. You’ve probably never heard of any of those cities.
I studied science, math and engineering, to the almost complete exclusion of everything else. When I met my Love last year, I knew nothing of literature, music or art.
I’ve spent the years since college getting more degrees and working at job sites in the middle of nowhere. (And I know about the middle of nowhere.) You’ve never heard of the places where I’ve worked.
I first came to New York last fall, to visit my Love and look for a job. I found the job of my dreams. If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.
I moved to New York two months ago (March 2015).
My Love’s Dad called me “city slicker” because I grew up in town. He’s serious.
My Love is even more of a hick than I am.
She grew up 10 miles on a dirt road from a town of 50; 30 miles from her high school in a town of 300; 70 miles from the nearest town larger than that; 500 miles from any city with a population over 100,000.
Her schools were even more run down and inadequate than mine. But they gave her an incredible education, better than she could have gotten anywhere in the world.
She came East to college. You’ve heard of her college and her grad school.
She studied – and loves – literature and art and mathematics. She has a subscription to the opera.
I’ve never met anyone as well read, cultured or sophisticated as she is. Or as brilliant, analytic or logical. (And I know about brilliant, analytical and logical.)