I love living in Michigan. Sometimes my soul misses the hills, open spaces, small-town charm, and absence-of-pretentiousness in Kentucky. But if, today, I had to choose one place to live out the rest of my time on this planet, it would be Michigan.
The mitten can tear at your heart-strings whether you’re a redneck or the kind of person who wants to spend $100,000 on a yearly membership to a country club.
And Detroit is special.
Detroit has been touted as the “next Chicago.” And I agree that the potential is there. The city is lived-in and fluid and rustic and cold. Buildings with age are torn down or vandalized, and just as many are reclaimed and renovated and turned into something beautiful. You have to seek out a good time, and there’s a bar on some block of the city where anyone can feel at home.
When we love a place, we love it because of its flaws. To quote Nelson Algren, in describing his sentimental fondness for Chicago:
“Loving [Detroit] is like loving a woman with a broken nose. You may well find lovelier lovelies. But never a lovely so real.”
Also, come visit me! But give me a couple months, because grad school is my husband now.