The Magnolia

Today marks the first day of my last semester of college... Well, until I decide to come back for that sacred PhD.  (Mom always wanted a doctor in the family.)  Looking back at my reflection, I can’t help but think about how I got here today.
   
I never fully appreciated growing up in a small town until just recently.  It was always the thing I was ashamed of—living in a town with an abundance of stop signs and a never-ending grapevine of gossip.  The town mayor was my bus driver, softball coach, and teacher.  Thoughts are narrow, minds closed, babies and marriage... The problem was that I never felt like I belonged.  I judged everyone that didn't think like me (embarrassed now to admit that).  I thought settling down before the age of 26 was preposterous, and feminism was a trait rather than a movement.  Career was my priority, and I couldn't get away from "this hell hole" fast enough. Then I flew to London... 

My whole demeanor changed.  Ironically, I left for London on my 21st birthday.  The day I arrived in London was America's Independence Day... my independence day.  I studied for a month abroad, traveling to Normandy, Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome... In a word—magnificent.  I came back to the States with confidence, an open mind, a respect and appreciation for different cultures, and a strong desire to return to Europe.  I left my heart in London.  (Too dramatic?)  Despite gaining an understanding and appreciation for people that weren't like me, I still condemned the people "stuck" in my small town.  I couldn't understand why they didn't want to experience the world, or how they could be content with life as it was.  As a hoity-toity world traveler, I knew that there was so much more to life than cow-tipping, Piggly Wiggly, and high school football games.  Then I moved to Austin...

My nickname is Beth Ann.  Immediately you get that I'm from the South.  Come on, I have two names.  Introducing myself to fellow Texas AdGrads was a fun time (insert sarcasm).  They hail from cities and countries all over the world—Seattle, Boston, Italy, Los Angeles, Russia, and New York.  They had grown up in places that I had only dreamed of visiting.  I was intimidated, so I hid my roots.  Covered them up the best that I could.  What I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t just covering up my background; I was covering up a place and a group of people that heavily influenced the person I am today.  Then something clicked…   

Growing up in my small town taught me to value every opportunity that I’m given, count every friendship as a blessing, enjoy the simple things, and be proud of who I am and what I stand for.  Dad showed me how to work hard and trust in something that I couldn’t see.  My brothers taught me how to laugh and be independent.  Mom gave me a spirit of kindness and raised me to be a proper Southern belle.  Some of my best friends still live there—the kind of friends that love you for your faults and will call just to make sure you’re okay.  

So.  I’m from Mississippi.  My high school graduating class had 64 people.  I love the smell of fresh cut grass and miss the sound of rain on a tin roof.  I’ll never forget the cow I named Oreo; she’s buried in the back pasture.  Rolling a tree is an art form.  Mama’s banana pudding and sweet tea hits the spot every time.  When I was a little girl, Daddy's nightly ritual was sharing graham cracker and peanut butter sandwiches with me while sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor.  My brother attached my little red wagon to the riding lawnmower so that I could be “chauffeured” around the yard.  

"Mississippi is like my mother. I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person who raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother too." -Kathryn Stockett, The Help 

Smart Social: Chipotle, Bacon, and Vegans

Bravo to Chipotle for taking advantage of social media to soothe a few disgruntled non-pork eaters.  Although the chain clearly informs the public on its website of the presence of pork fat in its beans, in-store menus fail to indicate the "porkiness of the pinto."  Food line assemblers are only required to inform the consumer if he/she orders a burrito without other meat.  Seth Porges, an avid pork avoider (due to religious reasons), turned to Twitter to voice his concerns.  His beloved Chipotle, to which he's been a loyal customer for several years, never told him why the delicious pinto beans were so delicious.  You'd think after years of eating the same pork-infused beans he would have heard an oink?  Or oinked...  Anyway, Twitter was the medium that Mr Porges used to voice his disbelief (somewhat dramatically).  And I quote, "After more than a decade of ordering Chipotle pinto beans, I was told they have bacon.  As a non-pork eater, I feel ill."  Well Mr. Porges, hold it in and darn a smile because the CEO himself, Steve Ells, is here to huff and puff and blow the house down.  Ells responded immediately, assuring Porges that Chipotle would change its in-store menu to clearly communicate the presence of pork fat in its beans.  (Of course Porges squealed with delight.)

As a future advertiser, I applaud the speed at which Chipotle responded, proving that staying in-the-know of social media is a requirement for every business hoping to keep its customers happy.  Social networks have become the main mic and can reveal valuable insights into how consumers are feeling, what they're thinking, and what they'd like to see happen.  Also, the value of an advocate is really invaluable, priceless even.  If I were Steve Ells I'd look at Porges' followers, find out whom he's influencing.  I'd bet that Porges had the loudest oink but like-minded listeners.  If the chief's happy, the tribe's happy. 

Happy Birthday, Crazy Aunt Betty.

I’m a private talker but a transparent writer.  It can’t be helped.  My voice is as quiet as a church mouse, sounding more like a 9-year-old little girl than a 24-year-old college graduate, but it comes out alive and strong on paper.  Now I've tried speaking up, but it sounds like I'm yelling.  Scares people.  So I talk like I was intended to.  

My singing voice, though, is a whole different story.  I sing just like I write.  Loud, grown up, exposed, and confident.  It’s like all this sass that I have is let loose.  The real me is blasted at full volume, and it feels good.  Like taking a deep breath of fresh air and letting it all out.  I imagine it’s also like how a bird feels when he’s flying high above the world, no one to bother him, or tell him what to do.  All there is to do is just fly.  Ever since I was a little girl, nose stuck in a book in my “secret room”, which was really just a cardboard box, I’ve wanted to fly.  Wings spread wide, heart pounding, the horizon as big as I can dream it.  Stories took me places, away from the arguing and yelling and far from the small town with its narrow thoughts.  I know now why I have such a love affair with travel and adventure, novels and writing.  

My favorite question to ask is "why?"  Drove my parents crazy when I was little.  "Why does brudder (brother) smell funny?" or "Why can Mamaw take her teeth out?" or "Why can't I take my teeth out?"  Curiosity didn't kill the cat, old age did.  Life is too short to stop asking questions, and it's definitely too short to stop living life.  Get your Caramel Frappucino with whip, jump from a plane strapped to a man with a parachute, and be relentlessly curious.   

To be curious you've got to be a little bit crazy.  This blog was born to make my crazy transparent.  Here's to the Crazy Aunt Betty living inside of all of us.