People often have a complicated relationship with their own past. Which raises the question: Are you proud of where you are from?
There are many reasons why you might be proud of where you grew up, some personal and some others more general.
For the personal, you might note the place you learned to ride a bike, or had your first kiss, or made a particular friend. Or the place you are from might be notable for some other reason, like being a champion in a sport, or producing a famous person.
There are just as many reasons why you might be ashamed of where you are from, following the same general types. If something bad or traumatic happened to you as a child, you might easily associate that with where it took place. Or your home town might be famous for something negative, like drug use, or producing a serial killer.
Of course, it seems likely that where you come from produces in you both shame and pride in some combination. Just like people, places are complicated, with any number of both good and bad points. Does the good outweigh the bad, in your opinion? Or vice versa?
The last thing to consider is just how you define “from”. You can be “from” a house, a neighborhood, a town, a state, or a country. And you might well feel a mixture of pride and shame, in different proportions, over each one. It’s perfectly reasonable, for example, to feel pride in your country while still being ashamed of some of the things it has done.
Do you feel great pride or shame over where you originated? Why do you feel that way, and how has it changed as you’ve gotten older?
Related questions: Where are you from? What makes a place feel like home? What are you the most proud of?
I am from Minnesota—specifically, the Twin Cities—and I carry mixed emotions about both.
The Twin Cities is a place where, not too long ago, thousands of residents stood up to federal ICE agents to protect neighbors who feared that the color of their skin or the clothes they wore could subject them to violence, detention, or deportation based on racism and little more than suspicion that they were “illegal.” That courage exists alongside another reality: a culture of “Minnesota Nice,” where too often an attitude of passive-aggressiveness and social exclusion hides behind a sheen of politeness.
While in no way related, the following also strikes me: Minnesota is also the “Land of 10,000 Lakes.” In the Twin Cities, many of those lakes are surrounded by public parkland, ensuring that people who could never afford the homes nearby can still enjoy the water, relax on the beaches, or bike and walk the trails that encircle them. It is a quiet but meaningful expression of the idea that beauty should not belong only to those who can purchase it.
I am also from the United States—a country where, until recently, I believed our freedoms of religion, speech, the press, peaceful assembly, and petition were secure. I took pride in those liberties even as I grew increasingly frustrated by an economy and culture that seemed designed to keep the poor poor, the rich rich, and the middle class perpetually anxious about slipping down the economic ladder. For more than half a century, the gap between rich and poor has widened. Rising debt temporarily allows many households to maintain the appearance of prosperity, but it also traps them in an economic system where the benefits of growth flow disproportionately upward instead of lifting low- and moderate-income families alongside wealthier households.
Of course, America does not have a monopoly on protest or resistance. Yet our history contains recurring moments when ordinary people organized, challenged entrenched power, and expanded opportunity for those pushed to society’s margins.
In recent years, however, progress has felt increasingly stuck. An authoritarian occupies the White House. An oligarchy exerts extraordinary influence over our economy. Too many people have accepted that concentration of power while being encouraged to believe that those struggling more than they are are somehow exploiting the system, rather than recognizing that the system itself has been shaped to benefit those already at the top.
Even so, I remain grateful that the city, state, and national institutions under which I live still leave room for me to advocate for justice. They continue to offer enough openings—and enough examples of ordinary people acting with courage—to sustain the hope that meaningful change is still possible.
I got off active duty from the Navy located Long Beach California. As a Vietnam combat veteran, Minnesota paid me to return I lived with my parents until I bought a townhome in 1974.
I was born in Minnesota and returned after my active duty time was complete.
I still live near Hopkins. Great place to raise a family!
Very easy to get around especially comparing to L.A.!