Have Indiana's politics ruined Indiana for me?
I spent most of this week agonizing over whether, when, and how to move back to California.
Do I need to move back to California?
This was an unexpected question to be asking myself. I only got here six months ago.
I chose Bloomington after investigating another college town with a remote work program, evaluating my options in Florida where I’d moved during the pandemic to be closer to family, and touring a very tiny apartment in Santa Clara, CA, three miles from the home I’d left in 2020.
Here’s how I made my decision.
Florida: Hot. DeSantis.
Verdict: Hell no.
West Lafayette, IN: Awesome people. College town. But no vegetarian restaurants (which hints at a lack of artsy weirdos for me to vibe with), and too rural.
Verdict: No… but thank you!
Bay Area: Expensive. Crowded. Endless self-satisfaction.
My literal entire social network and life are still there.
I got a job in tech after leaving, so now, my industry is headquartered there too. Ha ha.
Verdict: Gut says no, but not sure why.
Bloomington, IN: Affordable. Artsy. Wonderful people. Also, Fall.
Verdict: YES!
My enthusiasm hasn’t waned since I arrived. I go for walks every day and the sun is setting and people let me pet their dogs. I shop and eat local at small businesses, I meet Ph.D. students who are working on how to solve climate change, I go to community events at the park and sip soda and talk about the weather. I know my neighbors and I babysit their plants.
I love, love, love it here.
Can lawmakers chase away placemakers?
Melody Warnick calls what I’m trying to do in Bloomington “place attachment.” It’s a process whereby you imbue a location with meaning and memory and come to identify yourself with that place. So far, I’m developing a very deep place attachment to Bloomington.
What caused me to rethink my decision was how quickly things have changed on a legislative level in Indiana, especially over the past month. I wonder how these changes might actually impact my life—how the decisions of politicians miles away might obliterate my desire to call Indiana home.
I can tolerate living with people I don’t agree with. That’s America. But living in a state whose residents aren’t even permitted to weigh in on an issue before lawmakers unilaterally pass a law that changes their lives—and where those same lawmakers have unambiguously signaled their allegiance to an ideology that seeks to enshrine white supremacy and misogyny using the language of holy imperative—scares the shit out of me. It’s not just hand-wringing about “ignorant racists”; it actually keeps me up at night. It’s especially frightening because so many conservative lawmakers are using the Big Lie to get elected, and those who don’t are being ousted.
So my worry is: what happens in Indiana in 2024?
I don’t know. But it’s not time for me to leave yet.
I didn’t drag all my shit across the country—again—to miss a Midwestern Fall. I fought really hard to get here, thought a lot about what I wanted. I spent tons of money moving someplace where I hardly knew anyone, instead of staying near family (Florida) or returning to a place I miss daily (California).
I’m scared, but it’s not time to run. I hope I never have to.