The Bar Doesn't Open Until Four!?

My Journey with Imposter Syndrome

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Hi, I’m Leah, and I’m back with another unhinged take on my life and my religion. Today, I’m reflecting more on my return from Savannah, Ga, to my hometown in Gainesville, Ga.

I’ve been home for exactly seven days. One week. Boy, do I have some major transitioning to do. You would think that it would be smooth sailing. Being home means just slipping right into the routines that I left. BAAH wrong answer, folks. I’ll take imposter Syndrome for 500 Alex. I feel like a tourist from another country. This Appalachian city is what raised me, so why do I feel so off?

I’m writing this from one of the many local coffee shops. Earlier, I almost dropped my steaming hot matcha all over myself and my laptop (correction, my husband’s laptop, even worse). I dropped a spectacular F bomb, and quickly retracted it after noticing the crowd I’m with might shun me. The other day, when Jason and I walked in, every person we saw was holding a baby. I leaned over and whispered that we forgot our newborn at home, and had to go back. Walking downtown, I realized that I had a smug look on my face. A trick I had to pick up in Savannah to ward off all the sketchy men. But at home, everyone is so relaxed, and taking their time. Which says a lot because as a whole, the south is slow paced.

Besides being a tourist city, Savannah historically is European influenced, specifically French. Because it wasn’t destroyed in Sherman's March, all of the buildings are original, and so is the lifestyle. Just like French, I got used to having wine/beer pretty early in the day. All the bars open by twelve at the latest. Today, I wanted to get a glass of wine and saw that the bar doesn’t open until four, FOUR!? God forbid a girl want a glass of wine to write with. The hiking culture is also pretty prevalent in Gainesville since we’re so close to the Mountains. Tevas, Patagonia, hiking book bags, and those water bottles with the clips are all over. I never fit with that, but I feel like I stick out even more with my shorts, cropped top, and sweater wrapped around my shoulders (very 80s prep, all my Gen X readers will get it). Another thing I picked up from Savannah, and being a stylist. I feel like a pretentious rich aunt that has graced the family with another visit. UGH.

I’m surrounded by Baptist culture, and it seems louder than before. I haven’t been baptist for a while now, but I was able to dismiss it. Now it screams at me, and lets me know that I am a full blooded Anglican. I stick out in conversations about church and no one even knows what Anglican or Episcopal is. I feel like I have to scream out that I’m still a protestant. the Bible study quiet times that happen in coffee shops make me feel so distant. I have morning prayer now. I sign a cross over my chest and shoulders. I have wine at my communion. All unheard of where I’m from.

Was it always like this? Why didn’t I notice before? I think I did, but I just didn’t know anything else. I just accepted that I wasn’t a mountain girl, and flowed through life with my own attitude. But after getting influenced and shaped my another city, I just feel lost. I’m so happy to be home, but the imposter syndrome is hard. It’s only been a week, and I don’t know who I am. Am I city girl or a mountain/lake girl? I’m still Leah, but I also feel grown up. Which isn’t bad, just different. I’ll find my way eventually… did I mention the bars don’t open until four!? FOUR!

Well that’s all I got friends, until next time. Lemme hear those sweet voices in the comments. Kyrie Eleison— Lord have mercy upon us. Thank you for coming to my table!