It’s complicated. That’s the simplest way to put it when people ask me how I feel about Dallas, my hometown. I love it, I hate it, I miss it, I want to escape it. Maybe that’s a bit melodramatic, but honestly, isn’t every love story? And Dallas and I have a love story—one that involves overindulgent brunches, a skyline that could flirt its way into a Frank Sinatra ballad, and more “Bless your hearts” than I care to count. It’s flashy. It’s warm. It’s home. But it’s also complicated.
Let’s get into it, shall we?
The (Over)Perfect Picture
Dallas has a way of romanticizing itself. Growing up here felt like living in an episode of “Friday Night Lights” (if it were narrated by Beyoncé and backed by a Dallas Cowboys halftime show). You’ve got big-haired confidence, football under the glow of Friday night lights, and Southern hospitality served with a side of biscuits and gravy.
But as much as I loved the charm—and trust me, I leaned all the way into it—there was always a double edge to the sword. My Dallas was bubble-wrapped in privilege, which meant not only did I get to experience the best of what the city had to offer, but I was hyper-aware of the disparities that existed just blocks from my picture-perfect neighborhood. Think gated communities on one street and underfunded schools on the next. It stirs something in you—part discomfort, part gratitude, part longing to do something meaningful.
Living here taught me an important lesson early: The things that shine aren’t always solid, and sometimes they come with strings attached.
Big City Dreaming, Small Town Expectations
Ah, Dallas: where everything is bigger, including the expectations. Good grades weren’t just encouraged; they were required. Weekend plans often involved charity galas or museum tours that felt like networking events even at ten years old. My parents were navigating high-stakes careers—Dad literally saving lives, Mom building empires—and expected me to carry that same ambition. To their credit, they walked the walk. Their relentlessness inspired mine, though my path didn’t quite follow theirs.
By high school, I was already itching for something different—a life less choreographed. Dallas was like that ex who always wanted to take the same vacation: gorgeous, consistent, predictable. I wanted messier, grittier. I wanted to skip the genteel Southern dances and waltz into a fast-paced DC newsroom. And that’s exactly what I did—eventually.
But here’s the thing about leaving where you grew up: it never really leaves you.
Family BBQs and Awkward Dates: Lessons in Keeping It Real
Despite my ambitious escapes, Dallas has a way of pulling me back. Particularly during family BBQs, where pecan pie and unsolicited advice are always in ample supply. Pro-tip: If your great aunt hasn’t asked, “Are you still single?” at least three times by dessert, is it really a Southern family gathering?
And look, dating in Dallas? A game of fine lines. First dates often felt like someone was mentally deciding whether you’d look good together in Christmas card photos. Yes, it’s flattering that people here tend to think long-term. But when you’re just trying to enjoy your queso in peace? Not so much.
One guy I went out with spent the entire evening trying to pitch me on the “merits of staying local to build generational wealth.” Bro, it’s the first date, not Shark Tank. Another time, during college break, a sweet but overly eager guy showed up to our date with a bouquet of roses... and his mom’s Tupperware because we “might need snacks after.” Bless his heart. Truly.
What Dallas did teach me about relationships, though, is that staying grounded matters. Family BBQs, awkward dates, even football rivalries—they all boil down to connection. The people who laugh with you at your worst (like when you choked on jalapeños mid-Tex-Mex date) are the ones who matter most.
Leaving Home, Learning Love
I left Dallas for Washington, D.C., and later Austin, and I attacked those adventures like a high-energy rom-com heroine chasing her dreams. D.C. was exhilarating but reminded me how much I missed Mexican food with actual flavor. Austin was funky and creative but felt like that cool artist you admire from afar—fascinating, but not quite you.
Dallas, whether I wanted to admit it or not, understands me in a way no other place quite does. It’s the backdrop to my favorite memories—Howard University dorm phone calls to my parents, sharing achievements; endless Friday night football games that shaped my teenage years; and even writing my first big speech with a brisket taco at my side.
But the piece I really had to grapple with, especially in my 20s, was this: You can love where you’re from and still disagree with parts of it.
Dallas isn’t perfect. Its Southern traditions sometimes clash with progressive ideals, especially when it comes to equity—and that can make things uncomfortable if you’re someone who straddles old and new worlds, as I do. But it’s also a part of me: the cadence of my accent, my love for honest conversation over good food, and my sense of community, even when it frustrates me.
Coming Home to Myself
Here’s the truth, plain and simple: Home is as much about the people as it is the place. Dallas didn’t just give me a ZIP code; it gave me roots. It showed me what ambition looks like and how determination doesn’t have to sacrifice kindness. It gave me examples of relationships worth fighting for and the occasional reminder to laugh at myself when I stumble (especially in cowboy boots).
For all of its shiny façades and perfectly curated images, Dallas taught me that authenticity trumps presentation every time. You can bring your best self to the table, but real connection happens when you’re willing to be a little messy. A little daring. A lot human.
To anyone feeling stuck in their love/hate relationship with home, here’s my advice: Claim what makes sense for you. Celebrate what works. Critique what doesn’t—and don’t be afraid to leave, explore, and grow. And if you come back, know that the version of you returning is just as valid as the one who left.
As for me, I’m here in Dallas for now, finding balance between the familiarity I occasionally roll my eyes at and the comfort I can’t help but relish. It may be complicated, but isn’t that the beauty of love stories?
