You Can Take The Girl Out Of Jersey

I’m not sure what exactly has inspired this post. Perhaps it’s because I’m anxiously counting down the days until my little sister arrives. Maybe it’s because I just binge-watched The Sopranos with Steve and his mom (I know, I’m a bit late to the party). Or maybe it’s because of this article that I read by the late Anthony Bourdain (which I read through tear-filled eyes). And can’t forget this one on A Cup of Jo. In reality, it’s probably a mixture of all of these, with feelings of homesickness carefully stirred in.

The first 26 years of my life were spent along the Jersey Shore, and it’s surrounding areas. I hardly ever left the state, save for a trip to NYC here or there, and one or two VERY rare out-of-state visits. I come from a large, close-knit family, and we’ve always been ever-present in each other’s lives. My life growing up consisted of large family gatherings; Irish breakfasts on Sundays at my grandparents, just because; endless days and nights at the beach; going to the boardwalk and gorging on fried oreos and funnel cake. My hometown was a standard American town, where I spent many days hanging out after school with my friends, playing “manhunt”, and driving around aimlessly, blasting music with the windows down.

In my day to day life lately, I find myself reminiscing on all the things listed above. Sure, it’s partially because I am a *somewhat* sentimental person, I suppose. But mostly, it’s because of just how different my life has become. It’s really made me reflect on myself as a whole. My Jersey upbringing shaped my life and the person that I am, and I would be in denial if I said otherwise.

No, this isn’t going to be one of those “I’m from Jersey” lists where I spew off the usual “we pump fists, not gas” crap (although I miss not having to pump my own gas). Jersey gets a bad rap for many reasons, and people say a lot of negative things about it (let me make it clear – only people from Jersey can talk shit about Jersey; everyone else is wrong and can shut it). I love my home state. I’ve loved it so much that I hardly ever left it my entire life. It’s very common for people to never leave. Yet somehow, I ended up doing the unthinkable.

I left.

Most people in Jersey never even leave their hometowns. So, believe you me, it came as a shock to everyone around me when I told them I was picking up and moving across the world. You just don’t meet many people where I’m from that actually DO something like that.

Regardless, New Jersey is engraved in me, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I will always shout and flip off the guy that cuts us off on the motorway. I’ll still ask for a “cawfee” or “wader” when asked we go for our traditional British breakfast. I crave pork roll every single day (and have considered shipping it from NJ). I have yet to find pizza that combats the delicious slices I get on the boardwalk, which are literally the size of your face. And I hate the idea of pumping my own “petrol”, damn it.

I’ve written about getting settled into life here, and I’ve dedicated two entire posts about the differences between America and the U.K. (here and here). I do feel like I’ve changed a bit since coming here, and my life is vastly different than before. But reading those two articles mentioned at the beginning of this long rant (which probably is choppy and makes no sense but whatevs #emotions) took me back instantly. To concerts at the Stone Pony. Late night Wawa runs. Blasting “The Boss” or Bon Jovi. Pork roll breakfast sandwiches from Jersey Farms. Nights in Atlantic City. Diner food. Family.