Unfortunately, I write this column from the perils of my office (which is no different than where I typically write it from) but after returning from a 72 hour hiatus on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, I find it hard to be as enthusiastic about my current location as I typically am.

Vacations have become mandatory for many reasons, most of them being completely self-absorbent yet necessary. My happiness depends on them, as does my work performance and overall mental health. Let’s face it, we all need’em. Some need them more frequently than others, some want them more frequently than others. Me? Heck, I’ll take’em when I can get’em and I’m pretty sure that’s become the general consensus.

My quick getaway had something to do with a small (but understandable) desire and I was adamant that it be fulfilled. I mean, what else would a country girl from Woodstock, Georgia do when she hears Rascal Flatts and Darius Rucker would be performing, together… in concert… at the beach… approximately 5 miles from where her parents own a beach-front condo?? She gets tickets, of course! Except, she didn’t exactly get tickets. Instead, she was given tickets by a rather attractive young gentleman to mark her 20 something years on Earth. And so, a very happy birthday girl packed her bags and headed Southwest to the lovely vicinity of… lower Alabama. Or L.A. as it is often referred to by the locals.

Yep, you heard me correctly. Alabama. Woo-hoo. I won’t go into the stereo-typical taunting that comes with the mention of this state, we’ve all heard it and have most likely repeated it. However, I discovered something on this trip that I hadn’t ever noticed on my hundred some-odd previous trips here.

You see, I’m from Georgia. And here in Georgia, we love our mamas and sweet tea and front porches and manners. We are southern, yet classy; sadly, this isn’t typically assumed about most states south of the Mason Dixon. Sure, us Georgians have been called ‘red’ (amongst other things) but our reputation seems to be a bit more socially revered than that of our neighbor to the West. It is what it is, I’m just being honest. I’m not saying it’s true or false, I’m Jess’ Sayin. My point being, we all know how much “I love Georgia.” But the truth of the matter is, Alabamians love Alabama just as much as I do Georgia. I saw it firsthand when nearly every single concert goer stood up and sang “Sweet Home Alabama” at the top of their lungs (nevermind the cloud of whisky breath that was produced in this 2 minute window) with their hands in the air, hugging strangers and notably proud to hail from the state that’s gone down in history for MLK’s Montgomery Bus Boycott and widely known for it’s War Eagle/Roll Tide rivalry. They love their land. And I love my land. We just happen to come from two different ones.

Be proud of your home. Be proud of your hometown and your homestate. Don’t deny your roots and don’t justify them to anyone who is ignorant enough to believe all the stereo-types. There isn’t a single characteristic that defines you more than where you grew up. Whether it be here in Jaw-gia (which I happen to be partial to), Alabama or anywhere else in the world, wear it proud. Brag about it and show it off. Dorothy ain’t lyin’ – there really is no place like home. After all, who would you really be without it?

See y’all next week, ya hear?!