Hi! Nice to meet you! My name is Eryn Williams and I was born and raised in central Indiana. My house is about a 10-hour drive from where I am sitting right now. It’s difficult to miss Indiana because everything here is so new, and I’m experiencing things in different ways than I did back at home. I am a freshman, and I’ve called Ithaca home for an ENTIRE two weeks, so obviously I am an expert on the local culture (not even close).

However, I have been here long enough to recognize the differences in culture, topography and general attitude of the people that live here. Let’s just say that I am still adjusting because mama, I sure as hell ain’t in good ole’ Indiana no more.

First of all, let me describe my interpretation of Midwest culture, which I consider myself to be an expert on (but hey, I may be cocky).

So, in Indiana you have heartfelt conversations with strangers while in line at the grocery store. We introduce ourselves to strangers for no apparent reason, other than to be friendly. We listen to the agriculture stock reports every morning on the drive to school or work. We blare country music from our cars with all of the windows rolled down. The American flag is an icon. (Although one thing I don’t understand is the Confederate flag in Indiana because a) we aren’t southern so you can’t even justify its use by saying “southern pride,” b) we were never in the confederacy so, just...why? c) the confederacy lost so it’s pretty much like wearing the losing team’s jersey after they lost the super bowl the night before. But that discussion is for another time.) We participate in corn hole tournaments (I’ve actually met a professional corn hole player multiple times). We forgive people without them apologizing. If you miss the state fair, you must have been near death. Some people have accents, some don’t. We drive on the backroads. There is so much wide, open space, it feels like you could see the end of the world and all of it is covered in corn rows.

In Ithaca, New York, everyone is accepted. Nobody is judged. If you want to wear a kilt to class, wear a kilt, and you’ll look damn good wearing that kilt. One day you want to be a man? Do it. Tomorrow you want to be a woman? I’m sure you’ll look hotter than me. You want to get drunk every weekend? Totally fine—be careful. You want to do homework every weekend? Go you for being so dedicated. Nobody will judge you for the shoes you wear or how expensive your clothes are. Nobody brags about their trust funds or complains because their car is only a 2010 and it's “falling apart."

Last week, my cultural anthropology professor was talking about how the main issue with cultural anthropologists is that they don’t feel like they have a home anymore because they have experienced such different cultures and called many places home.

I can identify with that to an extent. There are still a few things I have to get used to. For example, I introduced myself to a classmate outside of class and they looked at me like I was crazy. But amigo, I am from the Midwest where there are no strangers. I would tell you about my deepest and darkest secrets if you asked me about them. Or when my roommate pointed out that I say "theatre" wrong. I’m not changing how I say it by the way. I’ll continue to say it wrong.

On the one hand, I will always consider the field after field of corn comforting and breathtaking. But I feel amazing in Ithaca. I feel more loved in these last two weeks by 20 people than the last two years of high school by my entire class of 715.

I am in love with Ithaca. I am 300 percent sure I made the right choice. But sometimes I find myself wondering about the price of agriculture stocks, or when the harvest will start. Sometimes I daydream about getting lost on the back roads and eventually finding my way back to that yellow house at the end of the street.

Ithaca is where I belong right now. My roots in Indiana are about as deep as the corns' right before harvest. And I’m still gettin’ used to it.