The Slightly Maudlin Post (it had to come sooner or later....)

Why are some things easier to obsess over than others? Admittedly, I'm prone to obsessing. My true nature is a classic hypochondriac-worrier-worst-case-scenario kind of person. Over the years, though, I've worked hard at being less neurotic and more able to go with the flow, as it were. I don't always succeed and I do always have that nagging feeling like I should care more, but for the most part I've been able to become fairly laid back about most of what life throws at me. Until something comes along that, for some reason, sticks in my craw. There's generally no rhyme or reason to what that thing will be but once it's there, oooh boy, it is tough to get rid of.

Without going into unnecessary detail, suffice it to say that the latest unwanted kernel of thought relates to a relationship. (Serious pain in the ass.) It's been ages, I've tried everything. The pain has dulled, the emotions come through like haze on a hot Carolina day, but for some reason my thoughts still turn to it way more often than they should. This morning as I walked across the meadows in glorious Fall sunshine, the castle to my left, Arthur's Seat to my right and Edinburgh a true feast for the eyes, I hit on a possible reason. There is a small part of me that does not feel welcome here. Not in any immediate sense - the hospitality of this country certainly rivals anything Southerners have ever offered this Yankee - not even in any way social. It's a deeper, nationalistic feeling. There is a part of me that can't shake the countless times I was told, "You're not actually Scottish. This isn't your country." That may sound trite. It certainly sounds lame to just look at it like that. But over months of hearing that, of seeing severe reaction to anyone claiming any kind of Scottish heritage (which, for the record, I do not -  we're from Sligo in Ireland, way back when...) it's hard to feel like I can ever own a piece of this. It's hard to get that feeling like I could maybe adopt Scotland, or it could adopt me. And, as a citizen of the world who would gladly change her passport, that's hard to come to terms with. Even Paris - a city owned by no one, a city as wild and free as any I've ever come across - even Paris took me in and gave me a small part of herself. Perhaps my tendency to turn my thoughts to that affair does not stem from anything to do with the events between two people. Perhaps it comes from a search for why I don't feel quite at home here. For why I can't hear the bagpipes on Princes Street and feel a sense of belonging. Who knows? What I can say is this: what a ridiculous way to feel. And all because there's someone out there who doesn't think you should look back several generations to understand who you are. As a historian, I cannot accept that. And so, as a person living in Scotland, I will not accept this. I am going to change this - I am going to own my own little part of Edinburgh. This city will be mine in some little way. And I will love it, pretensions and all.