And so, as I write this now, I catch myself feeling bad for you, dear reader. I worry that you could do what I’ve done—walk every street, visit every park, Google every building—and still you won’t find the charm that I have, because I’m just lucky to have had so much to work with. I worry that my little city-state of Rhode Island has more to offer per square mile, and it’s so unique that anyone paying attention couldn’t possibly fail to see how amazing it is.
At the same time, that fierce loyalty kind of proves this whole point, doesn’t it? This is not the only place on Earth with charming architecture, lively bookstores, a colorful history, and an ever-changing cast of restaurants. While I am tempted to argue that this particular set of places is objectively the best, I know that I feel this way in large part because it is my set of places.
After all, neither Providence nor Rhode Island are new. Various aspects have been on the up and up for the last few years, but much of the state remains as it was 10, 25 and even 30 years ago, back when I said I hated it so much. All of these things I love now have always been here, in some capacity.
I just wasn’t paying attention.
