I discovered, in the heart of Las Vegas, that I am a Utahn.
That probably sounds strange and it was certainly a revelation to me, although I've lived in Utah more than half of my life — and nearly all of my adult life.
When I was younger, I was "passing through." Like most young people getting a professional foothold, I thought I had to go somewhere big to be "someone." The Washington Post maybe. Certainly at least the LA Times.
But I dug in and put down roots, almost against my will. My family gradually moved to Utah. I made friends. I started caring about the politics of the place, finding things to like and to disdain. And even when nearly everything I loved was in Utah, I didn't notice that I was a Utahn.
I think I got my first inkling a couple of weeks ago, when I picked up a plaque that had a misprint on it. It said I was Lois Collins, writing for the Washington Post Magazine.
The people around me joked that I should just keep it.
I didn't want to. It's not who I am.
I've gone to conferences over the years and noticed a sort of dazed, glazed look when my colleagues hear I'm from Utah. It's like I'm not as real as someone who writes for the New York Times or even the Dallas Morning News.
But when opportunities have come up somewhere else, my urge to wander hasn't been as strong as you'd expect, given my earlier goals. I have too much I treasure where I am.
This week, I've been in Vegas covering the COMDEX technology show. And I noticed the funniest thing. Some of the coolest gizmos have been made in places like Oklahoma, but because they're not made in California, Japan or Taiwan, a lot of people have been surprised. Like people, places live on their reputations. And change isn't always recognized, in either area.
Worse, I've talked to people who have missed some of the best things at the show because they didn't bother to look at them, seeking out geographical hot spots instead of random sparks of brilliance.
Perhaps I was thinking about geography because I was in a cab at a traffic light on a corner where a child's dream castle looks out on a bogus Statue of Liberty, not a stone's throw from a Sphinx-laden pyramid. Did I forget to mention the pirate ship? Talk about geographical confusion. And folks think we're peculiar?
Mind you, this being a Utahn is a new thing for me, and I'm going to have to get used to it.
But I knew I'd arrived when someone cracked a joke about the Olympics scandal and I didn't get embarrassed or even defensive.
You know what? "Utah" didn't do it. The architects of that Olympic culture, by vast majority, have nothing to do with Utah. If there was a meeting where we all conspired, most of us didn't make the guest list. And we don't have to apologize for it, either. Our job is to be gracious when the world arrives.
Someone else asked me about the liquor laws. I didn't defend or condemn them. I just explained them. And it turned into a conversation about differences in lots of laws in scads of places. An interesting and funny conversation.
Utah isn't a set of liquor laws or even a world-famous Olympic scandal. It's a combination of a lot of things, from its rich Indian heritage to tales of pioneer hardship and endurance. It's deep, powdery snow and sandy deserts. It's people who are honest and hardworking and people who have neither trait — just like every other place on earth. It's a rural community and a high-tech enclave.
It's so many contradictory things that it's really hard to decide what Utah is. And I like that.
Of one thing, I am sure.
It's what you make it. It's home.
Deseret News staff writer Lois M. Collins may be reached by e-mail at lois@desnews.com