I’m finally a Nevadan, Nevadian or whatever you may call it. In other words, I’m officially a legal resident of Nevada. Apparently, when you move down here, you are supposed to get your state ID within the first 30 days of residing in your new establishment. However, I broke that rule because didn’t make the effort to get my ID established until last weekend. It just received it in the mail today. It feels kind of weird to be holding this piece of plastic that determines my identity to others. It’s lighter and flimsier than my Kansas one, and my picture is much smaller. I’m not sure I particularly care for it.
There are a few reasons why I didn’t get my Nevada ID on time. It was partly because I didn’t have time, but partly because I felt I was shredding my Kansas identity. Shredding the remnants of who I was. Having my Kansas ID was what I considered the only piece of Kansas that I took with me when I left. It’s quite difficult for me to part with. I remember when I had just turned 21 and I was finally able to discard my “minor” identification that let everyone know I was underage. They took my old one from me and gave me a receipt-like piece of paper that would serve as a replacement until my new ID would come in the mail. When I was I getting my ID for Nevada they punched holes in my old Kansas one, therefore, christening my transition from Kansan to Nevadan. The lady at the DMV informed me that once my new ID came in the mail I could toss my old one.
I didn’t want to toss my old one. I turned it over in my hand, running my fingers over the little small hole punches that were put into it. Instead, I keep it tucked behind my new one. Hidden away from others. It’s like my little secret that only I know about. It serves as a reminder to me that although I have moved to another state, another city, my identity that I see myself as will always remain a part of me. I don’t want to be that person that thinks they are too good because they were able to leave and shuns everyone that had to stay. I was always told to never forget where you came from. Where you came from is who made you who you are.