Life With Lottie

For the past five years, I’ve become immune to the question: “You’re from California? Why are you here?” Yes, I’m from California. Yes, I’m here. Not living in California doesn’t mean I don’t love it. I do—the perfect weather, the choice of beach or ski trip, the fashion, the overpriced food, and most of all, my family. But isn’t your 20s supposed to be about getting uncomfortable and experiencing something new?

When it came time to choose a college, my parents suggested the “typical” California universities—or out-of-state schools that were just a quick flight or long drive away. Safe. Manageable. But in true Charlotte fashion, I did the opposite. I decided I was moving thousands of miles away to the South. No questions asked.

Ole Miss. I was ready to leave my bubble of 18 years, until reality hit me. I was alone in a new state, with no one to turn to.

The transition? Rough. I was “Cali Girl” for weeks. Constantly asked, “Oh, so you’re a liberal?” I felt like some alien from Mars, being grilled about what life was like on my planet.

After a lot of tears, I adjusted. I made friends, figured out what gas should actually cost, and embraced Southern life. But not without its obstacles.

Here’s a small sampling of the questions I fielded over four years:

• So you’re a liberal?
  
• Do you know famous people?
  
• So you’re rich?
  

And that’s just the version that will not get me cancelled?

At first, I tried to mold myself into a “Southern girl.” I dyed my hair lighter (terrible decision), bought Golden Goose sneakers, monogrammed clothes, and tweaked my style. But by the end of month one, I realized—I wasn’t going to change who I was to fit the norm. And funny enough, plenty of Southerners liked the same style, music, and ideas I did.

So I stopped taking offense to “Why are you here?” Instead, I reframed it. At 18, I had moved across the country completely alone. I was learning a new culture, a new perspective, and a new way of life.

And in many ways, I always felt connected to the South—the preppy style, the manners, the hospitality, the food (and let’s not forget, the prices).

After graduation, I was happy to return to California, my comfortable bubble. I wanted San Diego—still do—but with the job market stacked against me and little experience, it wasn’t realistic.

Then came an opportunity in Little Rock, Arkansas. Journalism. A city I had never been to, where I knew no one. Everyone thought I was crazy. But if I could do it at 18, I could do it at 23.

Three months in, I’ve done something I didn’t think I could: I’ve made myself proud. It hasn’t been easy—I miss my family, my friends, my bubble—but I’ve built something here. I’ve made friends, I’ve got my little dog Alfie, and I’m thriving at work. Living alone for the first time is scary, but it’s taught me independence I never knew I had.

So why am I sharing this? Simple: you can move wherever you want. You don’t have to follow your friends, your siblings, or anyone’s idea of “safe.” Dive in headfirst if you want to. Don’t let location hold you back from dreams and opportunity.

Even if it means answering a few cancel-worthy questions along the way.