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I got to Alaska the way most people do: Through personal trauma and a series of questionable decisions.It’s where I ran after September 11; I was 24 years old, working for the United Nations, and exhausted by the fact that I had to pass through an endless series of security checkpoints every time I needed to pee.I was completely freaked out — not in the sexy “Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted” way, but in the “wow, you’re really eating mashed potatoes for every meal, huh? I went to visit a friend in Anchorage in February 2002, and it felt right.
I didn’t date at all in high school; in my revisionist history I’ve decided this was by choice, but the reality was that a six-foot-tall black girl in a predominantly white town who shaves her head, wears a skirt made out of ties, and uses black eyeliner as lipstick isn’t really racking up the offers.
My lack of a high-school love life and the fact that I never saw any hometown dick makes it easy to go back to visit now, but at the time it made me feel ill-prepared for dating in the real world.
But most of them were just genuine guys trying their luck, which encouraged me to try my luck, too.
In short turn, I soon realized that if I wanted to meet guys in Alaska, all I had to do was go outside.
While it’s no longer true that there are more men than women in Alaska by a ratio of two-to-one, the skewed gender ratio might have played a small part in the fact that I was able to pull so much.