**Dallas, Texas! But We Born Michigan for Life: The Delivery People Keep Leaving Cowboy Messages on My Packages**
Moving from Michigan to Texas is more than just a change of address—it’s a cultural shift, a lifestyle adjustment, and, apparently, an open invitation for every delivery person in Dallas to remind me that I’m not in the Midwest anymore. I’ve lived here for a while now, long enough to know my way around, to appreciate the lack of snowstorms, and to develop a strong opinion about brisket. But no matter how settled I feel, there’s one thing that keeps pulling me back to the reality that I’m a Michigander in cowboy country: the notes left on my packages.
Every time a delivery driver drops off a box at my doorstep, it seems they can’t resist leaving a little Texas-sized flourish. “Yeehaw! Your package has arrived!” one note read. Another simply said, “Howdy, partner!” with a doodle of a cowboy hat. At first, I thought it was a coincidence—maybe just an overly enthusiastic driver. But then it kept happening. Different delivery services, different drivers, same general theme: *Welcome to Texas, Yankee.*
Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining. If anything, it’s become a running joke in my household. My family back in Michigan gets a kick out of it when I send them screenshots of the latest delivery note. “They’re trying to convert you,” my brother said once. “Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing boots and saying ‘fixin’ to’ like a native.” I laughed, but deep down, I wondered if there was some truth to it. Is this some unspoken initiation ritual for transplants? Are delivery drivers the unofficial ambassadors of Texas culture, tasked with slowly but surely turning every newcomer into a honorary Texan?
The thing is, I *like* Texas. The people are friendly, the food is incredible, and the sheer size of everything still blows my mind. (I once drove for an hour and was still in the same county—try doing that in Michigan.) But no matter how much I enjoy living here, I’ll always be a Michigander at heart. I miss the Great Lakes, the way the air smells after a summer rain up north, and the unshakable loyalty Michiganders have for their state, even when it’s buried under three feet of snow.
So when I see those cowboy-themed delivery notes, it’s a funny little reminder of where I am versus where I came from. It’s not just the drivers, either—Texas has a way of making sure you never forget you’re in Texas. The stars on *everything*, the “ma’am” and “sir” that get thrown around like confetti, the fact that high school football is treated like a religion. Back in Michigan, we had our own quirks—like the perpetual debate over whether it’s “pop” or “soda” (it’s pop, obviously) or the way we’ll defend Vernors ginger ale to the death. But Texas? Texas doesn’t do subtle.
I’ve started to wonder if the delivery notes are less about me and more about them—about the pride Texans have in their state. Maybe it’s their way of saying, *You’re one of us now, even if you don’t know it yet.* Or maybe they’re just having fun. Either way, I’ve come to appreciate the small, unexpected moments that remind me of where I am.
Still, there’s a part of me that wants to push back, just a little. The next time a driver leaves a “Howdy, partner!” on my delivery confirmation, I’m tempted to scribble back, “Go Blue!” just to see if they get the reference. Or maybe I’ll leave a note of my own: “Thanks for the package—say hello to the Wolverine State for me.”
At the end of the day, it’s all in good fun. I may have traded lakes for longhorns and snowstorms for scorching summers, but no amount of cowboy-themed delivery notes will ever make me forget where I came from. Michigan raised me, and no matter how many times I’m greeted with a “y’all” or a “howdy,” I’ll always be a Midwesterner at heart.
But hey, if the delivery drivers want to keep leaving those notes, I won’t stop them. After all, it’s a small price to pay for living in a place where even the mundane act of receiving a package comes with a little bit of Texas charm. And who knows? Maybe one day, without even realizing it, I’ll finally crack and buy a pair of cowboy boots.
But until then—Go Lions. (Because some loyalties run deeper than state lines.)
