Houston Chronicle columnist Joy Sewing poses for a portrait in the Chronicle studio in Houston, Wednesday, Sept. 10, 2025.

This is an excerpt from columnist Joy Sewing's subscriber-exclusive newsletter. Sign up for To Houston, with Joy to get her weekly column and newsletter Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I spent most of my youth trying to break free of Houston. Life here felt slow and steady, like the bayous that meander across the city.

I longed for a faster pace, a rush of adventure. So I moved to New York — a young journalist dropped into the swirl of frenetic New Yorkers, many of whom had a habit of rolling their eyes at Texans or making jokes about cowboy hats and Stetson boots. I owned neither.

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That's when I learned to appreciate Houston most. I missed it.

The endless sprawl that unfolds as you fly down a highway. The way glass towers jut up in neighborhoods because zoning is a bad word here. The disrespectful heat of summer, then the first taste of fall temperatures makes you forget how much you sweated in July. The food, well, not even New York's Michelin stars could compare, in my book.

We're Southern, but not the South. A city in its own orbit.

Being a Native Houstonian is a rarity, even in the Houston Chronicle newsroom, but I think it anchors me to this big, beautiful and often messy city of contradictions and people from all over the world.

This........

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