I left Buffalo for Florida after graduating college in 1989. The primary reasons were weather and economy, and I have built a good life here in the nearly 20 years I've been gone. Still, my Buffalo lingo ("pop", the hard "a", etc) remains as strong as my affinity for all things Buffalo, and the difference between the WNY area united together as one vs the transient culture of Florida is as striking as ever.
I still miss Buffalo very much, but more out of nostalgia now than anything else. I think about my family still there (both alive and deceased), the food, sports, old friends, etc...but I am very conscious that not living there for the daily grind separates me from the real, everyday WNYer - and while my heart is always with Buffalo my reality is here in South Florida.
I go back with my clan once or twice a year for a long weekend, but over the years it has developed the feel of visiting my past more than returning to my real world...a strange and surreal sensation that I belong here with every fiber of my being, but at the same time belong to another world and am just guiding a tour of what once was but will never be again. It's bittersweet to go back, because I see all the things I miss and love, but don't have to experience any of the misery and gloom of everyday life, which is essentially what bonds the Buffalonian together far more than the Bills or the Sabres - that idea of being a tougher breed who doesn't just cherry pick a few selected restaurants over a long weekend, but takes the punch of life that comes from living through the good, the bad and the ugly that WNY has to offer.
In that sense, I am self-conscious during my flights in when I visit. I feel in a sense that I ditched the town, either because I didn't have the stomach for the fight, or because I thought I was too good for this town and turned my back on them like so many others, or maybe a combination of both. It's a wierd mixture of pride and shame that comes over me, as I drink beer, eat wings, and pretend nothing has changed, when really it did and I was one of those who didn't have the mettle or the loyalty to hang in there like most of my family and a few friends did.
It's a wound buried beneath the surface that never has entirely healed. This conflicted sensation manifests as my plane lands at Buffalo Airport, looking at the people and feeling a bit like an embarrassed tourist in my own home town. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I live where I live, love my wife and kids, and appreciate how wonderful it is to sport shorts and a t-shirt under palm trees on New Years Day, and I sincerely don't want out of the world I have, but that gnawing feeling in my gut that I somehow let down my roots by taking this path when I hit the fork in the road stirs everytime I go back to my old hometown.
Sorry about my ramblings, but this thread has brought all these dormant feelings to the surface. Lastly, like a previous poster said, if the Bills really do relocate to Toronto I'll never root for them again. It's 100% about Buffalo to me...