"Choosin' Texas" Helped Me Understand That Some People Never Stop Missing Home
Honestly, the first time I heard this song, I was driving. Summer in the American South, AC cranked all the way up, still felt stuffy. Then Ella’s voice came on the radio – that first line, “Just when I thought I got him to fall in love with Tennessee” – and I turned it up.
By the time she sang “He’s choosin’ Texas,” my hands were already shaking.
Not because the song is some kind of masterpiece. But because that feeling she was singing about? I knew it too damn well.
You’re not losing to another woman. You’re losing to a piece of land.
My ex was from Oklahoma. We were together for three years. I tried so hard to make him fall in love with California – the ocean sunsets, the avocado toast I made for him, walking with me on Venice Beach. He’d smile. He’d say, “It’s nice.”
But every time he got a call from his buddies back home, his voice changed. That lazy, slightly nasal “y’all” – I could never pull it off. Once he’d had a few drinks and said, “You know, in Oklahoma, the wind really gets into your bones.” At the time I thought he was being dramatic.
Then he went back. No big fight, no cheating. One day he just said, “I need to go home.”
Ella sings, “A cowboy’s got a way of leaving.” When I heard that line, my tears hit the steering wheel.
Not because he left me. But because I finally understood – he never really saw California as home. I was fighting against his Oklahoma, and I wasn’t even on the right battlefield.
The most brutal part of this song isn’t even that “choosin’ Texas” hook. It’s the part right after:
“I’m leavin’ Abilene on I-40 / Crying in a jack and coke”
See, she loses, but she doesn’t stop to cry. She gets on the highway, driving east on I-40, holding a Jack and Coke. That image is so real. When I drove back from Oklahoma to California after we broke up, that was me too – alone, a full tank of gas, heading west, leaving the radio on whatever station came up, because changing it wouldn’t fill the empty passenger seat.
But Ella is braver than I was. At the very end, she says, “Come on, baby.” That’s not to the man. That’s to herself. That’s “Alright, let’s go.”
That night, after listening to the song, I went home and dug out the cowboy boots he’d left behind, buried at the back of my shoe rack. They were covered in dust. I carried them to the trash can and stood there for maybe thirty seconds. Then I threw them away.
Not because I hate him. But because I finally accepted it – some people are tied to a place. You can’t win against that. You can’t win against Texas wind.
So if you’re asking me what I really felt after listening to “Choosin’ Texas,” here it is:
First listen, I wanted to cry, because it felt so unfair.
Second listen, I wanted to curse him – how could he.
Third listen, I went quiet. Then I turned the volume up and sang along to that last “Come on, baby.”
And when it was over, I felt like I’d finally gotten off that I-40 too.
That’s the best thing a song can do: not win the fight for you, but say the words you couldn’t say, and then let you go.
I’m not an “old fan” of Ella Langley. I only discovered her less than a week ago. But after hearing this song, I feel like she sang out everything I couldn’t say for three years.
So to anyone listening to this song – finish that Jack and Coke, then quietly say to yourself:
“Come on, baby.”
Now, I want to hear your “Jack and Coke” story.
If you also have a song that made you grip the steering wheel and drive through the night with it on repeat – don’t keep it to yourself. Share your story on social media with #LoreLoaded.
We want to hear: which lyric in which song touched that corner of your heart you never wanted anyone to see?
Maybe you lost to a place, not a person.
Or maybe a city kept someone for you while you drove away.
The most moving story will receive a dedicated music player – for free – plus a cash prize.
Click the link below to learn more:
