My dad grew up in Washington Heights. I grew up in New York in

In the cadence of pride and belonging, Ansel Elgort once spoke these words: “My dad grew up in Washington Heights. I grew up in New York in Manhattan. So we’re purebred New Yorkers.” Though modern in form, this statement carries the soul of something ancient—the eternal yearning of humankind to know where it comes from, and to draw strength from its roots. For when a person speaks of their homeland with reverence, they are not merely naming a place, but invoking the spirit of origin, the soil that shaped their courage, their rhythm, their way of being.

In the voice of the ancients, this quote is a hymn to heritage. It is a declaration that identity is not fashioned only by blood, but by the air one breathes, the streets one walks, the sounds and struggles that form the background music of a life. To be a “purebred New Yorker” is not simply to be born there—it is to have absorbed its defiant heartbeat, to have walked its crowded avenues and learned, through daily trial, the sacred art of persistence. It is to carry within oneself the city’s pulse: bold, restless, proud, and endlessly alive.

Ansel’s words echo a lineage—a father and son bound not just by family, but by place. His father from Washington Heights, he himself from Manhattan; together they form a continuum of stories, a bridge between generations built on shared ground. The ancients would have seen in this the power of ancestral connection—the belief that where one comes from is a sacred thread that must not be forgotten. For just as a tree draws strength from its roots, so too does a soul find power in remembering the ground from which it rose.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who though he traveled far and painted in courts of kings, always carried within him the quiet fields of Vinci, the small Tuscan village that bore his name. It was that beginning, that humble soil, that formed the bedrock of his genius—the steady earth beneath his imagination. Likewise, the warrior who knows his homeland fights not merely for glory, but for the dust of his ancestors, for the rivers that shaped his youth. In this same way, Ansel’s pride in being a New Yorker is more than affection; it is recognition of lineage, a salute to the spirit that made him who he is.

For New York, like the great cities of history—Athens, Rome, Jerusalem—is not just a place but a character, a living teacher. Its towers teach ambition; its noise teaches endurance; its diversity teaches empathy. Those born of its energy learn to move with confidence, to rise after each fall, to speak their truth amidst the clamor of many voices. When Elgort calls himself a purebred New Yorker, he honors these lessons—those of resilience, speed, and unyielding hope. It is as if he is saying, “I was forged in the fire of this city, and I carry its flame within me.”

Yet beneath this pride lies something softer: the recognition of belonging. The heart, after all, longs to say, “I come from somewhere.” In a world that often pushes us toward rootlessness and constant change, to know one’s home is a kind of anchor—a reminder of who we are when the winds of life grow strong. Even those who have left their cities or countries carry their origins as a secret strength, a music that plays quietly in the background of their souls.

Let this then be the teaching drawn from these words: never forget the ground that raised you. Whether it was a city of steel and stone, a village of dust and laughter, or a home filled with simple love, let that memory guide your steps. Speak of it with pride, not arrogance; with gratitude, not possession. And remember that to honor your roots is not to cling to the past, but to acknowledge the foundation upon which your future stands.

So when you walk through life’s vast and shifting lands, carry your origin like a talisman close to your heart. For in the spirit of Ansel Elgort’s declaration, you too are “purebred” in your own way—not by geography, but by the truth of where your story began. And in remembering that truth, you will find the courage to stand tall, to endure, and to shine with the fierce, unmistakable light of the place—and the people—that made you.