I would not call myself a nihilist, though this post may incriminate me as such.

The phrase “World’s Best Pizza” can be seen flashing in nearly every pizza shop window around the world, and each holds their own definition of the perfect pizza. Thick crust, thin crust, no sauce, lots of sauce, cheese galore, fresh mozzarella cheese, special toppings, square; each is a little different, each proudly claims its own perfection. But ask anyone where the best pizza can be found, and the answer is nearly unanimous: the pizza delivered in their very own hometown.

Personally, I’m partial to John’s Wildwoods Pizzeria, and its wonderfully greasy, meaty pies, but others may disagree. Have I had better quality pizza elsewhere? Yes, plenty of times, but I can say that there is no better pizza in general than my own hometowns. Most can attest, this is true of their pizza consumption as well. This is a commonly occurring phenomenon, and the best explanation I can offer is what I’ll call the “Hometown Hero” effect, where something from your hometown is ascribed a higher value than any other objective thing, comparatively.

Have a C-List actor from your town? He’s the spokesperson for every product you buy from local businesses. The town diner serves the best food around, hands-down. Even your neighbors receive a heightened sense of importance, because, simply, they’re yours.

In a college environment, no one knows where you’re from, or who you were before you came, unless you tell them, of course. Others might have studied abroad in some cosmopolitan country and have a laundry list of adventures they could tell you about, and probably would, if given enough time. You, on the other hand, have the place you know best: home.

People say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and it’s true in a way: when away, home begins to take on a mythic quality, where so many memories rest, like hallowed ground. So, naturally, everything surrounding it becomes extraordinary as well: the pizza shop, the C-List actor, the diner, and even the neighbors. They become special because they are yours: the memories attached to them are yours and yours alone, and in a crowded room, they’re what you hold on to.

Here comes the nihilistic part though, your hometown heroes are not objectively special. They are not the best. The team that won the state championship once is one entry on a long history of teams that have won before, and ones that will in the future. The diner may never achieve more than a three-star rating on Yelp!, and that pizza shop on the corner could easily be replaced with a Pizza Hut. Your neighbors are ordinary people, living ordinary lives, and when it comes to personal experience, they’re a dime a dozen.

The truth is, there is no “World’s Best Pizza,” but it’s still important to hold on to the myth of it. Your “World’s Best Pizza” may not even be the best in the county, but it’s important to you, and that’s what matters. Places are only special when we ascribe meaning to them. Stonehenge could just be a pile of rocks if we had not deemed that it is sacred and to be preserved. Every national park was made special, given the title, and deemed worthy enough to be remembered. The monuments we cherish were made for people who we decided history needed to remember. We decide the history of the world, so we also can decide our own. The places and people who are sacred to us may never be known to the world, but in our own personal universe, they are the planets and stars who surround us, shining a light in our lives and keeping us in perfect orbit.