Oh Atlanta!

I know, I know. I am constantly going on and on about how much I LOVE this city, LOVE my place, LOVE my life.  It's probably a tad annoying, I bet.  Usually when I read someone talking about something this much I actually doubt them.  Like, if you really liked it that much, do you need to talk about it so much? Are you trying to convince yourself that you do?

In this case, it's so...er, not the case though.  And you folks who have known me over this past decade and a half know it.  For the rest, I'll explain.

I loved picking up and moving to Atlanta - 15 years ago next month, actually. Wow.  It's not that I disliked Wisconsin or my friends and family there.  It's not like I felt an overwhelming need to go someplace else. I bet I could have been happy there, too.  But when that chance came for me that seemingly lifetime ago, I remember also not hesitating to just GO.  That although I had nothing bad to say about Wisconsin, there just might be something else out there and, well. Why not?

I remember telling my Mom I was thinking about going, and thinking about it now, knowing the "thinking" part was really already done.  It was just five months after my Dad died and I had been spending a lot of time with Mom just in that my siblings all were at college or with their family hours away and my apartment was only 20 minutes down the road.  We went to one of those Greek restaurants: you know, the ones that have the most awesome open-faced roast beef sandwiches?  And I sat across the table from Mom and halfway through the meal told her I needed to talk to her about something serious and life-changing.  I don't think she had any idea what I was going to say.  I don't think she even knew I had already flown to Atlanta for an interview and had an offer.  How could she?  We were still dealing with Dad's passing too, afterall.  I remember feeling all grown up and confident on the outside but still a little kid on the inside, hoping what I was going to say would make her proud of me and needing her assurance that I was doing the right thing.  I would be moving almost a thousand miles away, afterall.  Without a partner, on my own.

My Mom listened to my confident, rational voice as I explained the opportunity that had been presented to me and why I felt I needed to take it.  Looking back now, I know she probably also heard my fear and nervousness behind the bravado.  When I finished talking, she put down her fork, looked at me and paused for a moment.  And then said one word.

"Go."

It was all I needed.

So I moved here -- big girl now! Big city!  But I'd always lived on the outskirts of the city.  When I first moved here, I had an "Atlanta" address but was a good 15 miles or so from the real city and closer to the suburbs.  I was very close to work and that helped.  I was told that people often get frustrated with Atlanta because of the traffic issues here.  Since I didn't have to deal with that, I never experienced that frustration and instead found it nice.  It was like back home, kinda. Only with better weather.   And I was fortunate enough to actually know people here before I moved: two other colleagues who got offers, too; and friends I had known through an internet group (and, yes, actually had already met in person a few times).  I was OK. I was happy.  I was learning my new home.

But as the months turned into years and I started to explore my city, I realized I wasn't really a city girl.  Yes, my address actually said "Atlanta, Ga. 30341" and I took pride in that when I wrote letters home and scribbled my return address in the upper corner of the envelope.  But I wasn't really in Atlanta.  I wasn't that big city girl.  I wasn't Mary Richards.  Or even Rhoda for that matter.  

After a couple years, I got closer.  Got to a closer suburb with a great little rental condo and a job that sustained me.  Even got a boyfriend or two along the way.  I was becoming that single, amazing, independent city girl...but not quite.   And then the economy collapse happened.

I lost a job.  Moved in with a friend, got another job. But because of said economy, the commute was horrid so I moved even further away from the city than I had ever been before.  Learned to love my life there, but more out of necessity than really wanting to be there.  A couple years later, that company folded and I moved again: equal distance from that big city I wanted, but still in a place where I found new friends, enjoyed my work and had a good life.

But I still wasn't Mary.  I think the one thing always missing was that I really, really wanted to be Mary.  

Last year, it finally happened.  I found a job with a company that I know will not fold because the niche market we serve is thriving and that I actually enjoy.  I commuted from Way Far Out for a year just to make sure of it and then realized: it's time.

Through a friend, a year ago next week, I found the cute little place I'm in now, in the heart of the city.  And I became Mary.

It took me nearly a decade and a half, but I am now the Big City Girl I wished for myself when I sat across from my mom at the Greek diner that night.  On Friday nights, I park my car and don't move it again until Monday morning's work commute because I can walk everywhere I want: to restaurants, grocery stores, clubs. If I can't do that, I can walk all of two blocks to what passes for our subway system here and jump a train to meet friends instead.  I can throw a bag and the blanket my sister brought me back from Mexico over my arm, like I did last week, and walk the three blocks to Atlanta's "Central Park" (actually designed by the same family who did New York's, yo!) to curl up under a tree, read a book and take a nap. And I can have nights like I did tonight.

A friend told me this week that she was having friends over to her front yard tonight; she set out chairs and tables and bottles with colorful drippy-type candles. Bring your own beverages; I'll have snacks, she said.  I told her I was in.  Today, another friend told me she was "on her own" tonight and had nothing to do for a few hours. I responded: "well... let me tell you what's happening...."

All of us live within a few blocks from each other.  Because that's where I am now.  I'm Mary.  We're all Mary.

We gathered.  I saw friends I hadn't seen in years (literally, not figuratively) because I had been So Far Away.  But after champagne glasses and Leinenkugel-filled solo cups, the laughter and stories flowed. I didn't have to go to a bar or a club or drive to some remote location and worry about a thing.  Oh no. I had to walk *across the street* to a friend's front lawn for this gathering.  Because that's what you do when you're centrally located.  That's what you CAN do.... when you're home. 

And I'm finally home. :-)

A woman showed up tonight that I hadn't seen in a year.  She reminded me she still had the books I loaned to her then and didn't forget that she had them and would get them back to me.  I joked I knew where to find her if I needed them.  [Seriously, though: books are meant to be gifted to those who would love them. I don't care if I ever get them back.] A couple showed up tonight that I hadn't seen in probably four or five years, given my time So Far Away and I so enjoyed seeing them again.  My aforementioned friend who had had no plans? Is now out singing karaoke with the folks from the aforementioned front lawn and having a good time at, yes, another walking-distance bar from all our homes.   

So if I go on and on about how I love my life and how I love my silly broke-down apartment and love where I am and how life is now?  I'm actually not trying to convince myself of it.  I'm just that joyful that I can't keep it in.

I'm finally Mary.

I'm home.

God bless Atlanta.   :-)