27 years ago yesterday, I moved to Atlanta.
It was all I had ever known I wanted to do, and I had done it.
I had $72 in my pocket and a friend I was going to be roommates with.
I got my first crappy job at Eastern Newsstands, where I suspect my meteoric rise to floating manager in just four days was due to my first language being English.
After much cussedness and a number of interviews, I got a job at the Atlanta Journal & Constitution, which was what I’d come here for to start with.
I brought home $135 a week and gave myself an allowance of $5 a week spending money.
I was filthy rich.
After a decade of the best fun a girl can have working, I moved on to my grown-up job, where my fearless leader taught me everything and became one of my very dearest friends.
The company sold last year and I am out on my own now.
It has been an amazing 27 years. I have been the subject of great friendships and the recipient of so much good fortune.
I have had the joy of seeing my friends have children, and being part of those kids’ lives.
I have learned more than I ever thought it was possible to know, and I know there is so much more to see and do.
I have won more than I’ve lost.
When I travel, my heart still pounds when I see the skyline ahead of me on my return, and I always ask for the window seat on flights home so I can see the tree cover as soon as possible. I hope that where you live brings you as much happiness as Atlanta brings me.
Life is grand.