I live in Atlanta, Georgia. Why? Good question. How? Even better one.
I’m not entirely sure how I came to live in Atlanta, Georgia. At the end of January, I actually packed up my car in hopes of moving to San Francisco. What was in San Francisco? Nothing, technically. I was just getting nervous in Colorado.
So where should one go when one is where one began? Why–where one has been, of course.
And so, for me, that was San Francisco.
I landed a job interview in San Francisco after spending an unrealistic amount of time applying. There was nothing certain. I wasn’t quite sure what the job even was. Regardless, I blazed across the desert, taking with me everything except for things I ended up actually needing.
There is a lot of desert between Colorado and California.
I tried to land other interviews in San Francisco while I was there. I wasn’t having much luck. I did land a few other phone interviews. One phone interview was with BBDO–a worldwide advertising agency that I read and studied lots about in school. I didn’t remember actually applying to it. It was with their office in Atlanta.
As illogical as it was, I turned around, bound for Atlanta, canceling my other interviews in San Francisco, with just as much uncertainty as I had in California. It somehow felt more productive to be on the move.
When where one has been isn’t where one belongs, then one goes where one has yet to be.
That was Atlanta. Atlanta is on the opposite side of the country.
I drove for days. California, Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia–the United States isn’t all that lovely in the first week of February–a plane would have been a much better idea.
If you aren’t completely bored at this point, you will be grateful to know that the rest of this post is primarily made of pictures. May it be known, however, that this is not a photography post, but a blog post with pictures. Many are taken with my phone–so blah.
First, a few favorites from San Francisco:
That concludes your tour of my new dwellings and stomping grounds. I hope it was as extravagantly humid, deep-fried, and accent-twanged as it has been for me.