This week, my husband and I moved from the small, eclectic town of Tampa, Fl to the hustle and bustle, cultural hub of Atlanta, Ga (or to be more specific, just outside of Atlanta, to Stone Mountain). Now I lived here before from 2012-2013, while my boyfriend stayed in Tampa to finish up getting his degree at U.S.F., but I wound up moving back there to be with him in 2014 because I missed him. He finally graduated summer semester of 2015 and found a job that brought me (and him) back to Atlanta. It’s no surprise really. Atlanta has been stepping up its technological game and is becoming a viable center for all things computer science and hard-/ software related. We actually suspected that we were going to be moving to Atlanta early on in his job search since so many of the available openings were based here. Also, a small part of me hoped for Atlanta because I have such a strong family base here. My mom, my sister, her family, and a few relatives from my extended family had already planted roots here in the ATL, so it wasn’t that difficult of a move.
That’s not to say I didn’t like living in Tampa. In fact, I loved it. It was very ideal for an introexvert like me (that’s what I call someone who is both equally introverted and extroverted). I was right smack in the middle of 3 different places that provided me with the outgoing, extroversion-friendly activities I sometimes required (Clearwater, St. Petersburg, and Orlando), but the area that I lived in was quiet and close enough to places that were pleasing to my inner introvert. If I wanted to go out dancing or drinking or roller coaster riding, they were all within reasonable distances to where I didn’t feel like I had to stress out planning and executing a date. BUT, if I wanted to go shopping at a few local stores or canoeing on a gentle river, those were also possible calming, self-reflective options for my solitary self.
One of my favorite areas in Tampa was Ybor City. I loved going there during the day and walking around, window shopping and finding new places to eat. I especially enjoyed frolicking between 7th & 8th, admiring all of the local art. The tattoo shop that I had been going to since 2007 was located there as well. Since discovering the shop, I have gotten 9 tattoos from there and I’ve loved every single one of them. The dudes who work there are awesome, sarcastic, and sanitary, which, when you think about, is all you can ask for in a tattoo artist.
I also loved going there at night, indulging in the people watching and gay-friendly club scene. It was a safe area that cultivated individuality and diversity. Plus, the architecture in the area was reminiscent to some of my favorite old-school styles of Creole and Greek-Revival (which can also be seen in New Orleans/ the old French Quarter district).
Overall, Tampa was a pretty good place for me, but I knew I couldn’t stay there forever. A little unknown fact about me: I actually enjoy moving. This is why I never keep a lot of stuff on me at one time. I’ve always felt more comfortable living in tiny ass apartments than giant houses. In fact, since we’ve moved into this giant house, I have barely slept at night because I’m scared that someone’s going to break in. I mentally can’t handle that kind of responsibility. Protecting the home? No. That shit changes people. Give me a small, cramped, 1-bedroom (okay, maybe 2) apartment in the city any day. Safety in numbers! Not everyone can ignore your blood curdling screams in an apartment, but in a house, your neighbors can feign ignorance or legitimately not hear you! I can’t. Maybe I have some sort of Peter Pan complex or some irrational fears of dying/ being murdered and people going weeks without finding my body, but buying and owning a home never appealed to me. IT’S SO MUCH STRESS AND WORK!!!
I’m getting side tracked.
That’s for another post.
What was I saying?… Oh ya, I actually enjoy moving. I enjoy not being tethered down to one spot. I love maintaining the option of picking up and going places on whim if need be. I’m an awful person to attempt to settle down with. I get bored. I get anxious if I haven’t traveled anywhere for too long. I get F.O.M.O. on a global scale! If I see myself obtaining too much stuff, I’ll feel obligated to either sell some of it or donate some of it to charity. I literally donate at least 3 large trash bags a year in clothes and accessories alone. That doesn’t even include household items. Now, I have no idea where I had the money to buy these things in the first place, but they somehow end up in my home, and I eventually feel cluttered.
I know, to some it might seem like a miserable existence, like I don’t know what I want from life and I am never satisfied with anything, but that’s not the case. I am very satisfied with my life SO FAR. I know that much. I also know that if I remain stagnant for prolonged periods of time, future me will regret those still moments and look upon the moving, inspirational ones with a fond sense of nostalgia. Basically I’m saying, “The more I move, the less I regret.” And I think that’s a healthy way for me to live. I don’t deny anything, I know who I am, and I know what I want. Not very many people can claim that.
And now, onto the next chapter!
ATL: Part 2 ❤
This should be interesting.