Seen Around Town

I almost took flight from Atlanta three years ago for Seattle. I literally had all the arrangements made - all but having the moving truck packed. A friend tearfully begged me on his knees to stay an extra year and move in with him. I conceded easily. We found a lovely bungalow in Candler Park that felt very adult-like, and we lived there for a year. After our year was up, we decided to live separately again, and we both moved into different lofts in Midtown. Another year passed. I stayed put, and my friend moved to Fort Lauderdale, leaving me behind, which I found somewhat ironic.

Almost another year has zipped by now, and I'm wondering if and when I will ever leave this city.

To be fair, I didn't stay exclusively for my friend. He just made it easy. In fact, the planned move was part of a series of life changes I had made: I exited a 5-year long relationship that had run its course, I quit my job and began freelancing, and I started taking better care of myself the way I should. By the time the move came 'round, I was quite happy with my life. I didn't need to run away to the other side of the country.

One of the most difficult parts of making the decision to move, then and now, is the thought of abandoning the network of family and friends that I've built here and starting over again from scratch. Yet, at times, it's the exact reason why I want to leave. There is an undeniable appeal that comes with the type of anonymity that I can no longer enjoy in this place. For living in city of substantial size, I always seem to run into someone I know everywhere I go - even in the most random or obscure places.

A perfect example: a recent Friday night I took myself out to dinner. I've been in retreat-mode as of late, so I wanted to be by myself (as much as I could while being in public). I happened upon a quaint little Italian restaurant called DaVinci's tucked behind a Cuban place on Ponce de Leon. Perfect.

I walked into the dimly lit eatery to be received by a bartendar stationed behind an understated bar with a scanty five bar stools. Two patrons claimed the lone high-top table in the place. I asked for a menu and promptly ordered a bourbon on the rocks. Yes. This is exactly what I was looking for.

While I was gazing at the menu for a ridiculously long time, I heard a voice boom in my direction, "Don't I know you?"

Looking up, I said, "You're Dave, right?" He was one of the two patrons in the place besides myself.

"I sure am, and you're Love. How's it going?"

I'll save you from the formalities of the hey-how-ya-doin' banter, but unbelievable! Here I thought I was safe. I didn't have to be me. Wrong. Dave proceeded to engage me in resistant conversation throughout my entire meal. It turned out alright, though.

At the same time, I can't help but relish the fact that I've built myself a small town here. Atlanta is a decent place to be. There's a lot of good stuff here. Sure, it's stained by its own brand of bullshit, but what city isn't?

I don't know what it is I want to run away from. Maybe it's just myself that I can't escape. I think mostly, though, I just want to escape the me that everybody else thinks that I am - the person who carries the conversation or always has something funny or witty or entertaining to say. But that's not always me. And you know what? That's okay.

~ the lady love