The Compass

Goodbye before hello.

It’s my last day as a resident of Savannah, GA.

Savannah isn’t a typical place. Let me specify: the National Landmark Historic District, downtown. The city was established in 1733; many of the original structures have been restored and are in use. In 2.1 square miles, multi-million dollar historic mansions are immediately juxtaposed with section-8 public housing. The wealthy offspring of otherworldlys pursue finer aesthetics in between. Spread on a grid of 24 squares, narrow cobblestone and brick side streets, Savannah is one of the prettiest places on earth. Ancient live oaks, spanish moss, humidity. It’s filthy and gritty and dangerous. You shouldn’t walk alone at night; debutantes have died at gunpoint over petty change. The international art school, the old Savannah types, the young, design-focused professionals, the crazed characters, the transient homeless, the desperate urban gangs are a strange mix in so small a place. Savannah is one of two places in the country with an open container law. There’s not much to do here but drink, and we take that very seriously.

I am from Savannah, born and raised. I attended college at Savannah College of Art and Design where I obtained a BFA in writing, my life-long passion. For the past four years, I have been living in a loft on Broughton Street, the pulse of Savannah’s downtown National Landmark Historic District. I have written two novels and an on-going series of short stories, all of which are in progress. I worked as the city’s arts writer but got bored. I had a day job that I adored: for four years, I was the Reservations & Events Coordinator of a 220 seat fine dining Italian restaurant that I loved. “You break my heart,” my boss said, when I resigned. “We’re going to miss you more than you miss us.” But I’m uncertain if he’s correct. I am surrounded by my family and friends–the best friends that I have ever had, women I’ve known for years, since college. Here, I had almost everything.

I have wanted to move to New York City for an unspecified amount of time. Years. Possibly a decade. But I didn’t want to go without anything specific to do–without a well paying job–but I have always wanted to live in the city and write. Later, I will disclose the details of a rapid succession of events which resulted in my move to the city, but tomorrow is another day.

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