If you missed Part 1 click here . If you are up to speed, please read on.
Most people visit a place prior to committing to relocating for a job. They take a trip down, scope out the area, pick out a few neighborhoods, check into the school systems, an so on. That’s most people, not us. No, that would be too rational, organized, normal. We tend to be none of the above.
About four years ago Steve and I took a business weekend trip down to Atlanta. I was either barely pregnant or about to be pregnant. We’re not really sure because of the back and forth due dates I’m quite confident that I was already pregnant, but Steve likes to pretend that Moanna was conceived in Georgia (TMI, TMI) because it drives him crazy that Moanna is a “Virginia Baby” and not a “Miami Baby.” Anyhow, we were only down there for about 48 hours and we were driving all over the city most of the time. The weather was crappy, there were huge roads filled with cars everywhere, I didn’t feel great (I was pregnant) and I did NOT like it. That was the only time I had been to Atlanta. The only other times I had been to any part of Georgia was driving through on I-95 and it smelled horrid every single time. You leave South Carolina and cross into Georgia and your car fills with the smells of swamp and paper mill. You exit Georgia and enter Florida and your lungs fill with the sweet smell of orange blossoms. Not a fan of Georgia people! Not at all.
A few months after Steve accepted the the promotion we decided it would be wise (rational, organized, normal) to take an investigative trip. We needed to narrow down our search of where to live in this massive city because internet searching can only get you so far. After reading about a hundred neighborhood descriptions and starring at Google Earth images it all starts to blend together and your brain turns to jelly. We needed to see the city, taste the city, feel the city, hear the city, smell the city.
Most of our trip was spent driving around the outskirts admiring gorgeous houses we were not in the market for. When we were not gazing at houses that were out of our budget by about $3000 a month we were studying the locations of grocery stores, malls, schools, museums, and the like trying to decide what we wanted to be close to. Did we want to be IN the city where we could walk to everything? Did we want to be in the suburbs? Did we want to be North, South, East or West? Did we want to be close to a school? Was there anyway we could surgically remove the land around Atlanta and turn it into a beach community?
By the end of the second day I was getting really frustrated. We were getting no where. Even though we had been in the car driving around all day long, I was still feeling like I hadn’t seen Atlatna. It was 4 or 5 hours past dinner time and my blood sugar was crashing fast. I wanted to stuff my face, pass out and try again in the morning. Steve had other plans. Sleep could wait, going one more hour without eating wouldn’t kill anyone and we’re not moving for another four months so we didn’t need a house right this minute. Steve wanted to go to the Sun Dial to get a view of the city. I wanted to go to the Sun Dial two hours ago after I was fed; now, I just wanted to back to the hotel.
For those of you not familiar with the Sun Dial, it is a three story restaurant/lounge/observatory on top of the 73 story Westin. The restaurant floor is a revolving floor so that as you enjoy your dinner you can see a 360 degree view of the city. Above the restaurant is the observatory level known as “The View” where you can walk around and look out at the city. If you look down, you can see the restaurant rotating below. The tippity-top is the lounge.
Normally, to get to the Sun Dial you ride up a super fast glass elevator. Unfortunately, the glass elevator was being renovated so we had to use the super fast elevator in the middle of the hotel. We stepped into the elevator, the host swiped his card to give us access to the top level and up we went. We were shooting up the middle of this gigantic hotel at about ninety miles an hour. It was really windy that night. The elevator was knocking around inside its shaft. Moanna was getting a big kick out of it. Steve was enjoying seeing Moanna light up as she jumped up and down. I on the other hand was malnourished and ready to give up living right there on the elevator.
The elevator stopped and the doors pressed open. After we found our legs and steadied ourselves, we stepped out and walked out onto the observation deck. After about ten seconds of staring out at the city Steve looked at me wit big grin on his face and said, “Wow! It’s so big. Welcome to your new city.” I wanted to puke, but since I hadn’t eaten there was nothing for me upchuck all over Steve and his excitement. He continued, “Look at all of the possibilities and opportunities here.” I pulled myself together, faked a smile and said, “This is our new home.” I took a few deep breaths and tried to refocus and take in this gorgeous view. There were skyscrapers all around us and no matter how far you tried to reach with your gaze the lights were never ending. As I was realizing how expansive Atlanta was and how teeny-tiny I was, I felt my arms and face go numb and my chest tighten up. I was having an anxiety attack right there in the middle of one of the most magnificent man made views I had ever seen. An anxiety attack that I had to keep myself because I was not about to interrupt Steve’s daydream of our future. In the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the restaurant floor rotating below us and I felt like I was tumbling down the side of the hotel into the sea of lights where I would drown.
For a moment I thought that falling 73 stories and drowning wouldn’t be so bad, at least then I would have so many unanswered questions. Steve drug me to the Sun Dial because he thought it would make me feel better. He thought that seeing the city lights would bring me fill me with excitement and anticipation of the adventure ahead of us. Instead, it made me feel worse. It brought all of my questions, doubts and concerns to the surface.
Moving to Atlanta, Steve knew exactly what he his purpose would be. He was moving to Atlanta for work. He would work hard, make a lot of money, take care of his family and enjoy his time off. Me on the other hand, I had no idea what this move meant. I no longer knew what my purpose in life was. What would I do down here in Atlanta? Would I work? If I worked would I stay with my company or start with something new? If I worked what would Moanna do? Who could I trust to keep her? How much would that cost? What would my commute be like? How would the house stay clean? How would my family be fed? How productive would Steve be with his job if I were working? What if I stay home? Would Steve be able to make enough money to support us? What would I do all day at home? Will Moanna and I be able to spend that much time together without killing each other? What about health insurance? Maybe I should work? But would I make enough money to justify the expense of childcare, a housekeeper and the extra money we would be spending on quick meals and the loss in Steve’s productivity because he will have to take on more housework? Maybe I should stay home? Who is going to be my friend? Where will we meet new people? Will it be safe for Moanna and I to go out exploring on our own? How will I manage to drive without having an anxiety attack? Where are we going to live? Is it going to be in an apartment? Townhouse? House? Can we afford a house that has the space we need? Maybe I should work to make sure that we don’t get behind on paying down our debt? How often will I see my family and friends? Will they come visit me, or will it be one of those situations where I have to do all of the traveling? Should I work on my masters or a second degree if I stay home? If I stay home will I get lonely and bored? Maybe I should work? Maybe falling off the top of this building wouldn’t be so bad?
As the elevator rushed back down to more stable ground I watched Moanna toy with gravity as she jumped up and down. I was trying not to pass out from the anxiety and starvation. We stepped out onto the street into the sea of lights. I arched my back to look up at the top of the Westin to where we had been standing. I still felt small, maybe even smaller than I did when I was looking down onto the city.
I didn’t tell Steve about my panic attack until we were driving back to Virginia. I was driving and we were some where in the Carolinas when Steve asked me what I thought about Atlanta. And that is when I threw up all over him – figuratively. I told him about my panic attack, the numb arms, the five hundred questions running through me mind, how I felt like I was falling from the top of the building and even that for a split second I thought that falling into the sea of lights and drowning wouldn’t be so bad. He sat in silence the entire time looking straight ahead and blinking. When I was finally done I gave him a minute or two, maybe only thirty seconds, to respond. He didn’t speak.
“Well? What do you think? I NEED answers!”
“That’s a lot of questions. I didn’t realize you felt this way. I thought we were coming down here to explore and find a house.”
“That’s easy for you to say because you already know your purpose in Atlanta. I don’t know what my purpose is.”
“Well let’s work on this…”
And so we did.
I’m not a fan of not knowing. I don’t like waiting on answers or information. I need to know, and I need to know now. I like to be to know my options, make a decision, execute it and let the consequences follow. None of this, “You have six months to decide what you want to do with your new life.” Maybe this is why I struggle with being rational, organized, normal…
