Three years ago from yesterday, I packed up my 2004 Jeep Grand Cherokee in Delaware and headed south to Savannah to participate in an art show. What most people didn't know was that I didn't plan to return.
So, there I was a northern woman, newly single, transplanted in the south and trying to make a go of it on my own. I had dreams of making it financially on my own merit; first by selling art, then by creating websites. I had plenty of ambition and talent, what I lacked was customers.
A back-up, part time job working in a Christmas shop on River Street in Savannah saved me on many different levels. Last spring, my Jeep was totalled in a car accident, completely not my fault. I had no idea how I was going to make car payments in addition to paying rent which I really couldn't afford.
When my eccentric, but generous, boss heard of my dilemma, he offered me the services of his car dealership, his friends and family discount and the managership of his Christmas shop in Charleston, SC. So in August of this year, I packed up my things and my big fluffy puppy and moved to the Holy City.
As with any relocation, the adjustment period is always tough. Some days I'm on top of the world, other days I'm in tears from frustration and loneliness. Traffic can be a bear, too, and something I haven't really encountered since the days I used to commute between Northern Virginia and Washington, DC, back in the late 70's and early 80's. This led me to one morning, in the height of rush hour traffic, exclaiming, "All I want is to live in the country and drive a pearl pink vintage pick up truck and write!"
Of course, I have no idea how to make that dream a reality, and that's what I hope to explore in this blog which is 50% self-analytical and 50% purely narcissistic.
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