My first night in Atlanta, I stepped after sunset onto my Midtown balcony. I leaned against the rail and watched the skyline light up. I spied high-rises, skyscrapers, and the amber glow of windows still alight. A dozen blocks away, a golden spire peeked above the buildings and pierced the night-blue air. I was two days removed from Buffalo, N.Y., four years removed from my first job in Sioux City, Iowa, and two decades removed from the inklings of dreams that became aspirations of working as a broadcast journalist. My new job – as a reporter for WXIA-TV, Atlanta’s NBC affiliate – was days away.
I surveyed the sky, felt the thick Georgia warmth against my skin, and reveled in triumph.
Man … I’ve made it.
I did it again the next night. And the next night. And every night for the next two weeks. Each sunset became a victory lap, a chance to view a city so vibrant it seemed limitless. Professionally I had arrived in a Top 10 market. Personally I had arrived in a city with massive parks, walkable streets, and four pro sports teams. Growing up in New Jersey, I had idolized New York. When I started in TV news, I wondered if I would ever make it back. Now in Atlanta, I had at least reached the ballpark.
And I was thankful. I had sent out more than 40 resume tapes in college before hearing from a station in Sioux City. I had sent another 40 after leaving Sioux City – many during an extended summer of unemployment living with my parents – before a news director in Buffalo called with an offer. I had received tremendous opportunities in Buffalo but wondered if a large-market station would ever take a chance. The industry seemed so brutal, and my experience so tenuous, that I never escaped my own self-doubt.
Finally I could. For the foreseeable future, I didn’t need to worry about where I would head next. I didn’t need to worry about what stories to include in my demo reel. I didn’t need to worry about my career reaching its apex at age 27. From my balcony, I saw a city into which I could endlessly expand.