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.

I didn’t, in those moments, think far down the path. I’m sure I didn’t concoct a vision for where I’d be ten years later: in the same building, on a different balcony, with the same gratitude, but for different reasons.

This week marks my ten-year anniversary both in Atlanta and at the station I’ve represented since my arrival. I have tried to surmise definitive What It All Means reflections, but mostly I get sidetracked in the swell of memories that have built in the past decade – memories I could not have foreseen while reveling on the balcony.

Ten years ago I didn’t own a professional social media profile. Now I own three, which have allowed my stories to be seen worldwide, occasionally for an audience of millions.

Ten years ago I slapped beds of music on every feature I edited. Ten years later I’ve learned how to capture moments with the camera and let them breathe in their natural glory.

Ten years ago I had never left the country for an assignment. Ten years later I’ve covered three Olympic Games on three different continents, in addition to three Super Bowls, a World Series, and a Presidential inauguration.

Ten years ago I had never won an Emmy award nor heard of the NPPA. Ten years later I’ve been awarded 24 Southeast Emmys and named the NPPA’s National Solo Video Journalist of the Year four times.

Ten years ago I was single, hoping Atlanta might bring a few first dates. Ten years later I just finished making a homemade pizza for my wife and mini-pizza for my one-year-old daughter. (She ate the whole thing.)

Mostly, ten years ago I felt one strain of despair: the rip of saying goodbye to a community of friends and colleagues in Buffalo. At my goodbye party, which took place in the snow in April, 70 people showed up. I hated to part with the coworkers, competitors, and friends I had made in my four years. I wondered if I would build such a community in Atlanta. Ten years later, I’m glad to answer yes. I have immersed myself in this spectacular city and have been rewarded with lifelong friendships.

And I’ve never stopped being grateful.

While I don’t head out to the balcony every night – I stopped after those two weeks – I do so every Sunday as the sun dips behind the buildings. The Atlanta skyline has filled up considerably but maintains its underdog vigor. Lin-Manuel Miranda may have coined the phrase “young, scrappy, and hungry” about Revolution-era America, but no American city today embodies that hustle like the A. I feel that spirit from the balcony, and I appreciate how it’s fueled my drive.

Ten years ago I was thankful to have arrived in Atlanta. Ten years later I’ve moved down the hall from a studio to a two-bedroom, and I’m thankful that the city – and my experiences within it – have met and cleared every expectation. I’m thankful for the opportunities, lucky bounces, and votes of confidence. I’m thankful for the people who have opened doors believing I’d step through and succeed. I’m thankful for the platform to do the same for others. I’m thankful for the Hawks games, Beltline walks, Buford Highway restaurant trips, and countless other memories that have filled a decade. Professionally, I’m thankful for every story I’ve gotten to tell and every chance I’ve received to convey a sliver of my city to a wide and welcoming audience.

I cherish them all.

The Solo Video Journalist is available for purchase. You can find it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the publisher’s web site.

Matt Pearl is the author of the Telling the Story blog and podcast. Feel free to comment below or e-mail Matt at matt@tellingthestoryblog.com. You can also follow Matt on Facebook and Twitter.