Come on up!

I've never watched NASCAR because I think it's stupid.

...that being said, my summer in New York has linked me with newfound kinship to the sport I find so trivial.

Over the past 10 weeks, I've been blessed with a variety of visitors in route from Georgia; folks from my childhood, my past, my present - all dear ones I fully expect to impact me now and in the future.

First, 3 weeks into my stay in the NYU dorms, I welcomed Katie - my sorority big sister. We applied all [she'd taught me] about Athens nightlife to unforgettable evenings on the Upper West and Greenwich Village.

Barely a week later, two rather generous people (many know them as Marge and Dalt) paid for my elaborate eating habits, a couple of peplum tops (I probably didn't need) and allowed me to crash on a rollaway at the end of their hotel room bed.

On July 4th, the boyfriend and I commemorated our anniversary with the penguins at Central Park Zoo and fireworks on the Hudson. Little did he know his spur-the-moment decision to share an evening under lights and pops five years before would allow romantic irony every "Independence" Day after.

I shared frozen hot chocolates and thoughtful conversation with an elementary school teacher and her kindhearted family; drinks and fashion-forward musings with two sorority sisters and one of their tiny mothers at the Ace Hotel; a baseball game and brunch with a Scottish sibling and role model from across the pond - our first face-to-face visit since my freshman year of high school; moments of reflections on Liberty Island with my first cousin - whose ability to challenge and inspire is more noteworthy than I can explain in one mere blog post - and his darlingly successful wife; a night of shopping and catching up - illuminated by Times Square - with a wiser-than-her-years 15-year-old I'll forever claim as a sister...

When Jeff Gordon or Jimmy Johnson (aren't those the names of race car drivers?!) are running low on fuel or are burdened by a flat tire, they'll make a necessary pit stop. From there, members of their team rejuvenate the insides of their rides to advance them to victory. In the same sense, each visit from a member of MY team refills my heart with love, my soul with ambition and most of all, reminds me to enjoy this summertime ride.

Victory in Jesus...

When two southern girls are searching for where they fit in the grand scheme of New York City, sometimes the best comfort for sense of direction is a little piece of home thousands of miles from Alabama or Georgia.

No, we didn’t make a trip to Virgil’s BBQ in Times Square – although the delicacies enjoyed with paper towel in lap nearly rival those on the menu at Hawg Wild in the hills of Habersham.

A Sunday morning subway ride to Hells Kitchen – somewhere in the 40’s streets between 9th and 10th avenues (I think…) – led us into a house of worship that wrenched and awoken our hearts with familiarity.

Yes, folks, there are Christian Yankees – Baptists, in fact. They hug necks during a time of greeting, take prayer requests from all ages and sing from Baptist Hymnals.

By the end of the service, both mine and Danielle’s souls were as full of hope as the building where we spent an hour of much needed worship on Sunday morning - a square room flanked with stained glass windows that shook with the vibrations of both passing subway trains underneath and the joyful sounds of “Washed in the Blood of the Lamb” from within.

Low and behold, our following week in New York has been even more thought provoking, inspiring and interesting than our last. And that, my friends, is saying something.

Thanks to Eric Spivey for directing us to a church home in the city and Alan Sherouse of Metro Baptist Church for opening his arms and congregation to two (still) bewildered NYC newcomers!

"A Place to Call Home"

"I am an architect of things that haven't happened yet I can't believe a month is all it's been..."
- John Mayer - "A Place to Call Home"

NYC - thanks for the past month's embrace; I truly hope you'll hold and have me for (a little less than) 30 days longer while I finish my stay on Fashion Ave.

I've taken a bite out of the Big Apple - just as I was encouraged to do when I left Georgia the first of June. I'm still chewing said bite. At times, it's sweet and smooth and nurturing; other moments, it's tough and sour and I feel like spitting it out and stomping it with (one of my nine) brand new pairs of Vince Camuto shoes.

Working 9 to 6 daily in fash PR is as glamorous as it is tiring. I spend weekdays in my shoe haven toeing the line between success and second guessing. Living in a city that towers as far above me as it expands in front of me is both awe-inspiring and frightening. The opportunities surrounding and abounding are as consuming as they are overwhelming.

Will I spend the next few years of my life pitter-pattering away on pavement encapsulated by skyscrapers and street-side diners? Or will I pull my cowgirl boots over my colored skinnies and return to the roots of a tall Georgia pine as opposed to a sprawling apple tree?

Excuse my lack of logging my thoughts into this online journal - as you now understand, my current thoughts and longings are more massive than can be communicated in written word.