I’m not originally from Atlanta, but I claimed it as my own, considering my “adult life” began there.

Anyone new to Atlanta was always sent to me–“ask Julie. She’ll give you restaurants to frequent, shops to visit, locations of the best schools, etc.”

Literally, they called me the “Atlanta Ambassador” and I loved it. Everyone got “Atlanta Magazine” the first Christmas, then locally made Atlanta neighborhood coasters, cuff links stamped with ATL…you get the idea. I never thought we’d leave, as my husband’s family and our friend tribe were our stability, and my family was an easy hour flight away.

I didn’t even know where to find Sacramento on the map, so when Nicholas read me an email from his CEO about an opportunity West Coast, I continued my Pinterest board for best new restaurants in Atlanta, and absent-mindedly nodded and smiled in support.

Fast forward 6 months from this seemingly neutral moment, and we’re moved into a townhouse in Sacramento. I mean completely unpacked, flowers and basil planted, security installed, fridge stocked with iced coffee and fruit punch crystal light.

I left a career I loved, the townhouse that we had just finished perfecting, and a chunk of my heart with our family and friends there.  AND, I left my position as the Atlanta Ambassador, of course. 🙂  Talk about some UGLY crying… with an entree-size side of identity crisis.

I didn’t breathe deeply for awhile…maybe weeks…
I unpacked and nested, set up new bill pay, searched for doctors, the best grocery store, a new nail salon, PT for my knee, bought furniture and agonized over a salon that wouldn’t fry my summer blonde.

And then I stopped, let my soul catch up to my body, and realized that a so-called identity crisis is a pretty awesome shot to look at reinvention. I mean, I think I’m pretty rad and am not looking for a do-over, but the next time a neighbor asked me if I did yoga, I thought (well, I used to do yoga…that sounds lovely. Maybe I’ll be a yogi here) and just like that, I “do yoga” 3 times a week in the local park (see sunshine shot below from the perspective of my yoga mat).

I planted the roses I always said I’d have… (the ketchup and mustard variety that are yellow on the outside and red on the inside). I water and chat with them every morning with my iced coffee and folk music before it gets hot and the job applications call me to get busy on my laptop.

Harold, my robin-egg-blue cruiser bike, is my main mode of transportation and if a certain opportunity works out this week, I’ll be able to even ride to work…how liberating is that?

I broke out my pink boxing gloves at a gym around the corner, swapped vodka for mint sun tea and visited the gun range for the first time. I tampered with the idea of wearing primarily camouflage fashion and going by GI-Jules, but my pearls look a little out of place, so that didn’t last long.  🙂

Nothing like the panic of leaving everything I know behind, and finding sheer liberation in the process.

I’m thankful for life’s changes that have given me time to reflect, breathe, reinvent, be intentional, and breathe some more…