Welcome to Atlanta
Once upon a time in 1989, a young woman from Philly met a young man from Brooklyn in Providence — and the rest, as they say, was history. Fast forward to February 2020. News was beginning to circulate about a mysterious virus emerging from China. I had just left New York City and returned to my favorite little village in Atlanta: Buckhead. (Cue Welcome to Atlanta.) I came back with every intention of reacquainting myself with my favorite bougie borough — the food, the lifestyle, the trees, the fashion, the people. I was excited to rediscover it all. But more importantly, I came home to support my father, who had mysteriously fallen from the third floor of a parking garage. Then the world stopped. Suddenly, I wasn’t just hopelessly single — I was isolated. Or, as we all began to call it, self-quarantined. One tragedy had nothing to do with the other, yet they both weighed heavily on my spirit. The timing was almost laughably ironic. But in hindsight, it was also divine. With ...
