A famous singer once sang, “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.”
Frank Sinatra delivered these words in “Theme from New York, New York,” in 1978, which was echoed decades later in a soulful adaptation by JAY-Z and Alicia Keys—a testament to the big city’s timeless pulse and promise.
The idea of making it in New York City became more than just a lyric; it was my quiet mantra during the time I lived there. It gave me confidence when I didn’t always feel it and pushed me to show up as a professional, creative, and woman on a mission, determined to build something real.
However, even with good friends, small wins, and a life that looked full on the outside, burnout still found me, eventually. The daily grind, constant motion, and quiet feelings of lack piled up slowly, and I began to wonder if I belonged.
Why I moved to New York City
I moved to New York in 2013, after first studying fashion design and marketing in Atlanta and then completing my Master of Fine Arts in Journalism in California in 2012.
I intended to break into the editorial world in New York. But when opportunities didn’t materialize, I pivoted into digital marketing and e-commerce, contributing to campaigns across print and digital channels in the fashion and retail space.
I showed up day after day, and week after week for years. My calendar was filled with deadlines, meetings, side projects, and after-work events. To the outside world, I was thriving.
However, each new day in New York began to feel like a small war.
The big city wore me down
The battle could be choosing between two unreliable train lines from my Harlem apartment, or dodging early morning catcallers on my walk to the station. Still, even amid chaos, there were small moments of light.
On good days, the sunrise seeped into my apartment, lifting my spirits. By the end of the day, though, the delays, crowds, and the endless grind ran me ragged.
I thought getting my own space would help. So, after three years of living in a tiny shoebox of a room in a five-floor walk-up with two other roommates, I took a second job as a fashion marketing professor to afford my own space.
However, the 9 to 5 grind in my corporate role, followed by the 6 to 10 side hustle, only drained me more. There’s a fine line between creative joy and depletion. After years of juggling two jobs, my body and mind demanded rest.
Plus, I’d been in my corporate role for five years with little opportunity for real growth or advancement.
In the end, I realized that the city that never sleeps offers little room to breathe, especially when you feel overworked, underpaid, and no longer valued in the place you thought you could grow.
A two-and-a-half-week sabbatical and trips abroad couldn’t reset me. Even the thrill of Fashion Week, my favorite time of year, faded.
So I left. I needed warmth, not just in climate, but in my spirit.
Restarting in Atlanta was a challenge
I returned to Atlanta in the spring of 2019, but it wasn’t how I’d remembered. I was nostalgic for the glam of Buckhead, the offbeat charm of Little Five Points, and the creative flavor of the Westside. But the streets had shifted. The beat of the city had changed, more polished in some places, more tense in others, but still rang true for artists, creatives, musicians, and the like.
Even with the rapid development and the strange sense of disconnect, I was still grateful. Grateful for a glimpse of something that once felt like mine. Maybe it was the promise of renewal. Or maybe the hope of tapping into a different kind of rhythm.
I took a job teaching fashion at my alma mater and continued virtually when the pandemic hit. I wanted more money and stability, though, so I took on second jobs.
I tried building something during the entrepreneurial boom of the pandemic, but my businesses didn’t take off. It felt like a never-ending cycle of letdowns.
I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming here. Corporate fashion roles had been limited even when I returned to Atlanta, and after years of searching, they felt almost nonexistent. Freelance gigs paid some bills, but I never felt like part of a real team. Even the full-time corporate roles I landed never felt fully steady or secure, and I often found myself biding time, holding on, waiting for the right opportunity to return to something more fulfilling and more creative. Somewhere that felt like me again. Somewhere like New York.
Still, I’ve learned to find joy in smaller things
I’ve leaned on family, sought therapy, and gotten into fitness. I focused on my nutrition, building on the holistic lifestyle I’d embraced in New York.
I further deepened my commitment to health and wellness by studying supplements and minerals, and took pride in my physical growth through consistent weight training and strength work at the gym.
I began healing and growing more, exploring mindfulness on a deeper level by walking, reading, journaling, and at times simply sitting still to listen to my thoughts.
Atlanta doesn’t match New York’s energy, but it offers slower moments, and sometimes, that’s what I need. I’ve found places to love here, but I find myself wondering more and more: What’s next? Why has it been so hard? How much longer will I bide my time? And is New York truly on the horizon?
Read the full article here
