So as I mentioned on Friday, my mom and I are taking a little trip to Charleston, S.C., soon, and I am so excited I could squeal. So far the only thing on the docket is dinner at Husk the night we arrive, and my mouth is already watering. I’ve also been poring over Olivia’s beautiful blog and her gorgeous photographs of Charleston, like the one above.
It’s funny: During my senior year of college, everyone I met asked me where I wanted to live after graduation, and my response was always three words, spoken without hesitation: “New York City.” But one day I gave that same response to a good friend, who in turn cocked his head, looked directly at me, and replied, “You know, I don’t see you in New York. I see you somewhere in the South, somewhere like Charleston.”
My 22-year-old, NYC-loving heart was insulted by that—did he not think I could make it in the city?!—and refused to acknowledge the idea that maybe New York really wasn’t the right place for me. I’m pretty sure I tossed my ponytail and responded with a haughty, “No way! Charleston? Never.”
Of course, these days—after spending almost seven years in Sarasota, which is not exactly the Deep South (too many snowbirds/transplants) but which is definitely not the Northeast—I’ve changed my tune, and I often think of that little exchange between my friend and me. While I’m still not sure Florida is my home for the long haul, I know that my desire to live in NYC has passed*, and I’ve come to really enjoy living in the part of the country that I do. I love Sarasota; I’d also move to Savannah or Charleston or New Orleans in a heartbeat. Turns out I really do like abundant sunshine and Southern accents. Who knew?
*This is, of course, provided that Martha Stewart Omnimedia or Bon Appetit magazine don’t come a-knockin’. (Call me if you want to, Martha. We’re best friends, remember?)
Photo by Olivia