"Don't be too proud."

I was rolling my car down the driveway. Slowly inching forward towards my new home. The fact that my mother was calmly walking beside my car provided me with enough cool restraint to keep me from burning my tires bald and blaring my horn as I tore out of Chapel Hill at 6am. I knew what was coming next… right on key:

“Don’t be too proud”

During the week prior to my departure I had become desensitized to receiving advice in the form of stories relating to big and little fish in varied sizes of ponds, puddles, rivers, and canals. So a little straight talk from Mom was actually refreshing. I took heed of those words and sped off in an excited state. In my mind I believed I knew exactly where I was headed: a paradise of opportunity, and most importantly beautiful women. Not to mention I had a swanky condo waiting for me to inhabit. It was going to be hard not to be proud, it seemed I had it made, big Spanish fish in a big American pond.

Upon arrival I stormed the lobby of my new building, but immediately stumbled on the first assessment of my pride. The concierge at my building had not been informed that she was to let me in my new home, and I was left in the lobby to try and figure out a way to contact my family in Spain. Finally I got in touch with a recent family acquisition via marriage, my Australian cousin Nick. Somehow he convinced the stern lady to hand me the master key to the building, and I gained entry to my new bachelor pad on the 7th floor of a building fittingly named The View. For a split second my pride had been put in check, but standing there on my own private balcony looking over the Buckhead, Midtown, and Atlanta skyline was doing wonders to regenerate the cocky confidence and swagger with which I had walked into the lobby of my new estate. I held the key to the building and at that moment I could have accessed any unit on the property, I was King.

The vertigo caused by the view from my balcony provided me with a short adrenaline rush. In my mind a mélange of imaginative flash forwards combined with illusions of grandeur caused daydreams of what my condo was to become. Champagne fountains and a brass pole dangling with women served to connect both the planes of my hard wood floor and my twelve-foot tall ceiling. These living quarters had tons of potential.

After I came back to terms with my reality, which at the time only included a queen size mattress on the floor, I went downstairs to drive my “fancy” new Acura TSX into the covered parking deck. It was in this brightly lit parking structure that I began to question where I was. As I slowly inched my car past the rebar lined concrete columns that held the massive weight of the building, I was treated to a first class car show: Two Lamborghini’s, One Ferrari, four Bentley’s, one Rolls Royce, and a poor little Aston Martin were outshining a measly community of Porsches, BMW’s, Mercedes, and one rare Audi. I added a taste of Asian feng shui flair to the mix with my little Japanese four-banger.

It was at that moment in time that I came to the realization that the dreams I had earlier while overlooking my new city were a reality for some of my neighbors. I called my cousin Nick:

“Who the hell are my new neighbors!?”

Turns out I live with a handful of professional athletes, and some very important business people. Good news for me, I am trying to network at all cost, but how do I go about involving myself with this caliber of person?

My imagination shut down. No more flash forwards. I am now reliving the past: I can once again feel the cotton mouth caused by my early mourning coffee as I prepared to ship off on my new journey. The sound of my mother’s voice ferociously vibrates in my inner ear.

“Don’t be too proud.”

Later that night, as I was resting on the same trustworthy mattress that had together with a tall bed frame induced crazy dreams during my college experience I called my mother. I informed her of all the happenings of my first day in the city. At the conversation's closing I asked her:

“Do you really think I am too proud?”

Her response was overly candid, probably due to the fact that it was late, and tiered people have trouble with sugarcoating. The verdict was: “YES”. Her words echoed through my empty apartment via speakerphone.

Together with my mattress I rested, left alone with my horizontal thoughts, thinking and laying about 10 inches off the floor. My mattress and I had once rested high above the ground in command of our space, on a stately suede lined wooden frame. Now we were reduced to laying on the floor. In an attempt to steer my thoughts from the unconstructive direction in which they were headed I took a look out of my bedroom window. The giant building lined with neon florescent lights vastly outshone me, and I realized how small I was. I sat back down, the high ceilings felt so out of reach.

I stepped outside for some fresh air. Hanging my head over the railing of my terrace I come to the realization: “I’m seven stories above ground.” I pick my head up. Vertigo kicks in, and my thoughts changed from horizontal to vertical. I felt as tall as the skyline that surrounded me. I finally gained a first hand perspective on all the fish and pond analogies that people had been force feeding me throughout the summer.

After a long period of meditating on the experiences I had gathered during my first day I felt enough peace of mind to head back to bed. Laying on the floor once again, I was feeling confident that my pride would not get in the way of my sleep that night. The late night high-rise balcony reflection had given me a better understanding of what my mother had told me on my way out that morning. I was determined not to let my pride get in the way of my being a little fish in a big pond. I slept well that night. Embracing the fact that even though I was brushing against the floor, I also was seven stories above the skyline.