Happy 289th Birthday, Augusta, GA: June 14, 1736 – 2025

Some cities are just where you’re from. But Augusta, Georgia? She raised me.

I was born at Old University Hospital. Later, both of my babies were born at University too. We lived in 30904 for years—back when life was full of diapers, dinners, driveway chalk, and dreams I hadn’t spoken out loud yet. We went to church downtown. Sent our kids to schools where the teachers knew our names. Walked the Riverwalk. Waited behind the train on 12th Street more times than I can count.

This isn’t just my hometown. It’s my heartbeat.

If you know, you know. The 12th Street train has interrupted more schedules, more conversations, and more Monday mornings than I care to admit. And yet, it’s such a part of the rhythm here, you almost miss it when it’s not there. Augusta teaches you how to slow down. Even when you don’t want to.

Three tickets each ride. And the kind of joy money can’t buy. We didn’t just go to the James H. Drew Fair—we made memories there. It was tradition. It was lightbulbs and popcorn and giggles that echoed through generations. Augusta gave me that.

This was back when the fair was still in Augusta. Not Columbia County. Not down the highway. Right here. Local. Familiar. Ours. Three generations, side by side, taking it all in like we had all the time in the world. These are the moments that still bring tears to my eyes when I see them printed and framed.

Augusta doesn’t just hold history. It holds soul. The Godfather of Soul was born here, and this arena still feels electric. If these bricks could talk, they’d tell stories of concerts, graduations, church services, community rallies, and more. We don’t just visit this arena. We gather here. We celebrate here. We belong here.

This was 17-year-old me. Big bangs. Bigger dreams. I didn’t know yet what I would build. I didn’t know yet how this city would become the backdrop to some of the most defining moments of my life. But I knew it mattered. The Riverwalk didn’t just hold the view. It held my future.

That’s where I learned how to lead. How to listen. How to step up when it counted and hold space when someone else needed to shine. We were just teenagers trying to figure it all out. But we were also being formed. That group, that church, those early years—they were training grounds for the woman I am today.

One of the most powerful things I’ve ever done in this city was getting to work behind the scenes of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition when it came to Augusta. The joy. The teamwork. The hard hats and huddles. I knew I wanted to make an impact in my city—and this was a big, bold, beautiful taste of what that could feel like.

This wasn’t about TV. It was about transformation. We rallied around a local family, rolled up our sleeves, and poured out our hearts. I’ve never been prouder of what community can do when it comes together for something bigger than any one of us.

Yep. That’s me. Big grin, bad lighting, and the kind of proud that makes you laugh and cry at the same time. When your city shows up for you, you show up right back. Getting to be a part of something that made the front page of the Augusta Chronicle? A full-circle moment for this hometown girl.

Augusta taught me something most leadership books don’t say out loud. That slow trains can be sacred pauses. That community isn’t convenience—it’s commitment. That leadership starts long before the spotlight ever hits.

I didn’t know I was learning how to lead when I was volunteering at church or waiting in the pick-up line or watching my neighbors rebuild a home on national TV. But I was. This city trained me in the kind of leadership that’s rooted, not rushed. Steady. Local. Lasting.

Because your community is what you make of it—after it makes you.

Happy 289th, Augusta. You’re not just where I’m from. You’re who I became.

Journal Prompts:

What hometown value still shows up in how you lead today?
What “slow train moment” in your life felt like an interruption but ended up growing you?
Where in your current life are you being invited to lead from your roots—not just your résumé?