Today’s writing challenge is about loss and at first I was stumped. What do I want to write about? I don’t really want to go down the path of lost friendships because they weren’t lost. Either I or the other person walked away. I don’t want to talk about death because it felt a little cliche. Loss of opportunity? Again, who cares.
But then it struck me. My whole story of my journey to South Florida was based out of loss, and as a result I have realized the healing power of my own strength and adaptability.
People often ask why I moved to Miami in the first place. You see, I grew up in North Carolina, and went to college in Charleston, SC. In my senior year, I met a guy and fell head over heels. He was not my first boyfriend, nor was he my first serious boyfriend, but he was the first person that I really, truly loved. When we graduated, we stuck around while we tried to figure out our life plans together. Then he left Charleston and we kept a long-distance relationship. Even in our moments apart, I remember being so happy that I felt like my entire being was filled with the warm morning sunlight on a perfect beach day.
But of course it didn’t work out. We broke up on our way back from a trip to Atlanta (fun fact, this was the second time I broke up with someone on that drive) and I was devastated. Heart-broken. I would drive around by myself, listening to Ryan Adams albums and feeling so desperately alone.
Then I started to feel trapped. Trapped by my loneliness, by not having a real job, by North Carolina. My nomadic roots started to scream that it was time to get out, to go anywhere, to do anything other than what I was doing. It was time for action, not for pity parties.
So I started looking for jobs in Miami, Boston, California and Europe. I took the first job that was offered to me, drove down to Miami, picked an apartment and a few weeks later, I was a South Beach resident.
This lead to another loss which took me down a completely different path, but that’s a story for another time…