While organizing I came across just shy of 15 journals, I admittedly have a problem, and I found something I had posted in a blog a couple of years ago. Here it is again with some minor edits:
Why I Left Paradise
I was born and raised in Miami, but today I live in New England (that’s a 1400 mile and 3 layers of clothing change) and the number one question I get asked ALL the time is:
“WHY would you EVER leave Miami to move up here?”
Well I don’t have a short answer to that. You see I was young (19) when I made my initial decision to move here after attending an accelerated program at Smith College via the Honors College I was attending in my hometown (boy did I ROYALLY screw that up! I was back in Miami soon enough).
Life happened and I tried the move again at 21. That did not last very long either. A couple of months later I was back in the sunshine state and quickly found out I was with child and facing single parenthood, so I did what I knew how to do best- RUN! (ps. while I’m editing this… I mean run metaphorically. No seriously, I don’t ever physically run. Unless parenthood forces me into being a supportive mother and I find myself doing 5ks with my kiddos. Two down, one to go. More on that in a later post.)
I, like many people (I was going to say young people, but I’ve encountered people of all ages with this common false thought), thought that the grass would be greener on the other side and so I ended up in New England- again. Pregnant. Alone. Trying to escape reality.
My son was born, and I was strongly starting to consider leaving the house dressed in bubble wrap because of all the “fall and get back up” situations I had encountered. Still through all these trials I learned that the grass isn’t greener on the other side, BUT it DOES turn green if you tend to it… no matter what side you’re on! (Bear with me on the cliché stuff guys I promise there is a takeaway somewhere in this post!)
At this point, the question for me no longer was “why did I leave paradise?” It was “why aren’t I going back?”
Simple. I couldn’t keep running. My child needed stability. The kind I never had. And come hell or high water, I was going to give him that.
Giving my son stability gave me strength. Strength that one needs in order to persevere. Perseverance is what keeps my grass green (also metaphorically guys, my lawn is shit…but one day I’m going to grow up and have the showcase lawn on the block…). And honestly, I no longer equate staying somewhere forever with stability because what I was running from wasn’t a physical space. It was a state of mind. It was emotions. It was fear of stagnation. I don’t run anymore. As hard and overbearing as all those things are, I now feel them (deeply because that’s what makes me, me). Face them. And move the fuck on with my life. Tending to my grass. Stable, in New England and wherever else destiny leads me.