We can’t change where the heart lies.

In June 2020, I drove away from the only place I’d ever felt at home.

You know the part in Dear Evan Hansen where Evan lies on the ground, looking up at the sky, waiting for someone to come and pick him up? And then later, he assures others he won’t let them feel that way: “when you’re broken on the ground, you will be found.”

I came to Florida in 2016 with a lot of uncertainty and a heap of unresolved mental health issues. I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be. During the four years of college, I rose and fell, I found my path to recovery, I found incredible mentors and I met friends who, at my lowest, gave me the lock code to their apartment and said “you’re not alone anymore. Come over whenever you want.”

To put it short: Florida found me. My time there healed me. It taught me what I love and who I am. It taught me what happiness looked like. It taught me about absolute loyalty and it brought me the most incredible chosen family.

Then I got a job in South Carolina, and I left a piece of my heart behind. The sunshine and the ocean and the nights under the stars. My people. My home. What was I without it?

I’ve spent the last two years trying to figure that out. I’ve created a life for myself in a place where I knew no one. After a fire, when you have to rebuild and you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. So I started to build from nothing.

I found so many people willing into take in a 24-year-old girl with no idea how to get along in the South. Hell, the first person to actually sit down and talk with me was the barista at my favorite coffee shop. I’ll never forget the kindness the crew there offered me.

My coworkers, my boss who told me I could call whenever I needed, my college mentors who told me to push through and not to give up yet, all these people took me under their wing.

I found so many big sisters and mother figures, people who called my mom and told her not to worry because they had my back.

I found all of this kindness, more than I could ever hold. I found all this strength inside of myself, to build this life, to get through those first few weeks in bleakest loneliness I’ve ever felt. To push through the nights I couldn’t be with my family when they needed me and I was across the country. To keep my chin up. To try, and try, and try, because I had no other option.

But we can’t change where the heart lies. And that part of my heart I left behind? It stayed with the people who loved me and texted me every day and scrolled through plane tickets when I was at my worst, ready to come at a minute’s notice. It stayed with the people who told me that if I ended up with nowhere to spend the holidays, they’d never have let me be alone. I never let go of long drives along the ocean, or the sunshine, or the blistering heat summer that most people hate. I missed Gainesville, and Cocoa, and Jupiter, and St. Pete, and Tampa, and Dunedin, and Venice, and even Miami (lol).

When I drove away that day in 2020, I have a crystal-clear memory of listening to Noah Kehan’s “Young Blood.” The song goes: “Start your life in the middle of the jungle, you young blood. Rub your eyes, be surprised, stay hungry, stay alive, try to lose all of your money.” It felt like a mission. I started my life in the middle of the jungle. I certainly lost all my money a few times. And I’m certainly still alive, and still hungry.

So, TL;DR: I learned more than I could have ever expected in South Carolina. I’m so, so thankful for my time here.

But it’s time to go chase that missing piece, and I cannot wait. My next job will be in Jacksonville. They say the sun always rises again. I’m ready for the next sunrise in my life. And I hope it’s over the ocean.

It’s time to go home.