Author: Where My Feet Are

I arrived in Miami on the afternoon of Saturday January 2nd after stopping for the night in Florence, SC- about halfway through my 24 hour drive.

The neighborhood and AirBnB itself felt much more run down and a bit less sparkly than the pictures on the posting.  In an effort to check both my bubbling anxiety and my white privilege, I took some deep breaths and reminded myself that this trip is supposed to be about challenging myself and that won’t always be sparkly. I ordered Thai food and wine (and groceries, but they felt less important in the moment) and watched an episode of Survivor; throughout quarantine I’ve been obsessed with working my way through all of the seasons (don’t judge me).

I slowly unpacked after eating but I get this intense need to escape as a symptom of my anxiety- it’s part of the Fight or Flight Response that my nervous system automatically triggers but when I am not actually being chased by a wild bear (why we have this response in our DNA)  it really doesn’t feel helpful.  While my nervous system was screaming, “don’t unpack- keep it all ready to go” -I took some deep breaths and reminded myself that these feelings aren’t accurate and that it was ok to unpack and stay.

The next morning I woke up early and headed to North Miami Beach. The beach was basically empty; there were 2 other people there and we were all more than 20 feet from each other. The beach has always been my happy place; sometimes I wonder if as an Aries (a Fire Sign) I need water to balance and ground me.  I sat and watched the waves, Facetimed by mom because hell, it was 80 degrees in January and I was on the beach (!), and then went for a swim. It was so cathartic to feel like I was washing off the long car ride and the anxious arrival and starting fresh.  I didn’t stay long but I did grab breakfast to-go from a delicious vegan place called Holi Vegan Kitchen http://holivegankitchen.com (I am allergic to eggs and gluten so for breakfast vegan is the way to go).  I had the best tofu scramble and a smoothie and was ready to face my day.

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After settling in and making food for the week I headed back to the beach with my headphones, journal, and some rosé wine. I absolutely love New Years as a time to reflect, journal, manifest, and set intentions.  Just to clarify, by intentions I do not mean set weight loss or workout goals- as a therapist I specialize in Eating Disorders and feel like it is important to note that diet culture is not part of this process for me. 

A public figure and yoga teacher I follow on instagram records a podcast each New Year”s to guide people in the process of letting go of the year that has just passed and to manifest for the year ahead. I have done this several years in a row and highly recommend it to anyone interested https://www.yogagirl.com/podcast/yoga-girl-daily/the-last-intention-of-2020. She actually breaks it into 2 episodes this year because 2020 was such a beast.  I reflected on 2020 and to quote from the podcast “2020- Thank you & fuck you.  I release you…”  Then I dove into manifesting for 2021. 

By the end of the podcast she guides you to identify your intention, your affirmation, and your word for 2021 and I leave you with mine

My Intention:

To believe in myself.

My Affirmation:

I believe in myself. I am meeting my own needs.

My Word:

Belief.

It feels important to me to talk about how I am protecting myself and others on this trip. I take this pandemic extremely seriously and I’ve gone back and forth many times about whether or not to cancel my trip or push it back; even this week with the threat of new strains I have had doubts and considered going back to Massachusetts but each time I come back to the same conclusion, to continue on. 

From March until December I self quarantined at my apartment in Boston; only leaving to go on walks or to the grocery store or to spend time with the few people in my pod when it was safe to do so. At the beginning of quarantine I spent over 50 days without seeing anyone; without any physical contact with another human. It was extremely lonely. 

As I’ve planned this trip I have continue to come back to the question “what is the difference between being alone in Boston or alone in Miami” if I am taking all the same precautions; masking up everywhere I go, sanitizing the Air BnBs when I arrive, ordering groceries the first 2 weeks, and having outdoor adventures where I can maintain distance. 

I am committed to continue to reevaluate the situation as I go and if it is ever the best decision to return home, whether to discontinue the trip or get the vaccine when it is available to me, that I will do so. 

It is hard to not see all the friends and acquaintances that live in the places I visit. It is hard to not go try all the delicious restaurants and workout classes of fitness instructors I’ve followed for years on Instagram who’s cities I’m in but all of these decisions are worth it and the trip still feels worth it. It is harder to sit at home in Boston feeling like my life is passing me by; feeling like it will be years before dating is possible again and that I may never get to be a mom. This trip is about living life to the fullest even if the fullest is a whole lot different than imagined. 

So if you see my mask-less face pictures know that I just took it off and hooked it on my camera tripod to freeze a memory in time before putting it right back on again.

Leaving Boston was harder than I anticipated.  I woke up on New Year’s Day at 5am after a fitful night of sleep and loaded up my car.  I stood in the kitchen of my amazing single woman apartment in South Boston and placed my keys on the counter.  I walked out onto my porch in the pitch black and stared out at the harbor; this porch had been a place to hang out with friends and family, read for hours, and a place of respite during the many long months I spent quarantine with my cat Benny.  I couldn’t believe I was giving this up; the reality was sinking in.

I walked back in the house with tears streaming down my face, picked Benny up, and walked through each room saying goodbye.  I kept repeating out loud “I did it.”  As a therapist starting out I spent the better part of a decade living with multiple roommates barely getting by.  I never dreamed I would get to a place in my career that I could afford my own place.  This apartment had meant everything to me.  I cried looking at the desk in my office and remembering back to March sitting there laying off 35 people on my team due to COVID; the hardest day of my professional life.  I cried closing the door for the last time and headed out to my car.

As I was driving down my street for the last time that I could call it my street I remembered a Brene Brown podcast I had listened to a few days earlier.  In the podcast she references a movie about sliding doors and different paths each person’s life can take. Through my tears I turned to Benny and repeated several times, “This is our sliding door.”