West Coast, Not So Best Coast.

So, L.A. was a bust. Well, okay, not necessarily. Basically, I came to the conclusion that moving was an error. It was a decision based on emotions felt at a low point in my life. And after giving up my apartment, job prospects and personal relationships, I felt that the move was something I HAD to go through with. Something that was expected of me. Which is obviously where I went wrong. Oh, and going for absolutely no reason other than wanting to “wing it” was also not the brightest idea. My delusions of grandeur got way too big, even for me.

I guess I came to my LOST-esque WE HAVE TO GO BACK moment on day four of my 10-day road trip. I was emotional, crying every hour on the hour and not at all excited for what was ahead. My anxiety was the opposite of “on fleek.” I was miserable. My uncle (aka my road trip partner) was extremely concerned and even offered to turn around once we hit Austin. But I’m a stubborn baby bitch and I decided to forge ahead. After driving through the New Mexico desert with no service or other voices clouding my judgment, I realized that I belonged back in Miami.

Now, it’s a matter of starting over. Rebuilding. Getting back to “the old me.” Pero like a way better version of the old me. One that doesn’t make impulsive decisions. One that doesn’t pay attention to other people’s expectations. One that doesn’t drown in negative feels.

But, every experience comes with a major lesson. And this faux move made me so damn thankful for everything I have. For friends and family that ride or die with me and my unique brand of cray cray. And for this magical, beautiful city that is more than just my home. It’s my heart.

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