In August 2006 my best friend and I stuffed my car with clothes and made the fifteen-hour drive to Miami. For the first week (hell, the first year), I was scared to drive in Miami, to make that fear-inducing left turn from 27th Ave onto US1.
Eight years later and I’m honking and running yellow lights with the best of ‘em (don’t tell my Dad). Exactly eight years later, my car is packed again and I’m heading home.
The thing is, home has a different meaning to me now. Virginia is my home, where my family and many friends are, where I was born and raised, where I want to raise my children. But Miami is also my home.
Miami is the second place I grew up. Not where I learned to swim or ride a bike, or attended high school (although I can tick off all of the names of the schools here and probably know someone you went to school with, bro). But in Miami, I grew up.