Ah, Florida. The sunshine state, the land of flip-flops, beach chairs and the sweet promise of endless summer. I packed up my life in Pennsylvania in 2018, where I’d endured snowstorms, icy roads and shoveling driveways every winter. I spent the next six years in North Carolina, where we only saw snow once, and it had melted by noon, but it got below freezing every winter, still. When my parents moved to Florida a few years back, I dreamt of palm trees, ocean breezes and never needing a coat again. So, in 2024, my little family and I said goodbye to the cold, gave away our winter jackets and in what I thought was a strategic move toward warmer days, made the move to Florida.
But here I am, in the middle of January, bundled up in a hoodie, my teeth chattering while I watch the ice and frost melt off my windshield as it defrosts in the morning. Was I bamboozled? Did God look at my move, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Oh, you wanted warmth, huh? Let’s see how you handle this Florida winter.”