2,800 miles, a trunk full of dreams, and one dedicated dog later, I’ve officially arrived in Florida.

I dropped my sister at the airport this afternoon, and just like that, I’m solo. (Well, Sadie’s still here, supervising.) I landed at the Golf Club Bar & Grill for an early dinner and a moment to take in this pivotal week.

After countless playlists, a few sketchy detours courtesy of the Colonel’s route choices, and more “are we there yet?” moments than Sadie cares to admit, we’ve made it. Home… or at least the start of it.

The cross-country journey is officially behind us. I’ve landed, keys in hand and boxes (somewhat) unpacked, many thanks to my sister. My new apartment is echoing a little…turns out a mattress, a coffee pot, and a dog bed don’t exactly qualify as “fully furnished”, but we’re in, and we’re not homeless. That’s a win.

Sadie has tested lounging spots on various areas of the floors and rugs and claimed every sunlit corner as her own. I’ve officially survived my first week in Florida which, naturally, wasn’t exactly a slow roll. Within days of arriving, I jumped headfirst into our company two day onsite Leadership Summit. It was a whirlwind of strategy sessions, meetings, and hallway catch-ups, all while my first Florida thunderstorm rolled in behind me. The thunder literally shook the windows, and the lightning put on a show like Mother Nature was trying to outshine the leadership team.

It’s been a week of firsts: first Florida sunrise walk with Sadie, first drive down Interstate 1 on the Atlantic coast, and the first time it truly hit me, this is real.

One major adjustment? Potty walks. Back home, Sadie ruled her backyard kingdom, coming and going through her doggie door like the independent queen she is. Now? Every bathroom break is a leashed, scheduled outing and while Sadie seems to be loving the extra walks, fresh smells, and attention from passersby, I’m the one still adjusting. Florida humidity before coffee is one thing. Daily poop bag duty? That’s another. I swear I spend half my day with a leash in one hand and a bag of “treasure” in the other, wondering how this became my new normal.

Also: let’s talk about mornings. I’m crawling out of bed half-conscious, trying to blink away the blur and convince my eyes to actually focus, while blindly reaching for something, anything more appropriate than my minimal slerping attire in the heat. I’m pretty sure management wouldn’t love that look, and I doubt the neighbors signed up for that kind of show before 7 a.m. If I don’t figure out how to make bedhead and panic-dressing look “intentionally boho,” my solo life is going to stay that way. Thankfully, Sadie? Always camera-ready.

One month after closing escrow on the West Coast, I’m beginning to settle into something that feels like a new chapter, or at least the prologue. It’s not without its mess: cardboard chaos, misplaced essentials, and the occasional meltdown over furniture assembly. But with each box unpacked and each small routine that takes hold, I feel the weight lifting one checked box, one deep breath at a time. I’ve been flirting with this future for a while now… and slowly, she’s becoming something real. Something mine.