There are moments in life you think you’re prepared for. You think you’ve braced, planned, steeled your heart. And then the moment comes, and your chest just… drops.

Losing Sadie did that to me.

I knew I couldn’t stay in Florida after, at least not by myself right away. I couldn’t get up and do our morning coffee on the deck. I stared at her grass still on the patio. The quiet wasn’t peaceful or grounding or reflective.

It was suffocating.

So I did what any emotionally responsible adult woman does: I boarded a plane.

Straight to San Diego and into the arms of my girlfriends, the kind of girlfriends who don’t require backstory. They take one look at your face and go, “Okay. Shoes off. Hug first. Wine second.”

They let me cry repeatedly and unpredictably, and they never once tried to tidy it up.

And then, because they are women of action, they moved to Phase Two:

Operation: Get Back On the Market.

So there we were:

Taking the train to Encinitas one day, Liberty Station the next, walking Seaport Village on another, all while debating what absolutely had to be in my profile.

Writing a dating bio is basically an emotional escape room puzzle. You’re trying to seem interesting, charming, witty, emotionally available, and also like you definitely don’t take yourself too seriously… all in about three sentences. Meanwhile your brain is like: Just write “I like tacos” and run.

We were practically running a mobile creative agency across the San Diego coastline.

And yes, there were profile photo photoshoots.

Beach photos, city photos, and the obligatory full-body shots because apparently the human imagination has gone extinct.

Candid laughing shots that were not candid.

“Walking into the ocean with purpose” shots.

One photo where I look like I am auditioning to be the face of a probiotic.

But eventually, we crafted a profile that said:

Fun. Warm. Knows who she is. Possibly flirty. May or may not cry at commercials with dogs.

And then came the swiping.

If you have not swiped on Bumble with two girlfriends narrating every profile like a wildlife documentary… you haven’t lived.

We developed a system:

Swipe Left for:

• Men holding fish (sir… why).

• Men whose only personality trait is “lifting.”

• Men whose selfies appear to have been taken from the floor? (Do I really need to see your nostrils?)

• Men whose profiles say only: “Ask.”

Swipe Right was… rare.

But one slipped through.

He was normal.

Smiled with his eyes.

Appeared to own real furniture.

So when I got home to Florida, in between unpacking and then immediately repacking to escape the quiet that still felt like a weighted blanket soaked in grief, I kept chatting with him.

And eventually, we met for a drink.

He left the date convinced we were a match. Not just a match, a match to be repeated. He said, “Let’s do this again. And again.”

And I thought, Oh sweetheart… no.

There is no manual for dating diplomacy. No elegant way to say, “I do not feel romantic chemistry, but I genuinely hope wonderful things unfold for you.”

So, I’m back in Florida again.

The quiet is still here, but it doesn’t swallow me whole anymore.

I haven’t found my full rhythm yet, but I’m finding steps.

I’ve made it to more Pilates classes.

I’m still swiping mostly left, with a few rights.

And I’ve thrown myself back into work, partly because I love leading and building… and partly because spreadsheets do not trigger emotions.

I’m not “healed.”

I’m not “reborn.”

I’m not waking up journaling affirmations while doing sunrise breathwork on a balcony.

I’m just taking small steps.

Trying things.

Meeting people.

Opening the window a little at a time.

I think Sadie would be proud of that.

Proud of me choosing forward, even when it’s messy.

Proud of the love I still carry.

Proud of the woman learning to live in her own quiet.

So for now, I’m stepping into the next chapter, not gracefully, more like a baby giraffe on a tile floor, but forward is forward.