A New Yorker in Florida for Hurricane Milton
I have lived in New York City for almost 15 years. I moved to NYC on a whim at 23. I wanted to live there, I was young, so I moved.
I figured I’d live there for a couple of years and then figure out what I wanted next. I had plans to travel the world and live in different places until I found where I wanted to put down roots.
Instead, five months after moving to NYC, I met a man who later became my husband, and we’ve been together for 14 years.
He is a born-and-bred New Yorker and had (and has) no plans to leave.
After living there for 10 years, people started telling me that I was a “real” New Yorker.
But I grew up in central Florida. I went to college at UF in Gainesville, my grandparents live in Ocala, and my parents live near Tampa. I was a Floridian through and through.
And every single year, hurricane season came and went. There were new storms each year. We’d batten down the hatches, bring everything inside, and then I’d smoke pot and drink a beer in the garage with my brothers while riding out the storm.
Some were worse than others. In 2004, Hurricane Charley wiped out Punta Gorda. Ian, Irma, Andrew, and Michael. The list, unfortunately, goes on.
