Once upon a time, there was a decision that needed to be
made. Do I stay or do I go?
It was by the end of summer last year. I had just
arrived from the best experience of my life, a month long trip to Europe, to
find a letter of acceptance from the university I had applied to.
You’d think that piece of news would be the perfect ending
to such a memorable summer. But it wasn’t. First, I only had two-weeks-notice
to uproot my entire life- I needed to find a place to live, a car and money in a
matter of days. Second, I wasn’t as certain about the decision as I had hoped
to be.
I should have focused on all the amazing opportunities I
was gaining- a Master’s in what I had always wanted to study, a new city to
explore, new friends. But instead, I focused on everything I was leaving
behind- family, my childhood friendships, the island that had given birth to me
and I had loved my whole life. I wasn’t ready to let go.
I had a choice to make. Did I stay in the familiar
surroundings, where I felt safe and everything was predictable to a certain
point; or did I pack the essentials and take the biggest leap of faith ever?
I leapt.
It’s been seven months since then. Every now and then, I
cry in public –yes, in public- when suddenly I remember my mom’s cooking or
what it felt like to spend all day lying on the beach. But overall, I am glad I
pushed myself to do it. If I had stayed, even though I would have been
comfortable, I would have always wondered what life in Miami would have been
like.
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