Trail of Turquoise

My best friend introduced me to the white sands, swaying palm trees and turquoise waters of Florida when I was 13 years old.

It was on a sweltering August day that my plane touched down with a thud.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and thought to myself "I made it!".  It's all I could do not to clap my hands and shout in glee, like the child I was trying so desperately not to be. 

As passengers began to spring to life, I stuffed my camera filled with prized images of clouds (it was my first flight, give a kid a break) into my carry-on and with all the strength my tiny frame and oversized ego could muster, dragged my loot toward the exit.

After being collected by my best friend's family at baggage claim, we made our way outside.  It was within a few steps and one upward glance that I was greeted by two things I had been anticipating for some time: The majestic sight of my very first palm tree and the wall of humidity I thought I might have to scale in order to get to the parking lot.

For that moment, I stood there, giddy with excitement and without doubt, head-over-heels in teenage love.

As my years and story unfolded, my love affair with Florida never faded. There was no doubt that Florida and I were in a long-term, long-distance relationship.  No matter where my wanderlust had taken me, I always found a way to make it back.  My time was split, a weekend here, a week there, always pining for the next visit. Always flirting with the idea of moving there "next". 

The Universe, as always, has an amazing way of working things out because somehow, some way "next" happened.  

Just a few short years ago I found myself in the position I had been eagerly awaiting.  I no longer had to rendezvous with my sweetheart.  It was time to commit.  

As a recovering commitment-phobe, I'm happy to report that I'm still swooning.  I mean, how could I possibly resist the year-round smell of dewy grass in the morning, the pure delight of looking up at the swaying palms as they dance and the overwhelming gratitude I feel while gazing out at the turquoise waters with as much awe and with as much love as when I first saw this place through sparkling teenage eyes?

You might be wondering what the moral of all this is, right?  What's the story?  What's the parting note? Well, that's an easy one...

True love lives and true love lasts, friends.  Don't let anyone tell you differently.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective, 

Curator for Bohemian Living, Owner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 

and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  

She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:

a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 

deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.