The First Thing I Did When I Landed in Florida...

There’s something about touching down in Florida that feels like stepping into a sun-drenched vacation that FINALLY escaped the group chat. The Florida air is warm, and cozy-like, almost as if it's sacred. Now, it's humid, yes—but it's also healing like a much-cherished hug. While most people might rush to drop their bags, hit the beach, find the nearest seafood shack, or take a nap (because TUH!!!), I had just one thing in mind: water.

Not just any water—kayaking kind of water.

The first thing I did after landing wasn’t check in to a hotel or grab a bite to eat with my friends. I headed straight for water! I found the most scenic kayak spot that I could from my phone, I navigated myself there, slid into my kayak, and paddled my way to peace.

I mean... just imagine the chaos of booking a 3-week trip just a few weeks prior! My flabber was ghasted! But kayaking brought me back to reality. 'Tis my happy place. (One of 'em.)

There’s a rhythm in kayaking that my soul loves. It might be the dip of the paddle. The resistance of the current. The endless stretch of sky meeting boundless calm waters? Out on that water, it’s just God, my kayak, and me.

No pretense. No noise. Just presence.

At least that's how it normally is, but this time was different.

This time there were people. Humans, as I like to call 'em. And that was surprisingly fine by me. It was a great intro to what would be 3 full weeks of busy-ness and buzz running to and for, running into people I know.

Yup! Kayaking was needed to prepare my mind for my heart's longing for my people and theirs for me.

My people.
People you certainly wouldn't find out on the kayak in The-Middle-of-Nowhere, Florida.
I won’t lie to you—there’s a moment, every time that I kayak, when I look around and realize I’m the only one out there like me.
The only Black woman.
The only one with these curls tucked under my black baseball cap.
The only one with this skin kissed by both melanin and the Florida vacation sun.

Is it isolating? I've grown to love it. Is it lonely? I find it empowering!

I paddle away. Boldly. Joyfully. Like a beginner. Bumping into the water's edge like it was made just for me.

I paddle reverently. Because the water was made for me. It's also for anyone else who so longs for it. My ancestors crossed oceans—some by force, some by faith—and now I glide across still lakes, inlet channels and winding mangroves in search of my own freedom crossing. There, I find clarity. There, I bask in freedom and grow my joy.

Kayaking, is prayer for me. It's communion. It’s worship without witnesses.

And Florida? Florida is full of hidden water trails, secret springs, and buoyant bays that give way to what's easy and peace-filled within me. Every move of the waves feels like a prayer: “Thank You. Thank You. Thank You, Lord.”

So yes, the first thing I did in Florida was find water and wade into my kayak. Not to escape—but to make room. To reclaim joy, solitude, and my strength. To show up fully in a space where I’m rarely seen, and yet—deeply rooted.

If you’ve never kayaked as a form of self-care, sanctity, or revival, I urge you: try it. The water will hold you. The silence will teach you. And if you're the only one "out there" like you, let that be your power, not your pause.

Because visibility is radical.
And so is joy.

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