In 2020, I packed up my life and moved to Florida. The first couple of years, I found myself in Orlando—bright lights, theme parks, and more traffic than I ever imagined. It was more than a small-town guy from Michigan could take at times. Growing up in a little town, I was used to neighbors knowing each other's names, not being stuck on I-4 for hours with people who seemed like they were competing in a demolition derby.
Then came a rent hike, and with it, a job transfer offer to Largo. I jumped at the chance. I'd been to the area before—a good friend of mine had moved from Buffalo to Dunedin years earlier, and I’ll never forget that first visit. There was something different in the air, something I hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
The first thing that struck me was the vibe. People here were laid-back, easy-going—friendly even. You know how rare that can feel sometimes, right? It wasn’t just Disney or franchise chains everywhere. No, in Dunedin, it was local shops, family-run restaurants, and that authentic small-town charm I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
And the water. Oh man, growing up in Michigan, being near the water was everything. I was out on the lakes as much as possible, but seeing the Gulf of Mexico for the first time? Looking out over the Gulf put me at peace in a way nothing in Orlando ever could. After two years of battling traffic, frustration, and the never-ending grind, I found myself watching the sunset over the Gulf—and I knew. I knew I was where I was meant to be. Honeymoon Island was like finding a hidden gem, a treasure just waiting for me to discover.
But you know, Florida’s got a way of reminding you who's in charge. Back in Michigan, I’ve seen my fair share of snowstorms, ice storms, even blizzards. But hurricanes? I had never experienced one until I moved to the coast. My initiation? Hurricane Ian. Let me tell you, I thought I was ready. Stocked up on supplies, braced myself for the worst, even expected to come back to nothing but rubble. At the last minute, Ian shifted south and devastated Fort Myers Beach instead, but it was only a matter of time before I met my first real test.
That test came when Hurricane Helene screamed past us, and I stayed put. I thought, “I’ve got this. I’m ready.” Halfway through, when the carport roof started lifting up and the wind howled so fiercely it took out the outdoor ceiling fan, I thought, “Maybe I didn’t make the right move after all.”
Next one I got to meet was Little Milton. Yes, for this one I decided to move inland. The only problem was we moved inland but closer to the eye. Damn, I had never felt wind like that in my life. The pressure outside was like something out of a nightmare, and for the first time, I questioned if the roof would stay on after the pressure blew off the attic door. In that moment, I gained a deep respect for Mother Nature and her power. It’s one thing to read about hurricanes or watch them on the news. It's a whole different story when you're in the middle of it. It was a long, dark, scary night wondering which closet was the safest.
But there’s something I also learned that day: Floridians are tough. Tough as steel. We’ve got all kinds of people down here—interesting ones, for sure—but we’re resilient. We take the hits, we get knocked down, but guess what? We get back up. Every. Single. Time.
Milton, oh Milton, you might’ve knocked us down for a minute or maybe two, but you better believe we’re getting back up. We’re dusting ourselves off and getting back to work. Building a better, stronger, brighter Florida than you’ve ever seen before. Because that’s what we do.
We are Floridians. And we are Florida.
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