New Chapter in Florida
Journal Entry: A New Chapter in Tarpon Springs
The road to a new beginning is rarely a straight path, and ours has been a winding one, shadowed with both promise and frustration. From Zephyrhills, we ventured out, chasing a place to call home. Tarpon Springs greeted us first—a coastal gem draped in charm, its streets alive with the pulse of community and the faint whisper of sea air. One day’s drive, and I was captivated. The next, we ventured to Port Charlotte, only to find a hollow echo of strip malls and highways, a soulless sprawl reminiscent of South Carolina’s blandest corners. Disappointing, to say the least. Tarpon Springs won our hearts, its character a beacon in the fog of our search.
Finding a place to settle, though, was no gentle task. The hunt for a mobile home park felt like navigating a labyrinth of inflated prices and rigid rules. Some parks demanded $2,500 from October to March—do they think they’re Key West? Absurd. One park rejected us for lacking a driver’s license, a rule I later learned isn’t even required, per a Supreme Court ruling. But fighting that battle felt futile, like shouting into a storm. Then, as if fate parted the clouds, we found a park just five minutes from Tarpon Springs. A silver lining, indeed. It’s pricier than I’d hoped, but the trade-offs are worth it: a grocery store, post office, notary, and copy center all within a three-to-five-block stroll. The pool gleams invitingly, and the community buzzes with events—free food days, with Banana Split Day just two days away. We signed a six-month contract, a commitment that feels like the first firm step toward stability.
The move demanded more than just a new address. Back in Zephyrhills, we prepared to leave, a process heavy with letting go. I bought a car a few days ago—not my dream ride, but functional, a necessity while my husband makes his final trip to Oregon to retrieve our belongings from storage. No trailer this time, just the truck, which should lighten the load and the cost. We’re parting with a full-size safe and a heavy mid-century dresser, gifting them to a friend. The rest should fit, a pared-down collection of our life’s essentials.
Amid the chaos, technology turned traitor. My Outlook work email refuses to cooperate—no access from my phone or online. GoDaddy couldn’t crack the issue, so they escalated it to Microsoft on Friday, promising a 24–48-hour turnaround (weekends excluded, of course). It’s Tuesday now, and I’m still waiting, tethered to a hotspot from Verizon’s limited plan. The camp’s Wi-Fi is a feeble ghost, barely functional. Metro was suggested, but their $150 equipment fee and $45 monthly rate, with no returns if it flops, felt like a trap. Verizon Business came through instead—free equipment, $35 a month. A small victory in a week of hurdles.
Saying goodbye to Oregon was bittersweet. I sent farewells through the MLS to my fellow agents and to my database via KV Core, closing a chapter that shaped me. Now, I’m turning toward new horizons. The Florida MLS training on September 3rd looms, and I’m racing to complete my post-licensing education by then, hoping to be free of classes until 2027. My eye, irritated and worrisome, was thankfully not pink eye, per the doctor’s verdict—a relief that lifted a small weight.
Work is the next frontier. I updated my resume and handed out copies yesterday, targeting restaurants for a server role, where my eight years of experience can shine. I’m also eyeing bookkeeping positions at local accounting offices, leveraging my QuickBooks and Excel skills. Tarpon Springs feels like the right place to plant roots, its vibrancy a canvas for fresh starts.
As I write this, the weight of transition lingers, but so does the flicker of hope. Every challenge—be it a rejected application, a faulty email, or a lackluster town—has led us here, to a place brimming with possibility. Here’s to new beginnings, to Tarpon Springs, and to the promise of a life rebuilt, one step at a time.
As I pen this, the weight of transition lingers like a shadow, yet a spark of hope glows brighter still. Each hurdle—be it a rejected park application, a faltering email, or a town without soul—has guided us to Tarpon Springs, a place brimming with promise.
Join me as I carve out a fresh start, one step at a time.
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