my name is Erica. I live in Atlanta.


It’s that time of year again. Winter. Florida girls (especially those of us who spent two-thirds of their life without experiencing the existence of snow) revere winter as unreality. I am still in disbelief that people choose to live in cold climates. Thank goodness Georgia is mild and I can get by with quick trips back to the motherland and daydream about visiting my sister in Hawaii. She’s a smart one, my sister. Why doesn’t everyone move to Hawaii? How to beat the winter blues? Lots of Elvis in Hawaii movies and fare alerts on Kayak set to Honolulu. 

Winter is in full effect. Again. I wish the good Lord would help my brain, body and heart understand cold. Can’t shake my Florida blood and bones. Neither can my sister Amy who refuses to leave Hawaii in fear of winter. I don’t blame her. It’s been below thirty degrees in Atlanta this week.

I remember the last winter I lived in New York, it took every ounce of initiative inside of me to leave my apartment and get on the train. I went as far as to play nothing but warm reggae music and rub myself down with cocoa butter in the mornings to brave the outside. I headed straight to Los Angeles for my next four winters.

Regardless of any and all negativity coming from my intense hatred for the cold, I’m trying to remain hopeful. Full of love, light and grace for the new year ahead. Mortality is easy to forget when demands are placed so high we become blind to what our heart aches for.