I Can See Clearly Now

It's funny how the timing of this world works.

Less than a week ago, I was on a bus back to my apartment, staring out at 2nd avenue, thinking to myself, "I am finally getting used to this place. I think I truly can make it until December."

Little did I know that just two days later I would receive a phone call that would rock my world, and I would need to return home very soon. 

You see, when I left back for the city at the end of winter break, I had decided I was quitting Florida cold turkey. Just when I would begin getting used to the city and the way of life there, I would come back to the country and become immensely confused with life.

Who am I? Where do I belong? Where is my home? I found myself calling New York my home to many people over Christmas, and they would give me condescending looks...

Many country songs have pondered the very question I've been rattling in my brain-- By taking the girl out of the honky tonk, is the honky tonk taken out of the girl?

According to my immense life experience-- I have found it depends on where the girl is at that very moment.

When I come back home, I feel like the movie Sweet Home Alabama is my life. 

I am one version of me in the city and I am a different version of me in the south. I wish I could morph those two people together but it's like oil and vinegar--they don't mix. 

So I made a game plan in January to figure this crap out. I was bound and determined to find myself no matter what it took. I would stop social media, and stay a thousand miles away from everyone who loves me for the next ten months, I would invest myself in my schoolwork and my new friends and I would learn to appreciate the city.

And for the most part, I carried that plan out rather successfully until I found myself on a plane at JFK Sunday night, to return home and honor a man that meant so much to me. 

Things have been different this trip. I woke up Monday and went on a run in my neighborhood, realizing I'd been lying to myself that living in 20 degrees for the past 2 months was fine when I could be basking in these 70 degree Florida mornings. 

I was able to see people I love and grew up with and genuinely tell them I'm enjoying myself in the city. I spent all day yesterday in my beloved second hometown, Cedar Key, lying on the "beach," failing to consider that feet which haven't been roaming around Florida in flip flops for the past 6 months probably require some SPF protection.  

I was able to shop in the Target dollar section which is a blessed event I look forward to, since the only Target in Manhattan is all the way up in Harlem (further and sketchier than you realize), and was able to laugh at myself for still not knowing how to navigate Butler Plaza after 20 years. 

Something that I love to do when driving back home from Gainesville in warm weather is ride down Mr. Philpot's road. It's honestly my favorite road in the whole world--- 10xs better than any street in the city. 

As I drove, the song "I Can See Clearly Now" came on. 

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)

Sun-Shiny day.

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone

All of the bad feelings have disappeared

Here is the rainbow I've been prayin' for

It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)

Sun-Shiny day.

The lyrics were hitting home (no pun intended). Though the obstacles in my life haven't magically disappeared; for some reason, this trip home has helped me to identify them more clearly. 

And I think a combination of this being a classic song as well as driving past his house made me wonder what Mr. Philpot would say. 

And suddenly I knew.

He would ask why the heck I was avoiding the place and people that I love. He'd probably tell me straight up-- that is stupid.

He'd also tell me to keep being myself and to keep loving people. 

I think he would tell me people changing is a part of growing up, but at the same time to always be true to myself.

My intention is not to be morbid, but I think I learned my last life lesson from Mr. Philpot this week... and I'm thankful for it.

Dear Mr. Philpot

Dear Mr. Philpot,

I love you.

Though my eyes are brimmed with tears, my heart overflows with joy as I am confident about where you are right now. 

You were my hero in so many ways.

You taught me that being passionate about something is a good thing, and encouraged me to never give up.

You showed me and many others the love of Christ through selfless and unconditional love. 

You gave me an undying love for the National FFA Organization.

You encouraged me to be who I am--  to be a leader, and not a follower.

You lead me outside of my comfort zone so many times-- forcing me to give my speech to a bunch of uninterested juniors and seniors until I got it just right.

You demonstrated patience when I needed it, and discipline when I needed that. 

You taught me that if I did my best, then that's all I could do. But, if I didn't do my best, then why complain-- that's my own fault, work harder next time. Actions speak louder than words. 

You showed me that life doesn't have to be so serious--that humor is a good thing.

We shared our love for good eats-- although if you were here, you would still argue with me that a ribeye is the best cut of beef and I would argue for the filet.

You showed me that happiness is an essential part of life. And around you, I don't think anyone was ever unhappy (unless they were being scolded :))

I think very few people in this world can see right through me (at least I hope) but somehow, I always knew that you could. If I was doing something that didn't make me happy, you didn't have to voice your disapproval-- I could just see it in your eyes.

You taught me that we may all have our opinions, but sometimes it's wise to just keep it to ourself. 

Although you yourself were known to be outspoken, you would never say something to intentionally bring somebody else down. I believe you saw the best in everybody.

To be honest, I had no idea this day would come.

I imagined you being one of those people I would see at my wedding.

But all the sudden. Boom. You're gone.

And although I am so happy for you to be where you are now, I must say I will miss you dearly.

I thought you would be there for me to periodically have lunch dates with for the majority of my adult life.

I thank you for all our Ivy House outings, and for caring enough to consistently check up on me since I graduated. 

But I will miss your wisdom. I will miss your world view. I will miss your hugs and I will miss your laugh and I will miss the light that was always in your eyes. 

I think the hardest part of all of this is realizing all I have left now are a few pictures and memories-- and knowing that those memories may fade away. 

But for now, the memories are vivid. You blaring Pirates of the Carribean music in your truck on the way to Meats competitions, walking around Winn Dixie and quizzing us on all the cuts of meat, having a pep talk before every Parli Pro competition, giving me a warm hug when that girl slammed the door at State Convention and I completely forgot my speech, calling me crazy for getting chicken at Sonny's after every meats competition, calling me "Top-Knot" when I had embarrassingly short hair and wore it in a bun,

"are you afflicted?"

"that's your seat until the Lord comes back!"

"mean spirited!"

Mr. Philpot, you're a legend in both the Williston community and Florida FFA. And the best part about it is I don't believe you ever intended to be one.

I wish I could be selfish and say this loss is so personal but you've had a unique impact on so many people-- your love didn't have limits. 

But I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the impact you've had on my life, I love you, and I will dearly miss you.

You told everyone "be safe" when they left your presence. And now you've left ours, undoubtedly as safe as can be.

But until then, Mr. Philpot, I'll be safe… and will see you soon.

Love, 

Miranda