Ally Agenda: Orlando Forever

Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I moved to Orlando reluctantly.

We were living in Ft. Lauderdale. My career was going nowhere, the economy was terrible, and my fiancé (now husband) Matt landed his dream job making video games at Electronic Arts. Like many other outsiders, I thought Orlando was solely made up of theme parks and that we’d have to live on International Drive. But without a compelling reason not to go, I packed up our things, grumbling the entire time about how my willingness to live next door to that crooked Ripley’s building was a testament to my love for Matt, and boy, would he owe me.

That was eight years ago, and since then Orlando has done nothing but surprise and delight me, over and over. The beautiful downtown with charming neighborhoods orbiting Lake Eola, a skyline glistening in the sun and cobblestone streets tented in tree branches dripping with Spanish moss. We bought our first house here, an adorable bungalow in the Milk District which we painted and scrubbed and filled with art created by our friends. Eventually, we hefted a white wooden crib inside, hung a mobile and it became the first home we shared with our son.

Orlando’s real hidden treasure, though, is its people. My husband’s EA colleagues were the first to extend their hands in friendship, and then my job at Watermark opened the doors to the LGBT and arts communities. We found people who made us laugh till we cried then astonished us with their generosity of spirit. I joined the Orlando roller derby league and met the best friends I’ve ever had, brave and fierce women who hit hard and love harder. Those friendship circles expanded until they overlapped like a Venn diagram, then eventually became one giant circle we think of as our Orlando Family.

Neither my husband nor I have relatives who live nearby, and in 2013, when we suffered a sudden, terrible loss, our Orlando Family huddled in and sheltered us and lifted us up, every day, making sure we survived. When life’s pendulum swung the other way and we welcomed our son Dexter, Orlando celebrated and supported us, loving and caring for Dex like he’s their own. Our kid has a wealth of gay uncles and roller derby aunties. They stayed up all night in the hospital while I was in labor, showered him with gifts at his first birthday party and took him to Disney World for his first haircut in the Harmony Barber Shop on Main Street. Dexter is the luckiest 1-year-old boy in the world.

A couple of months ago, when Matt was offered a plum new role at a video-game studio in London, I immediately dismissed the idea. Sure, it was our dream to live overseas and explore more of the world. It was even in our wedding vows. But when we had Dexter, I mentally shut the gate on that path. We’d assembled our adopted Orlando Family and were looking for bigger houses in the best school districts. Besides, they were only offering a pittance for the move. No, we’d stay here as planned.
But then they offered more, and more, and it was clear that not only was this financially viable, but they really wanted Matt as part of their team and it would be a wonderful boost to his career. So every day for a week, we discussed. My pros and cons lists became complicated, with items weighted differently, copious footnotes and hourly edits. Make no mistake: The only reason the decision was so difficult is because of Orlando, its people and its charm. It is our home, and I couldn’t believe we were considering leaving it.

But that is the decision we made.

Ultimately, we determined we simply could not turn down the opportunity to show Dexter more of the world. We’d move to London so our family could learn and grow and explore.

A few days after we made our decision, the Pulse shootings happened. I’m not sure most people are aware of how unusual Watermark is, but independently owned niche publications are incredibly rare, and it’s a testament to the dedication of the staff that Watermark has grown and thrived for nearly 25 years. After the shootings, Team Watermark achieved the impossible and pulled together to create content that I will be proud of for the rest of my life. The experience was horrible, transcendent, and a great, great privilege.

After that, handing over the resignation letter was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

I know, everyone says this as they’re leaving, but I mean it: I hope this is not goodbye, but instead, see you later. I’ve already pitched several stories to Watermark and I hope to continue to write for this community, because Orlando isn’t just generous and brave and loving – it’s inspiring. You’ve inspired me for eight years and will continue to do so from afar.

Thank you. I’ll miss you. I love you.