M I A M I

reflection on belonging

It’s been months since I’ve opened this space. Not because I didn’t want to write, not because anything happened—just because life pulled me into its usual rhythm. But today, I felt that familiar pull to return here. Not out of obligation, but because I missed this blog. I missed the softness of sitting down and letting my thoughts move through my hands.

There’s no excuse for the inconsistency, and yet I know myself. It’s that strange Virgo ego—wanting to be perfect, but also deeply human, inconsistent, emotional, pulled in a thousand directions. Today, though, I opened my computer and for the first time in months, I finished my to-dos. Not the personal ones (those are always waiting patiently), but the ones I needed to tick off so I could breathe.

Then, as I usually do when I’m searching for inspiration, I went through my pictures. I wanted a thread, a spark—something that would remind me why I write. Not for clicks, not for views, but for the idea that one day, someone might read this and understand who I was. How I thought. What moved me.

And there it was: a photo from Miami.
One of those last-dinner, last-event nights—rooms full of people, cameras, drinks, personalities, “Miami today” energy… the version of the city that feels louder, shinier, faster than the Miami I fell in love with.

And in the middle of all that noise, I found a piece of Miami that felt like home: an old-school signature on the wall, a reminder of the real Miami—the one with heritage, archetypes, sabor, the OG creatives, the artists, the unapologetic originals.

For a second I reconnected with the Miami I carry tattooed inside me. The Miami full of flavor and courage, the Miami built by real people with real stories.

How can you hate a city that gave you everything?
How can you not feel something for the place that made you who you are?

My anchor.
My heritage.
My Latin spirit.
My strength.

Miami didn’t just give me opportunities—it shaped me, it trained me, it hardened me, it softened me, it taught me to build not to have more, but to be more.

Going through the past years, I found myself laughing at the things I once did—the places I went, the people I worked for, the things I said yes to because I thought I had to. Things I wouldn’t do today. The outfits I wouldn’t wear. The restaurant I wouldn’t choose. The events I wouldn’t attend. The jobs I definitely wouldn’t take.

But when I look at it from a distance, I don’t judge myself. Because I realize something important:

It wasn’t always about the decisions I made.
It was about the ecosystem I was in.
The culture that dictates what “success” looks like.
The pace that makes you forget your own rhythm.
The city that tells you which path is the “right” one.

And then comes the real question:
As creatives, how do we create our own path when the world around us is trying to write it for us?

Where are the institutions, the brands, the leaders offering spaces to co-create, to experiment, to feel free?
Where are the opportunities that allow us to be something other than what the city expects?

And that’s where I returned to myself.
Understanding the choices I made.
Making peace with them.
Making peace with the version of me that was doing the best she could with the tools, the culture, the city she had at the time.

Because cities shape us just as much as schools, parents, or religions do.
A city is a mirror.
It shows you how you react, who you become, and who you refuse to be.

And funny enough—only when I’m far from Miami do I realize how tough I had become. How workaholic I let myself be. How easily I got swallowed by the rhythm of a city that never stops reinventing itself, even if it means losing a bit of what made it sacred in the first place.

Distance gave me perspective.
Perspective gave me clarity.
And clarity brought me back here.

So here I am, ending this year by writing again.
Not to be consistent.
Not to impress.
But to reconnect.

With myself.
With my words.
With the Miami that built me.
And with the woman I am becoming—one who chooses her own rhythm, her own path, her own version of this city and this life.

If someone ever reads this years from now, I hope they see it:
the evolution, the honesty, the chaos, the gratitude, the heritage, and the constant search to be more, not just do more.

Here’s to coming back.
To starting again.
To remembering who we are.

And to the cities—real or symbolic—that shape us along the way.

XX
MARIA DC