I’m sure you recognize the line I wandered lonely as a cloud, even if you aren’t a poetry nerd. Before you read this, go check out the poem—it’s relevant, I promise.

In the poem, William Wordsworth describes finding a great patch or line of daffodils and how they raised his spirits. But the main point (to me) are these lines of the second-to-last stanza and then the whole stanza following:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

I moved from Florida to Ohio in August of 2025. Having lived in Florida almost all my life, you can imagine the change. The night before I left, I rode my bike around town and drowned in humidity. The next day, I got out of the car in Ohio and wished I had a sweater. There is no reason why I should be wanting a sweater in August. That was not a good sign.

Now, in the last days of February, I am surprised to see grass—pure, un-snowy grass. I marvel that I can go down the sidewalk without slipping. I sigh longingly for fifty-degree days (I only need two layers then!) while feeling like a traitor to the South. And I think about how back home, fifty degrees is a cold day. Will I still feel that way after another year?

The past week, we had several days of ‘warmth’, rain, and lovely gray clouds. I started taking walks again and even went to the park to practice with my lightsaber. I thought about how great it will be to finally have warm weather for good, and how I’d like to get a bike then, and how I’ll bike all over town and explore the neighborhoods and back roads, just like I did at home, and then I thought about those humid summer nights, riding past midnight through the beach towns, or the rainy spring afternoons going to the coffeeshop on my day off . . . and I go on remembering, oh, everything.

I remember the night two of my sisters and I got in the car and went out for ice cream, then drove to my aunt’s house in a thunderstorm. My sister played Madelyn Mei,, and the lights glinted and turned into sparkles on the windshield through the rain, and I drank my root beer float and got my hands all sticky, while singing along to ‘Tippy Tappy Toes’. 

I remember the night I met up with two of my friends at the park, and we got takeout at a local restaurant called The Local, and rode bikes through the scary-dark turtle park and all over town, while constantly almost getting into accidents because I was the leader and apparently I’m bad at turn signals.

I remember going to the University of Florida with my dad and visiting a sinkhole and observing a hawk and seeing a tree fall down, and after the sinkhole we went to Longhorn Steakhouse, my favorite restaurant, and shared a chocolate lava cake that was so good but so big we couldn’t eat it all. And then we went to the University itself and watched a play about C.S. Lewis, and I think it was raining that evening, and I walked out of there high on Inklings lore and a literature buzz. And maybe sugar.

 I remember. I get quite homesick.

Now, I know I can make new memories here in Ohio (and I probably already have). But I deeply, deeply miss the old places, the old faces, the moments I will never ever experience exactly the same way again. And that hurts, hurts like heaven. It is a pain made only bearable by all the joy brought with it.

I know we’re not supposed to be led by emotions and that following our hearts is generally a very bad idea (Jeremiah 17:9). But we have emotions for a reason, and more than that, we have these neat little computers called brains that are constantly processing, storing, and shuffling information. Some of it doesn’t process as well as I’d like (HOW do people concentrate while taking notes?), but then there are things (like staying up past midnight watching Gilmore Girls with my roommate and then getting a giggle attack for half an hour after) that save in my mind as little sensory movies.

And it’s beautiful. I would rather struggle to concentrate than lose my memory of what it feels like to bike very fast around an empty parking lot at eleven p.m. while listening to the Iron Man One theme (extended). It feels like flying.

So, I have a choice. There is always grief looking back at those things you can never have again. But I can dwell in that grief, or I can dwell in the joy. And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.

P.S. I’ve made great memories with the girls in the picture, and since I’m blanking on a way to transition here, J. Hulse White and Emily Gwaltney also have funny, thoughtful content for you to check out!