Delaying the Snowbird Chapter
I’m not quite ready to trade my people, my routines, and my hair colorist for palm trees
This essay is part of the Between Chapters project, inspired by the book. What chapters are you between? How did you get from one chapter to another? Share your story here.
What Chapter Are You…
Leaving:
Parenting.
In:
The In-Between Chapter of Pre-retirement empty nesting.
Entering:
Retirement.
I’m in the in-between stage, the stretch between empty nesting and retirement. The one where we are still working, but inching toward a life where work no longer dictates the calendar. The one where our kids are launched, or partially launched, and trying to figure out their own paths. The one where our friends are selling their houses, but renting nearby because they still aren’t sure where to go next.
Which brings me to our current situation.
Should we stay in our suburban haven outside New York City, where we’ve built a community of friends and where our kids can continue to come home when they visit? Our house has enough space to host Thanksgiving, and our visiting kids can still sleep in their familiar, comfortable beds. But there are negatives to staying here, with the insanely high taxes topping the list. For years, my husband has been dreaming about, and talking incessantly about, a move to Florida to avoid those New York State resident taxes.
When my youngest son started college in 2022, I told my husband that I would be willing to lead the snowbird life and spend our winters in Florida once he graduated in 2026. Making that promise felt easy at the time because it seemed so far away. And the harsh New York winters were starting to wear me down.
But I seemed to forget one thing: I never really liked Florida. I especially dislike heat and humidity. I could handle three or four months down there, though. Except my husband wants us to establish Florida residency for the tax benefits, which means 183 days, to be exact, need to be spent in Florida.
Ugh. That’s a lot.
Plus, we’d have to obtain Florida driver’s licenses, change our health insurance and constantly groom our furry Bernedoodle to keep her cool in the tropical climate. I get overwhelmed just thinking about the details of relocating to our eventual retirement spot.
Fast forward to the fall of 2025, my son’s senior year of college, and before I could say, “Wait, I need a keratin de-frizzing hair treatment first!” my husband had rented an apartment in Florida for a year. The lease started in mid-January, and we had to be back north by the end of April for my son’s graduation, so in my mind, it was a three-and-a-half-month commitment. My husband knew there was no way I would endure a Florida summer, so we both understood we would be back in New York by spring and stay there through the summer.
When we first got down there, we were busy setting up the apartment, learning the area and playing tourist while we enjoyed the newness of it all. We had visitors too, including our sons, so it was fun to explore with them as well.
But then reality set in: we were living far away from our friends and family. Sure, we could play pickleball and tennis at the community park, but no lasting bonds were formed during our occasional appearances on the courts. If it hadn’t been for our daily trips to the local dog park with our pup, who, by the way, also hates the heat, we would hardly have met anyone.
Florida is the land of communities, and if you move to one, you apparently have pickleball partners and mahjong games within days. Unfortunately for us, we were living in a rental building where most of the residents were singles in their 20s or young families. They were lovely, and many reminded us of our kids, but they were not exactly the social group we were seeking.
By the time April arrived, I was itching to get back to New York: to my friends, to my favorite Dunkin’, where they knew my iced tea order, to my hair salon, to the dog park where people talked about more than knee replacements, and to my home.
I’m not saying Florida was a bust. We will definitely make use of that one-year lease and go back this fall and winter. But what I learned from this experiment is that I am not yet ready to be a snowbird. If or when we do become Florida residents, I know I’ll need to be patient while I find my people, whether that happens in a tennis community, at the dog park or somewhere I haven’t discovered yet. Even if I still have both of my knees (for now).
Most of our friends are still in pre-retirement mode, so no one has scattered to warmer climates just yet. But I know it’s coming. One day, we will wake up and realize we are the oldest people on our street, with fewer people nearby to meet for dinner on Saturday nights.
That’s when I’ll know it’s time to go live under the palm trees and walk along the beach.
I’ll just make sure there’s enough time for the keratin treatment before I leave.
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