At first, I blamed it on the heat. My brain started getting foggy at the sixty-minute mark every time I was outside in the Miami heat. Today, it was a record-breaking, ninety-degree day in May. I sat in my running car with the AC blasting, trying to cool down just enough to return to my job. The fishing shirt I wore to block out the sun’s rays clung to my fair skin, as I rolled up my sweat-soaked, long sleeves. My jeans were also soaked and had collected a thin layer of dirt and debris. I broke out a hydration packet, knowing that it would only partially replenish all the electrolytes that I had already lost. I tilted back my water bottle and chugged down the lemon-lime mixture. There is only one word for the heat of South Florida – RELENTLESS.
I glanced down at my work tablet in my lap and studied the boundary survey of my job site. It was a large residential lot, soon to be redeveloped, with dozens of trees. It was my job as an arborist to evaluate the existing trees on the site and record their species, size, and condition in my tablet. A report would be generated from this information which would then be submitted to the municipal permitting department, along with the property’s redevelopment and construction plans.
I had found my way into the field of arboriculture because I loved trees and wanted to protect them. But recently, it seemed like I was aiding their removal a lot more than their protection. I sighed as I leaned into my car’s AC vents, the cool air blowing over my sweat and sunscreen-soaked face. There were nearly one hundred trees marked on the property’s survey. I had already evaluated thirty-five trees. “Only sixty-five more trees today,” I said aloud, trying to encourage myself.
As I mulled over how many more hours of tree inventory work I had left to push through, I realized that it felt like I was always counting down. It was the middle of May which meant that there were four and a half more months till October, when the temperature and humidity would begin to drop, ever so imperceptibly in South Florida. Four and a half more months of heat that I had to push through. I laid my head back against the car seat and dreamed about taking off from work the entire summer. I imagined telling all the demanding developers and architects, NO. I’d firmly assert myself and state, “No, you will have to WAIT,” which is the worst four-letter word I could utter in the real estate development industry.
As a relocated New Yorker, I understood the hustle, even if I didn’t believe in it. Every delay, every resubmittal, every plan revision, cost my clients more money every single day. And so, I inventoried trees like a machine. I cranked out arborist reports with such a quick turn-around time, that I earned the nickname Superwoman.
When I first started my own arborist consulting business nine years ago, I didn’t plan on crushing it for some of the biggest developers in South Florida. Miami is really a small town, and word spread about me like an Everglades wildfire. I stood out as a blonde, white woman who could read and interpret both trees and architectural plans. Most arborists yield chainsaws with ease, but can’t cut through paperwork. Most architects can deftly design four walls, but not necessarily a garden. I knew both worlds and I quickly became indispensable. My clients had been searching for an elusive unicorn in the Miami jungle, and I was it.
I was summoned to work on many breathtaking properties – private islands off Miami Beach where P. Diddy infamously partied down the street; empty lots that would soon rise into one-hundred-foot towers overlooking Biscayne Bay; and private homes of billionaires so rich I had to sign NDAs to keep their names secret. Many of the properties were unbelievable – I recalled one mansion where armed guards patrolled the grounds with semi-automatics to keep would-be intruders away. Walking around those properties, I felt like I was a character straight out of a Carl Hiaasen novel.
Alone with my thoughts, I still felt overheated and burnt-out in more ways than one, despite my car’s blasting AC. A text notification from my fiancé brought a smile to my face and brought me back to the present moment. A reminder of why I had to keep going, to keep pushing forward. We had our upcoming dream wedding to plan and pay for, and it was going to be an epic, weekend-long destination celebration in the Florida Keys. We had set a date way in advance, two years in the future, and it still felt unbelievably far away. I quickly did the mental math and it was only one year and four months till our wedding. Only five-hundred and seven more days to go.
I pondered the incongruent thought of being both a bride and an arborist. I pushed away the nagging feeling that there was more out there for me than inventorying trees. I just didn’t know what yet… I felt a bubbling desire to exercise the creative side of myself, one unbound by the rigid rules and limitations of science and bureaucracy. Perhaps there was a different future version of married me that embraced things like painting… or perhaps writing? The thought of writing stories and memoirs was like a match that lit my life force. Could I possibly go from burnout to being on fire again, but in a different way? I had to admit that maybe it wasn’t just the Miami heat that had me questioning my future life direction that day.
After too many circular thoughts, I turned off my car, jammed my sun hat back on my head, and closed the door behind me. Only sixty-five more trees to go today, only a few more hours left, I told myself. The South Florida heat may be relentless, but thankfully, so am I.
love, Lexy
