A few weeks ago, I took a trip to Florida. Trips south are usually family time — most of my family has migrated there over the last decade, and I’m one of the last holdouts still in New York. But this trip felt different. It was a holiday, my niece’s birthday, and I’d planned a special overnight in South Beach for my daughter and me.
South Beach has always been a magical place for me. I spent my formative young-adult years living and working there, but I hadn’t been back in ages. For some reason, on this trip, I knew it was time to go home.
Coming Full Circle
Pulling up to the hotel instantly flooded me with memories — I had booked the same one where I once worked. Walking into it now as a guest, with my preteen daughter in tow, felt surreal.
Back then, I worked every shift imaginable — mornings, afternoons, overnights. That hotel was my second home. Friends dropped by at all hours, and the night security guard kept me company while I hand-stitched the final details of my college collection at 2 a.m., fueled by strong coffee, snacks, and big dreams.
South Beach was where I began to understand who I was — free, seen, and safe. My closest friends lived within walking distance; 2 a.m. empanada and cortadito runs were a way of life. I loved the balmy mornings and the feeling of stepping straight from work uniform to ocean water. New York will always have my heart, but South Beach will always be that deep exhale — the kind that brings you fully back into your body.
Seeing the Magic Again
That night, walking the streets with my daughter, showing her my old hangouts, I realized something profound. It wasn’t just a walk down memory lane — it was a chance to see it all through her eyes.
She was in awe of the pastel hotels on Ocean Drive, how they morphed into a neon glow after sunset. She adored the tiny apartment buildings in my old neighborhood. Watching her take it all in, I understood that my memories weren’t just nostalgia — the magic I remembered was still real.
The Creative Thread
When I lived in South Beach, I never went anywhere without my sketchbook and journal. I drew constantly — for school, for myself — surrounded by dancers, writers, artists, all of us chasing creative dreams. Remembering that time brought something back to life inside me.
The next morning, I sat by the pool in the warm air, watching two parrots chatter in a nearby palm while my daughter did handstands in the water. For a moment, everything felt perfectly aligned. Though the trip wasn’t over, I was already ready to return to New York — inspired and refocused.
A night in South Beach.
A pause.
A remembrance.
That spark I felt in that hotel office years ago — the same drive that kept me sewing at 2 a.m. — is the same one I feel now building Please Hold Studio (though I can’t stay up past 11 anymore).
Full Circle
I don’t know exactly where this new chapter with Please Hold Studio will lead. It’s only been a handful of months since I created it, but it already feels like everything’s falling into place. The latest website redesign, the new art with all three characters — it all feels like a return to that same creative pulse that started in South Beach.
I have a notebook full of big projects and ideas waiting to unfold. But for now, I’m holding onto that spark SoBe reignited in me — letting PHS evolve naturally, with love, purpose, and the occasional pause.
“Maybe home isn’t just a place we return to — it’s a part of ourselves we finally remember.”
If you loved this reflection, you might enjoy my post on Why Rest Is Part of the Creative Process
Discover more from Please Hold Studio: Characters & art by Alla K • NYC
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