Where My Life Began — and Where It May Come Full Circle

I started life just a couple of blocks from here, more than sixty years ago.

I never imagined I’d return—not after everything—but life has a way of circling back.
If this is where my journey eventually ends, I can’t think of a better place: near the water, the light, the wind, and the quiet rhythm of people living their lives..

A place where life truly makes sense.

John D.

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A Community That Feels Human

The people here matter. Neighbors, staff, and maintenance all bring a sense of care and respect that’s increasingly rare. You hear Spanish spoken often, which I love—it reminds me of my travels through Latin America and the wider world beyond Florida.

This is a place where different cultures coexist easily. Where people nod hello. Where help shows up when needed.

Apartments

Well-designed apartments that feel like home, steps from the waterfront.

Patio

Shared patio with fountains and seating where neighbors gather and relax.

A peaceful spot to watch sailboats glow orange during sunrise and sunset.

Community

History Took Off Here. So Did I.

Just a few blocks from where I live sits Albert Whitted Airport — small, humble, almost easy to miss if you don’t know what you’re looking at.

But this is where something enormous began.

The first commercial passenger flight on Earth lifted off from this runway. Not a test. Not an experiment. A human trusting the air to carry them forward. Aviation didn’t just advance here — it crossed a line. The world became larger, faster, more connected, and forever changed.

That’s the first flight.

The second one was quieter.

Years later, I sat alone in a small airplane on this same field. No instructor in the right seat. No safety net. Just a checklist, a heartbeat, and a runway that had already proven it could change lives. When the wheels left the ground on my first solo, it wasn’t history that lifted — it was me.

That moment rewired my future.

I would never command the sky alone like that again — but I didn’t need to. I had nearly forty years of flight ahead of me: aerobatics that demanded precision and nerve, aerial photography that taught patience and framing, long trips to golf tournaments and sailing adventures, and countless hours in the air before glass cockpits, GPS, or smartphones told you where you were.

Back then, flying was stick and rudder.
By sound.
By feel.
By the seat of your pants.

You didn’t manage systems — you became part of the machine.

Today, Albert Whitted is still small. Tiny airplanes. A tiny pilots’ lounge. Nothing flashy. And that’s what makes it perfect. I walk in now with my Air Force service hat on, my pilot’s license in my pocket, and a lifetime of stories that began before screens replaced instincts.

I can sit there quietly and watch new pilots walk out to their aircraft — not knowing yet which moment will change them.

This runway has done it before.
It will do it again.

For the world, Albert Whitted was a beginning.
For me, it was a becoming.

And being close to it — still — makes me grateful in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve ever lifted off and realized that fear, skill, and freedom can all exist at the same time

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