If you were to map my life, it wouldn’t be a straight line. It would be a wild, looping trail of mountains climbed, oceans crossed, streets skated, and stars wished upon. 

It began with the little things. The kind of moments that shimmer in memory like fireflies. I danced in neighborhood water gun fights, laughter echoing down sidewalks. I sledded onto a frozen lake with flushed cheeks and fearless joy. I rollerbladed through the heartbeat of downtown Chicago and the sunny paths of San Diego, wheels humming like freedom. 

I’ve skied down snowy slopes with wind biting at my smile, and water skied in Galina, skipping like a stone across liquid glass. I biked along the shore of a Caribbean island, the sea singing beside me. I parasailed high above the Florida Keys, the sky wide open, my heart wide open. I've been to Disney a countless number of times, where magic never gets old. 

Some people collect things. I collect moments like standing soaked at the bottom of Niagara Falls, the roar thundering in my chest. Or climbing the trees in Placentia, California, bark under my hands, the world below shrinking to a whisper. I’ve walked the Freedom Trail, tracing the footsteps of rebels and dreamers. I’ve snapped photos at the haunted graves of Salem, chasing stories in the shadows. 

I danced on stage after stage after stage—not always perfectly, but always with passion. I won a state championship once. I gambled away a “fortune” (okay, just $20) in Vegas. I crossed the Mexican border and slipped a bonsai tree into the States, hidden between jackets and belly laughs. 

I camped under stars in the desert and deep in the wilderness, where silence speaks louder than any city. I climbed mountains just to say I did, and I drove along cliffs where each turn was a prayer. I rode a train across the country, the steady rhythm of the tracks writing lullabies as I watched America pass by. 

I’ve danced in the light of the moon and fell in love under the stars—truly, deeply, breathtakingly. I married the man of my dreams. He had a puffy beard and a kind soul that anchored me through every storm. We remodeled a kitchen together—splattered with paint, covered in laughter. We stood side-by-side watching our children take their first steps, say their first words, become little galaxies of their own. 

We drove across the country a countless number of times, kids asleep in the backseat, playlists looping, hearts full. I walked under tanks of sharks, chaperoned a night hike, and got lost in the woods, only to find that sometimes the detour is the best part. 

And through it all, I wrote. I inked my life into pages so I could give my memories form. I wished on shooting stars and meant it every time. 

This isn’t a highlight reel—it’s a life fully, wildly, joyfully lived. Not every moment was easy. But every moment was mine. 

And if I could do it all again, I wouldn't change a thing—except maybe bet $10 instead of $20. 

Because this life? It’s been one hell of a dance. 

And the music’s still playing.