The day before my 27th birthday, I reflected on all I had done, seen, accomplished in 27 years. I reflected
on how I have lived.
What does it mean to live? To me, it means taking great risks and wiping the dirt off when I fall flat on my face. For me, it is finding beauty in the brokenness. To live is to experience the new and relish the old, to look the unknown straight in the eye and say, “You scare me, but I’m not afraid of you.” Living means loving with all my heart even if there’s a chance it might be broken. It is dreaming and doing, and then dreaming and doing all over again.
Living is bunking with a tribe in the Amazon, building a school in Brazil, exploring my ancestry in Eastern Europe, wrangling a venomous snake in Mexico, swimming naked in the Caribbean, racing in the Scottish Highland Games, saving sea turtles in the Florida Keys, beating Lyme disease in Texas, dancing salsa til 4 am in Spain, learning to drive manual in Portugal, skiing in the Alps, sharing a house with a 90-year-old blind and deaf woman, paragliding over the Bay of Biscay, surprising my sisters for Christmas in Utah, doing improv comedy in Ohio, getting caught in the rain in Luxembourg, playing street pianos in London.
Living is searching for your soul; it is learning to know yourself. It is being happy being you.