It's what you make it

There is a version of me that could fall apart thinking of everything I've been through. I'm willing to bet that, no matter your experiences, that version exists within you too. The easiest route always seems to be allowing fear and loss to control you. Sadness doesn't require effort; it only needs defeat. But hope? Hope is rebellious. It demands that you show up, even with unbrushed hair, and a heart that feels like it's held together with duct tape and spite.

Sometimes, life looks like a European Summer Pinterest board. Other times, it looks like a fist fight on an overcrowded carnival cruise you're stuck on for the next six nights, with no WiFi and a questionable-looking buffet everyone keeps sneezing on. It's loud, unpredictable, mildly tragic, and you feel trapped. But even then, even when everything feels like it's teetering between a nightmare and a meltdown, you still get to decide where you plant your focus. You can fixate on the chaos, or you can find that one secret spot on the ship that no one seems to know about. Close enough to be a bar that makes the best espresso martini, but far enough away from all the screaming children, with just the right amount of shade for your face and UV 5 for your 1.25 legs.

That little pocket of peace? It doesn't change the chaos—it just reminds you that peace can still exist inside it. And that's the trick, isn't it? Learning to find calm in the middle of the storm. Learning to protect your joy like it's the last slice of cake in a crowded break room. You may not be able to control the noise, the detours, or the people sneezing on the shrimp cocktail, but you can control what you give your energy to. And sometimes, the bravest thing you'll do all day is claim five quiet minutes, sip your overpriced drink, and remember that even here, even now, you are allowed to feel good.

I don't always wake up feeling optimistic. But I get up anyway and try to get there. Not because it's easy. Not because I'm particularly inspirational. But because life is what you make it, and I'm determined to make it something worth laughing about, limping through, and loving wildly.

So yes, you can report the 12-year-olds sneaking into the adult-only pool, max out the drink package guilt-free, and tune out all the negativity that tries to crash your vibe. Because at the end of the day, this messy, loud, ridiculous life? It's yours to own, unapologetically.