10 years ago I was 16, loud, weird, confident and fairly free-spirited. I was happy and had it all figured out.

For years, I knew I would grow up, become a journalist, move to New York City and write for The New York Times. That was the plan. I imagined I would have a cool apartment and great friends. I would be living the dream.

I imagine 16 year old me would have laughed if you said I would still live in Virginia in 10 years. Would have replied, “No way,” if you told her she would actually work in HR. I imagine she would actually have called you crazy if you said in 10 years she wouldn’t just own a house, but have done so for three years. And, she probably would have looked at you confused when you told her she would start to play roller derby.

10 years ago, I was pretending I could dance (which, lets be honest, I still do today), giggling a lot and didn’t care what anyone else thought. 10 years ago, I split my pants (pretending I could dance) at my best friends birthday party.

We were all young and confident in what we knew. I don’t think any of us ever imagined we would be where we are today.

Who knew two of the kids at this party would be married, to each other, with their own kid in 10 years?

I’d venture to guess this wasn’t anyone’s plan, but I’m no to upset it ended up this way.


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