We sat there, with warm drinks and wide eyes. The frigid cold on the other side of the window, loud music bumping on our side. Growing up in sunny Southern California, it was a phenomenon neither of us had ever experienced. The hustle and bustle of city life disappeared as the streets quietly collected zillions of little snowflakes. It was as if someone pressed pause on life. All but ours. We felt alive. We wanted to savor the feeling, the beauty of nature we were blessed with. We threw on as many layers as we could, covered our cameras in plastic, and braved the storm. Squeals and laughs, slippery footsteps, snowy kisses. Experiencing joy with my best friend. And at that moment, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.
New York was perfect. Long walks, people watching, snow twirls, tiny restaurants, sweet wine, life talks. Living. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to write my own story. With the help of the most supportive husband a girl could ever ask for, I know we are filling our pages with chapters full of wonder. Pages that, in our future, we will be proud to share.