This past weekend I discovered I was in love.

The familiar euphoria was overwhelming. I was in love again. With who, you ask?

No one.

I'm in love with my life.

Its official. I have moved on to brighter days. Sure—I may have been under the influence of alcohol in Sin City and sitting in a VIP area while amazing music was playing when I realized this. BUT STILL. It hit me like a mothafuckin' truck.

I. LOVE. MY. LIFE.

Everything in my life up until this point has happened for a reason. I've been reiterating this constantly. Lately I've finally been able to reap the benefits of the roads the universe has been leading me to. I have made friends with amazing people in the past year, I have strengthened bonds with those who held me up when I was down, I've taken risks I would have never taken, I've left my comfort zone and I have finally put myself first above anything or anyone.

The past weekend was a completely unexpected unfolding of amazing events, spent with two ladies I would have never met had I not moved to the East Coast, had we not all had one single mutual friend to bring us together (ahem*thanks Iris). I took it as a heavy sign that everything is ok, this is where I was supposed to be, having the time of my life with two women who are beautiful inside and out. It may have been a chemical or alcohol-induced moment of clarity, but it was clear as daylight and its still clear—even now that I am exhausted and completely sober.

I'm good. I'm happy. My life is amazing.