From Wedding Bells to Mountain Trails

(With Dancing Shoes and Hiking Boots)

Hey you all! As you all know, life can be one wild ride—twists, turns, highs, lows, and a few loops that make you scream. Some moments lift us so high we feel like we’re flying, and others? Well, they test every iota of strength (and patience) we’ve got.

Here's a quick bit of my view from the last six months as I think back to two of my biggest moments in this time—my son’s wedding and hiking to the top of a literal mountain after my tenth hip surgery. It shocks me how different they were… but also how much they had in common. Both were celebrations of grit, joy, and pushing through.

My son’s wedding? Magical. Watching him at the altar with happiness, made my heart nearly explode. It wasn’t just about their insanely personal vows. It was the laughter, the happy tears, the full-on joyful chaos of people you love all in one place. It was beautiful and very surreal.

What made it even more special? Just a few months earlier, I’d been at the beginning of a longish recovery from yet another hip surgery—number ten, if you're counting. I had exactly enough time to heal before the big day, and let me tell you, physical therapy was no joke. Picture me hopping on and off boxes, heart pounding, scaring myself and my PT. I thought, “How am I going to dance in front of a crowd without face-planting?”

Spoiler: I did more than dance—I danced all night long.

Weddings have this electric vibe—people dressed to the nines, laughter bouncing from floor to ceiling, everyone shining with love. In that room, surrounded by family and friends, I felt the beauty of being connected. It was one big hug of a party.

In contrast, recovering from surgery? Not quite as fun. It was downright NOT glamorous. It was quieter. Kind of like a solo hike up a steep mountain. You sweat, you doubt, you keep going anyway. Every tiny win—standing independently, taking that first crutch-free step—felt like hitting a mini summit.

At the reception, the cake and decor were absolutely perfect, and the dance floor felt like home. But none of it happened overnight. Just like my recovery, the wedding took a lot of planning, patience, and a whole lot of work.

Both journeys required persistence. My recovery may have been a one-person climb, but I had many cheerleaders along the way. And let’s be real—when you’ve learned to balance on one leg, anything feels possible.

As the night wore on and the party kept going, I sat for a moment, soaking it all in—the joy, the noise, the love. Then I thought about that mountain. The one I was going to be hiking a few weeks down the line at about 5 months post-surgery. Reaching the summit wouldn't just be about the view (though, I knew it would be wow). It would be about what it would take to get there. My sister and I had planned on re-evaluating our 8-mile hike at about 3 miles to see if my body could manage. That took the pressure off of me knowing I was being given permission to stop and honor my body if needed. I knew that it would be challenging and there would be moments where I would just need to sit down in the dirt and breathe, but it would be an amazing view at the top.

Joy doesn’t always come in grand speeches or big parties. Sometimes, it’s just standing tall on a mountain, lungs and legs burning, heart full.

By the end of the wedding, while everyone else was grabbing one last slice of dessert, I sat back and breathed it all in. I felt overwhelming gratitude—for my son’s happiness, for my body’s ability to heal, for love in all its magical forms.

Ten surgeries have taught me a ton. About resilience, patience, and how strong I can be when I don’t have much choice. That is most of our stories. We are resilient beings and watching my son start his new chapter reminded me: we’re all climbing our own mountains. And every step matters.

One moment celebrated a new beginning. The other was a hard-won triumph. Both reminded me that the best things in life come from showing up, pushing through, and dancing when you can—even if you're totally scared and anxious.

So, here’s to your climbs (and mine), the dances, and everything in between.