“I am a museum of everything I love.”

I have started to think of myself as a museum, not one built of marble or guarded by glass, but a living, breathing collection of the things that have shaped me. Every experience, every song that stirred my soul, every mistake, every sunrise that quieted by thoughts, they all belong here.

Some exhibits are loud and full of light. They play my favorite songs on repeat, the ones that make me want to dance in the kitchen and sing with the windows down. These are the moments that remind me how good it feels to be alive.

Somewhere in the heart of this museum, this is a room for peace. It’s not grand or showy – it is simple. There’s a chair by the window, sunlight spilling in, and a deep sense of stillness that doesn’t need to be explained. This room reminds me that peace doesn’t mean everything is perfect. It means I have learned to breathe through the noise, to rest in who I am, and to trust that not every part of life needs to be understood to be perfect.

Of course, not every piece in a museum is easy to look at. There are displays of mistakes, times I spoke too soon, loved too hard, or walked away when I should have stayed. For a long time, I wanted to hide those parts or pretend they never exisited. But I have learned that mistakes deserve a place in my museum too. They are the cracked pottery, the faded photography, the art that tells the truth about my journey as a human. Peace, I have realized, is not found in perfection, but in accepting that even the broken pieces belong.

If you have wandered through my museum, you would find the laughter of my friends echoing through the halls. You would see the Wyoming sky painted across the ceiling, the mountains and fields that raised me displayed like art. You would hear the hum of a cycling playlist, the kind that pushes me past limits I didn’t know I had. You would catch the scent of fresh coffee and floral perfume, small, sacred things that anchor me to who I am.

Sometimes I forget how full this museum really is. I focus on the missing pieces – what I haven’t done, who I have lost, or where I wish I were. But when I pause and look around, I realize I am surrounded by stories, memories, and love that has been carefully collected over time.

I am a museum of everything I love. And every day, I get to add something new – a new conversation that made me laugh, a book that made me think, a moment of forgiveness that made me grateful to be here.

If life really is a gallery, then I hope mine always stays open – full of wonder, peace, and room for more.