August 10, 2003, 3 a.m., Amsterdam. Today, 22 years ago. A bar sticky with last songs and almost-mornings.
That’s where I met a Finnish guy named Mikael—Micke, Micky—and had no idea I’d just stepped into the adventure of my life.
Since then: three kids, one angel watching over us, an awesome bonus daughter, years off-grid on a boat, homeschooling, border crossings, reinventions, detours we never planned and wouldn’t trade.
It hasn’t been perfect. Far from it. But it’s been ours. And we’re still here—together, stronger, choosing each other on ordinary Tuesdays and on the big days that rearrange your heart.
Proud of us—the cracks, the grit, the grace.
Always your woman.
Always my man.
— M
