On the first day of school, I was six years old. I fainted right there on the porch of that old school building and somehow tumbled behind a hedge. For a few chaotic moments, I was officially “missing.” Turns out I forgot to breathe. Yep—lesson number one in life: breathing matters!
Fast-forward a year to my first birthday party invitation. We were swimming in a lake in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and just as I got the hang of the water, someone jumped on my head. Down I went—deep into that murky water. For a split second, I thought, This might be it. But someone yanked me out, and I got another shot at life. Breathing? It’s still pretty essential.
Then came my first Girl Scout campout. We hiked miles through the woods, only to have spoiled hot dogs sabotage the trip. Stomachaches hit everyone like wildfire. Let’s say the night ended with... well, let’s call it “creative vomiting.” Gross? Yes. But we were all alive and breathing, so that’s a win in my book! My first kiss? Oh, mercy. It happened at Crystal Springs Lake, and only because of a dare. Pimples, awkwardness, and regret were involved. I remember leaning in and immediately thinking, This close to a boy’s face is not where I want to be. I might’ve forgotten to breathe, but I was trying to survive that disaster of a smooch.
