I would start by talking about promotions. And work. And all of those easily measured variables of what we generally as a society constitute as something we’re supposed to talk about when talking about success and achievements and everything in between. So I’d start there. With that. And work. And being very, very, very good at my job. I would talk about late nights and things like “parse.ly”, and “viral”, and “headlines, and “community” and other quantifiable things that all indicate that I have achieved some sort of place at some sort of level that means yes, you are accomplished. I would ramble on about things that I do every day in front of smudged MacBook screen that may seem like I’m playing games but really are indicative of one of the only things I’ve ever felt truly good at. It would all center around work for many, many sentences. Paragraphs even. Maybe even verbalized pages. And then, if pressed, other things would start finding their way from the corners of, “No one will care about this,” and “That’s kind of stupid,” and I’d confess them all at once. Things like how I’m proud of my body. Even though it’s curvier in some areas and less defined in others. But I’m proud that it won’t quit. Even when I tried to make it. I’m proud at how quickly I seem to retain muscle memory. That choreography, even years after I’ve hung up my Capezios, seems to come naturally. I’m proud that I have focus, even on the days where it’s harder to find. I’m proud of my resilience. That I’m unshakable. That even when I’m down and want to stay on whatever metaphorical (or real, let’s be honest I totally lay on the floor when I’m stressed) ground, I peel myself off and get back up. I’m proud that I’m at least somewhat original, and hopefully interesting. I’m proud that I’m not a cookie cutter result of the beige place that I could’ve gotten stuck in. I’m proud that I try. Even when I’m scared. Even when I’d rather not. Even when trying is the last thing I think I’m capable of, I still manage to…well…try. I’m proud that nothing has ever been handed to me. That every single thing, whether it be those minutes and hours spent talking about work work work I have gotten because I refused to stop. I made it happen for myself. No one just put something on a silver platter in front of me and said, “Yes. This. For you. Just for you.” I chased after the things I wanted and refused to accept anything as out of reach or unobtainable. Even when it seemed futile or pointless or like I was wasting my time, I still pushed. And eventually, that pushing paid off. And because of that pushing, because of that tenacity, because of that originality, because of that body that just wouldn’t stop even when it probably should’ve said, “ENOUGH GIRL,” is why I get to talk endlessly about pursuing my passions. And promotions. And work. And computers. And things that my parents don’t understand but are still proud of me for anyway. And if that’s not something to be proud of I guess I don’t know what is.