People often assume they know me before I say anything. I understand why. I am tall, blonde, blue-eyed, and I know that from the outside I probably look like the kind of woman people immediately describe in dramatic ways. Stunning. Striking. Too beautiful to ignore. I hear those words, and honestly, they still make me laugh a little. Not because I do not appreciate kindness, but because the version of me that still lives most naturally in my head is much less glamorous. In my mind, I am still the girl who felt more at home on a volleyball court than anywhere else.
When I was younger, school made that very clear. Whenever we had to play volleyball, everyone wanted me on their team. That part was easy. I was tall, quick, competitive, and I had a really good smash. I loved the energy of it, the movement, the teamwork, the feeling of getting completely absorbed in the game. But while I was always the obvious pick for sports, I was never the girl the boys were really looking at. At least that is how it felt to me back then. They noticed my serve before they noticed anything else.
The funny thing is, I never felt bad about it. I was never the kind of girl who measured herself through that kind of attention. I have always had a positive spirit, and I think that protected me in a lot of ways. I liked being active, being useful, being chosen because I could do something well. There was a freedom in that. I was not trying to be mysterious or seductive. I was just being myself — a little sporty, a little messy, a little more tomboy than anyone would probably guess now.
And somehow, over time, everything changed.
Now I walk into a room and people react before I even have time to settle into it. Men are suddenly very interested. Sometimes too interested. And, to be honest, not only men. Women notice me too, and I can feel it in the way they look, the way they smile, the way the room shifts slightly around attention. It is still strange to me sometimes, because even though I understand how I am seen, I do not always feel like that version of myself on the inside. I can put on a beautiful look, stand still, hold someone’s gaze, and I know how that reads. But part of me is still quietly amused by it all.
Maybe that is because I never built my identity around being desired. It arrived later, almost like something that happened around me rather than something I chased. The world changed the way it looked at me, but I stayed more or less the same. I am still direct. Still easygoing. Still more comfortable laughing than posing. Still the kind of girl who likes movement, competition, and that satisfying feeling of doing something well with my whole body.
When I look back now, I realize that some faces and some landscapes stay with you forever for the same reason: they made you feel something true. People tell me my eyes are difficult to forget, but I think I understand that better when I think about the places I have seen. Some cities, some roads, some moments remain with you long after you leave them. They stay clear in your mind because they changed your way of looking at the world. My journey has never really been about escaping anything. It has been about answering something.
And I think that is still true now. The journey is not over. It is still unfolding, quietly, one place at a time.