Remember A Name

I’ve arrived at a very unique place in life—somewhere between the beginning and the beyond. I’m twenty years old, technically just starting out. And yet, so many of the things people spend decades seeking have already found me: expanding love, a worldwide web of support, lifelong passions, and, most importantly, a grounded sense of self.

At the stage where I’m “supposed” to be building, I’ve realized what I actually need to do is break things down. I have the privilege of learning this now: life isn’t about climbing the ladder—it’s about removing it from the roof. There is no summit. No final arrival. Just the steady act of remembering who you are and honoring that in every choice.

And maybe that’s why we as people get hurt. We climb and climb until we reach some dangerous height, only to realize we never needed to ascend anything to begin with. To feel whole, we must descend—back to ourselves.

I’m learning to eliminate the ladder altogether. There’s nothing to scale, prove, or perform in order to be worthy. I don’t need to reach for anything. Everything I need is already inside me.

My only task is to remember that truth. That I am innately valuable, innately creative. The goal isn’t some far-off destination—it’s the clarity of the path beneath my feet. I just have to keep following the things that make me feel original and limitless. That’s where my compass lives.

This has been the quiet mission behind everything I’ve done in college. I joined a sorority and left when it didn’t reflect me. I signed up for every club that sparked something and stuck with the ones that helped me grow. I double majored—then let go when I realized I didn’t need to prove anything with the number of degrees. I went abroad sophomore year, not junior, because I wanted the discomfort of doing it alone. I made every decision with one intention: to carve a path I could remember myself on. One I felt safe enough to edit, undo, and evolve.

That’s why I am where I am today.

Freshly 20 (six days in), I am a writer, real estate agent, dance teacher, model, dancer, traveler, finance student, girlfriend, sister, friend—and a person brave enough to try whatever new opportunity speaks to me. I’m on the other side of the world watching all of these identities flourish. And they only did because I made sure not to forget who I was along the way.

Today was a beautiful reminder of all of this.

It’s Monday morning in Barcelona. I’ve just come off a weekend of dancing in two ballet performances with David Campos, capoeira training, camping, a motorcycle road trip, badminton, and even the shooting range. After meeting with Mr. International’s modeling agency just days before and being offered a contract, I got a text for a casting with a major Italian brand.

I’ve been “modeling” since I was 13. In six years, I’d never booked a single job. The answer was always no. But today… it was “sí.”

On my way to the casting, I mentally prepped myself: Every girl will be beautiful. It’s not about you—it’s about what they’re looking for. And most times, they don’t even know what that is. I aimed to be early, of course, but Google Maps betrayed me and sent me to a random street in Sant Gervasi. I saw girls sitting outside with clipboards and cute outfits and thought, Yup, this must be it. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. They were just well-dressed Spanish teenagers on school break.

Panic. Cab. Flustered Spanish. The cab driver gave me sass for my pronunciation: “If you want to get there, you’re gonna have to say it in Spanish.” Boy, was I about to prove him wrong.

I arrived at the brand’s mansion headquarters at 11:15 on the dot—exactly my casting time. 

Nervous and overwhelmed, I decided not to reach for my phone and just sit with my thoughts. But when the casting director walked up and asked “¿Qué número tienen los pies?” (what shoe size are you), I panicked and responded not with a number, but with my name: “Hudson.”

Great start.

I smiled through trying on outfits, said “gracias” a hundred times, and hoped I didn’t butcher too much Spanish fashion vocab. We definitely didn’t cover this in AP Spanish. I left thinking nothing of it.

At the gym later, mid-crunches and laughter with Mr. International, I got a text from my agent. My heart stopped. He translated.

“You’re booked.”

My first ever modeling job. Effortless. Aligned. After all this time. Or, maybe none at all.

All I had to do was remember a name:

Hudson.