I hope that sometime, maybe after I catch my breath, I express myself more eloquently regarding the past week in Havana.

This I know: Last week was the best week of my life. My 23rd birthday was the best birthday of my life. January 22 was the best day of my life. I am convinced that nobody in the history of youthful travel has ever had a more incredible trip than I just had in Cuba.

But I’m not actually sure that I’ll ever be able to adequately communicate why.

I’m hitting an age when the chips are beginning to fall in a big way. The friends I casually knew a few years ago are now crucial figures in my life–and I couldn’t have known that then. The actions and decisions we’ve been making over the last several years of our lives are starting to catapult us into distinct and unprecedented directions–and we couldn’t have known that then.

Three years ago, I went to dinner on my birthday with a handful of friends down on Broome Street in NYC. Paloma sat next to me. Eric sat at the bar on his laptop. And last Sunday, they got married surrounded old and new friends, Cuban waves, and island clouds.

So what if I had known freshman year, when we learned Mary Oliver’s poem in class, that I would hear Paloma read out the iconic line in her wedding vows? So what if I had known that three years later, she would hang over my shoulder and sing “happy birthday” into my ear in a voice raspy from a weekend of the greatest parties of all time?

OR, what are we doing today that we could never know will be pivotal later in life?

Endless congratulations, thanks, and support for Eric and Paloma. Last week was one, wild, and precious.

Enjoy these pictures of the trip, the wedding festivities, and the wedding.


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