As Monday, November 16, 2026, approaches, I’m celebrating my 35th birthday, four official White House responses, and a life I never could have imagined. From a painfully shy kid growing up in Mound, Minnesota, to shouting “We love you, Mr. President!” at Donald Trump’s January 20, 2025, inauguration, my journey has taken me farther than I ever dreamed. Inspired by OneRepublic’s “I Lived,” this is a story of finding my voice, following my heart, inspiring the next generation, and still believing that the most beautiful chapter of my life may be waiting to begin. ❤️🇺🇸
As Monday, November 16, 2026—my 35th birthday—gets closer, I can feel myself getting emotional. Thirty-five years of adventures, missed chances, lessons, and moments I never could have imagined. And now, just days before this milestone, a fourth official response from the White House has arrived. I keep looking back at the path that brought a painfully shy kid from Mound, Minnesota, to a life he never dreamed possible. OneRepublic's "I Lived" has been on repeat in my head—not because life has always been easy, but because it reminds me to take chances, embrace the unknown, and live with my whole heart.
I grew up in Westonka Public Schools, beginning at Shirley Hills Elementary School, continuing through Grandview Middle School, and graduating from Mound Westonka High School in 2010. In middle school, a girl I thought was beautiful put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek twice. I still couldn't find the words. For years, I carried those missed hellos with me while traveling across the world, hoping that somewhere along the way I'd become the person who could finally speak when something mattered. I've experienced some pretty crazy things in 35 years, but that shy little boy has never completely left me. And perhaps that's a good thing, because he's the reason I still believe in kindness, love, and the possibility of something beautiful happening when you least expect it.
On January 16, 2025, I sat alone at Serendipity 3 in New York City with a frozen hot chocolate, thinking about fate, love, and whether life might still surprise me. Four days later, I was outside Capital One Arena in Washington, D.C., for President Donald J. Trump's January 20, 2025, inauguration. From January 19 into January 20, I spent thirteen hours enduring the coldest night of my life, sleeping on the freezing asphalt beneath a tarp as brutal winds swept through Washington. My fingers went numb, tears froze against my face, and there were moments when every part of my body wanted to give up. I was exhausted, freezing, and filled with doubt. But something deep in my heart kept telling me I needed to be there. I couldn't explain why, and I had absolutely no idea what was waiting on the other side of that night. I just knew I couldn't leave. When the doors finally opened, I made it inside, just four rows from the stage. As "Hail to the Chief" played for the fourth time, I stood up and shouted five words straight from my heart: "We love you, Mr. President!" President Trump turned toward me, and First Lady Melania Trump waved. The moment was captured on national television. After a lifetime of being afraid to speak, the shy little boy from Mound, Minnesota, had finally found his voice. And suddenly, every freezing hour on that asphalt had been worth it.
My first official White House response brought an Inauguration Day quote card and a presidential photograph. At approximately 11 p.m. on my 34th birthday, November 16, 2025, I sat in Minnesota and wrote a heartfelt thank-you. Four days later, on November 20, President Trump hand-signed a letter for me, which arrived in early December. And now, almost exactly one year later, my fourth official White House response—an America 250 commemorative card from President Donald Trump and First Lady Melania Trump—has arrived just four days before my 35th birthday. Sometimes I look at that card and feel tears welling up. Not simply because it came from the White House, but because I remember the little boy who never imagined his voice could travel this far. I wish I could go back, put my arms around him, and tell him how much life still has waiting for him.
What blows me away even more is realizing that my correspondence with the White House has become part of something much bigger than myself. The Presidential Records Act provides for the preservation of presidential records and their eventual transfer to the National Archives. To think that the letters I wrote from the heart may become part of that permanent historical record is something I never could have imagined. I didn't travel to Washington hoping to make history. I went because I loved my country and felt compelled to be there. Now, as I approach 35, I'm overwhelmed by how one spontaneous moment has grown into a story connected to the preservation of American presidential history.
It feels freeing to finally share my life here: the adventures, missed chances, mistakes, lessons, and extraordinary moments that helped me become who I am. At last check, this website had reached 8,847 hits from 54 countries across every inhabited continent. In August, I made a last-minute trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas, to apply for the America 250 Patriot Passport, where staff at the Arkansas Passport Center told me how inspiring they found my story. At ScreamTown in Chaska this Halloween, girls from my old high school said they'd been hearing about it around school. Eighth graders have told me they've discussed it in class and found it inspiring.
I had just two mentions in my 2010 senior yearbook. Now, sixteen years later, I'm becoming part of Westonka Public Schools' history in a way I never expected. What began with five spontaneous words at a presidential inauguration has become a living example of American civic participation, reaching classrooms in the same Minnesota community where I once struggled to find my confidence. That may be the most beautiful part of all: the boy who was afraid to use his voice now has a story encouraging the next generation to find theirs. I never imagined that following my heart could bring me this far, and I hope it reminds others that their own stories are worth living, too.
And yet, beneath all the travel, the White House responses, the possibility of my words becoming part of the National Archives, and the once-in-a-lifetime experiences that could fill days of conversation, there is still one simple hope I've carried since that evening at Serendipity 3. As I prepare to turn 35 on Monday, I've been thinking about what I'd wish for if I could have just one thing for my birthday. It wouldn't be another adventure, another headline, or another letter from Washington. My birthday wish would be that, after all these years, the right woman might finally sit across from me, give me a genuine chance, and want to know the person behind these extraordinary stories. Not because of what I've accomplished or who has acknowledged me, but simply because she sees something in me worth getting to know.
Someone who might smile and ask how on earth an ordinary guy from Mound, Minnesota, managed to experience so much of this beautiful world—and find himself part of a remarkable moment in American civic history. Someone who would want to hear about the shy boy at Grandview, the frozen night in Washington, the unexpected White House letters, and all the crazy adventures in between. But just as importantly, someone whose own stories I'd be equally excited to hear. What makes her laugh, what she's dreamed about, what she's overcome, and what makes her feel alive. I'd want to know the little things, too—the things that make her smile when nobody's watching, the places she'd love to see, and the dreams she hasn't quite found the courage to chase. No pressure. No perfect script. Just two people giving each other the chance to be genuinely known, without worrying about where the evening might lead.
That's what OneRepublic's "I Lived" means to me as I approach 35. I've taken chances, crossed oceans, made mistakes, followed my heart, and experienced things I never could have imagined. I've finally found the courage to share my story with the world. But I've also learned that a life filled with extraordinary experiences can still leave room for one beautifully ordinary dream: finding someone who wants to share the everyday moments, too. Someone who doesn't need every day to be an adventure, because sometimes simply being together is enough.
Because after 35 years of extraordinary adventures, maybe my next great story won't begin halfway around the world or beneath the lights of a historic arena. Maybe it will begin with a simple conversation that neither of us wants to end. And perhaps one day, we'll find ourselves at Serendipity 3 in New York City, sitting beneath that famous clock, sharing a frozen hot chocolate in the very place where I once sat alone on January 16, 2025, wondering what fate might have in store for me. Only this time, there would be someone sitting across from me, smiling, laughing, and genuinely wanting to hear my story, just as much as I'd want to hear hers. Maybe the most meaningful thing waiting for me isn't another once-in-a-lifetime moment, but someone who makes the ordinary moments feel just as unforgettable.
And if that day ever comes, I hope she'll understand something about me. For all the places I've been and everything I've experienced, I've never stopped being that shy boy who believes in the beauty of a genuine connection. The difference is that, after everything life has taught me, I finally have the courage to say what's in my heart.
I lived. I found my voice. And as I turn 35, I'm still holding out hope that the most beautiful chapter of my life might bring me back beneath that clock at Serendipity 3—only this time, with someone beside me who wants to discover where our story might go. ❤️🇺🇸
Just four days before my 35th birthday on November 16, 2026, my fourth official White House response arrived: this America 250 commemorative card from President Donald J. Trump and First Lady Melania Trump. Nearly two years after I shouted “We love you, Mr. President!” at the January 20, 2025, inauguration in Washington, D.C., my journey from a shy kid in Mound, Minnesota, continues to surprise me. A reminder that one voice, five heartfelt words, and the courage to follow your heart can lead to places you never imagined. 🇺🇸
