My first serious hobby was wrestling. I joined the section when I was ten, and it wasn't about grace, but about endurance and character. The smell of the mats, the firm grips, and the weight of a victory - it was there I understood what it means to be responsible for your actions on the mat. Wrestling taught me not to shy away from pressure and to be aware of my own strength. A few years ago, I wanted something completely different, so I picked up a guitar. Instead of throws, there were chords; instead of the tension of a fight, there was the patient memorization of fingerpicking patterns. The pads of my fingers ached from the strings at first, but they gradually became calloused, and the chaotic sounds came together into simple melodies. It was a different kind of discipline, quieter and more personal. Now, looking back, I see how these different worlds - wrestling and music - shaped me.

My biggest dream is not about a specific point on the map, but about a feeling of complete self-reliance. I want to build a life where every step I take is the result of my own choice, not chance or someone else's influence. For me, this means having a job that challenges me, not just provides stability. I dream of one day, without overthinking, packing my things and setting off on a long car trip through small European towns. Not for bright photos, but to feel the rhythm of a different life, to stop where I like, and talk to the locals. But the most important dream is an internal one. I want to cultivate that kind of confidence that is independent of external validation. To make decisions firmly, and to treat my mistakes not as failures, but as necessary experience that moves me forward.

My name is Jane, and I was born and raised in Bulgaria, in a city surrounded by mountains. My 18 years are so far a story of a few key points on life's map. One of the brightest was moving to Sofia to attend university, which overturned my usual perception of the world. Another significant moment was an accidental trip to a small village in the Rhodopes, which I ended up in due to an incorrect bus schedule; this mistake gifted me a meeting with a local craftswoman who shared the secret of an ancient Bulgarian pattern. It is these unexpected turns, not just plans, that have taught me to appreciate the journey itself, and not just the final destination. Now, I am learning to balance the rhythm of the capital with the silence of my native places, finding my unique balance in this contrast.

We often live with the feeling that the present is just a preparation for something important that lies ahead. "When I finish my studies and start working, then my real life will begin." But time passes, and this "real life" keeps being postponed, giving way to new stages of preparation. But what if it's already happening? Right now, in these routine days, in the morning coffee, in conversations with loved ones, on the way to work or school. We await grand events so eagerly that we miss the quiet beauty of the ordinary. Perhaps the meaning is not in reaching some final point, but in fully experiencing every moment of the journey. To value not only the peaks, but the climb itself, with its difficulties and unexpected views. After all, life is not a destination, but a continuous process. And the present happens not somewhere in the future, but right here.