I always thought I’d start writing a blog someday. You know how it goes—one of those “I’ll do it when I have time” things. And in my head, it was simple: open a laptop, type some thoughts, post. Boom. Blogger life, here I come. But... no. Reality looked more like this: Open an account. Choose a name. Pick a topic. Write. Rewrite. Delete. Start again. Forget. Binge Netflix. Repeat. Procrastination was an art form, and I was Picasso. Every time I even thought about starting, life got in the way. Deadlines at work. Unexpected errands. That voice in my head whispering, “Does the world really need another blog?” And when I finally had time? I’d open Instagram, scroll for “inspiration,” and lose two hours to cat reels. It just never happened. Until last month. We were in Paris, and like any tourist with a sense of fun and a heart full of nostalgia, we spent the day at Disneyland Paris. It was magical—enchanted castles, smiling kids, overpriced churros, the works. After the fireworks and light show, we made our way back on the train to the city. It was late, cold, and packed. Everyone looked half-asleep, clutching souvenirs and kids in Mickey ears. And somewhere between Marne-la-Vallée and Châtelet, it hit me. Not a big revelation. Not some life-altering epiphany. Just... a memory. There was a girl across from me on the train. She had a Minnie Mouse hoodie on and was humming a tune from The Lion King. And suddenly, I was six years old again, sitting cross-legged in front of our TV, mouthing every word to "Circle of Life." I remembered my old Disney VHS collection, my school bag with Goofy on it, my mom braiding my hair while I watched Cinderella for the 42nd time. That moment—so small, so oddly powerful—unlocked something in me. And before I could stop myself, I pulled out my phone and started typing. Not in Notes. Not in Gmail drafts. In an actual blog editor. Yes. A real blog. My first. Because—and here’s the part I almost forgot to mention—I had just started using this new app called FindingUrWay.online . Originally, I downloaded it to help plan our trip. It’s got everything: bookings, itinerary tools, maps, translation in 12 languages (bless that feature), and this cool little thing called a Travel Journal. Turns out, the journal has a built-in blog feature. So there I was, still on the train, fingers moving faster than my thoughts, writing my first blog post—right inside that app. I uploaded a picture of the castle at night, added a short caption, and hit publish. Just like that. It didn’t need a logo. It didn’t ask me to pick a niche. I didn’t need to know my SEO from my HTML. No pressure, no perfectionism—just a space to say what I felt in that moment. And you know what? It felt amazing. I had written something real, something mine. Not for likes, not for an audience, not for anything. Just for me. And for the little kid in me who still believes in magic and still hums Disney songs when no one’s listening. So yeah—after all those months (okay, years) of putting it off, I finally started a blog. Not because I planned it perfectly. But because one app made it easy. And one night, on a crowded train from Disneyland Paris, my heart gave me no choice but to write.