by Sona Ovasapyan

On November 13, 2023, I found myself standing beneath a chandelier in a ballroom at Mar-a-Lago. Donald Trump was speaking from the stage. There were VIPs, crypto entrepreneurs, photographers, influencers — and then there was me.

And I was only there because I mailed in a postcard.

No crypto wallet. No purchase. No backstage access. Just a self-addressed postcard sent in on a whim — because I saw a contest that said “no purchase necessary,” and I thought… why not?

I didn’t expect anything to come from it. But it did.

When I got the invitation, I was stunned. I don’t come from money. I’m not part of that world. I’m a mother. A poet. A woman who has fought through illness, instability, exhaustion, and heartbreak — quietly, and mostly in the shadows. I’ve spent more time feeling unseen than celebrated.

So when I arrived at Mar-a-Lago, dressed in something I hoped was elegant enough, I still didn’t feel like I truly belonged there. But I went anyway. And I stood in that mirror for a moment to take a photo — not out of vanity, but to mark the moment. To remember that somehow, I had shown up in a room I never imagined entering.

It wasn’t about politics for me. It wasn’t about NFTs or crypto culture, which I still don’t fully understand. It was about something else entirely: presence.

Sometimes the universe opens a strange, golden door not to elevate you, but to whisper:

You are allowed to take up space.

Not because you’re wealthy. Not because you’re known. But because you’re real. Because you were brave enough to show up.

That’s why I’m writing this. Not to tell you about a party — but to tell you about a moment.

A moment that reminded me that I don’t need credentials to be counted. That even if I came through the side door with nothing but a name and a postcard, I was still there. Still worthy. Still enough.

And if you’re reading this and ever doubted that you belonged in a room, a dream, a version of yourself you barely recognize —

maybe this is your reminder too.

You don’t need permission to belong.

—

Sona