BRAVE SWIFTIES.

It began, as all the best stories do, with a dog. Not just any dog — a goldendoodle named Lord Sandwich, whose voice I borrowed and breathed into life on Instagram, back in 2013. Lord Sandwich became more than a doodle. He became a doorway. A world-builder. A connector of souls.

Through Sandwich, I met Sandy.

Sandy, who found us because she and her husband have beardie dogs. A kindred spirit, one of those instant-friend people. She Zoomed into my pandemic dog-mom gatherings, flew west to visit when work brought her to San Francisco. Eric and I stayed with her in Delaware a few times as well, laughing, drinking wine, living like family rocking on porches and coastal time zones. 

Sandy's house and a short visit after a long work week was the last time I'd spend time on the road for a few years thanks to covid and my breast cancer. I flew back from a wonderful time with Sandy, her husband Steve and their 3 Beardies March 2020. A fabulous memory to hold on to. She checked on me every single week of my breast cancer battle, my East Coast rock. 

Then came July 2024. A phone call.

“Ali,” Sandy said, with that sparkle in her voice that meant something good was coming. “Get yourself to Vancouver. First week of December. I got us Taylor Swift tickets.”

It wasn’t just any Taylor Swift show. It was the last Friday night of the Eras Tour.

Of course, I said yes. I had just spent the last year watching every reel posted on social media of the Eras Tour late into the night (and sometimes into the wee morning hours!). Taylor changed me. I was so empowered by Taylor's kindness, talent and over all tenacity. I booked the flight, promised Vancouver food and wine and Swifty joy for the hours leading up. We made our plans.

And then it started — the kismet.

The second I landed, the magic began. Two bottles of wine made it across the border with me, no questions asked. I checked into the Waterfront Fairmont — shimmering view, harbor stretching out like a painting. Sandy’s flight was delayed. I had the first evening to myself, and wandered to an Indian restaurant highly recommended by wine pro friends. 

The food was poetry. The chef-owner came out to talk, and we fell into the kind of conversation that makes you feel like you've met before — wine, Healdsburg, Semillon. At the end, he brought out a bottle of his own “Freedom Peacock...like a Peacock Dance, elegant and graceful. 

Chef Vij then leaned over and whispered “be the free bird and dance however the f**k you want in life and have fun”. We locked huge smiles. Another small miracle.

The whole trip was made of those — little clicks of coincidence, the kind that make you feel like someone, somewhere, is writing your story. Hell, we stopped for an afternoon cocktails in the oldest hotel in Vancouver, to discover days later this is where Taylor booked herself and her tour team to stay. So close! 

And then the concert. The Eras Tour.

You know how people say they couldn’t take it all in? That it was too much joy? Too much talent? Too much beauty, all in one stadium? It was like that. Sixty-four thousand hearts lit up and beating as one. We danced, we cried, we sang like we’d never stop. I caught a moment on video — Taylor hugging her mother backstage. Not once. Twice. Tender and unguarded. It made me cry all over again.

The show ended. We didn’t want to leave, but time pushed us forward.

Bundled up and walking through the tunnel, my hands slipped into my coat pocket. Two little bracelets. I’d forgotten them completely.

Too small for my wrist, but too sweet not to share.

To my left — a little girl in a black velvet pea coat, face lit up like it still belonged in a fairytale. I bent down. “Want to trade the last two bracelets of the night?” Her mom smiled. The girl nodded, sleeve rolled up, and the trade was made.

The first bracelet she gave me said Reputation. I smiled. A big-girl bracelet, a big important word.

Then I was swept forward by the crowd, but she tapped my jacket. “I’ve got one more,” she said.

I reached back blindly, let her slip it onto my wrist, murmured thank you without even looking.

It wasn’t until an hour later — cold, soaked, on the train back to the hotel — that I saw it.

My sleeve slid down. There it was.

B R A V E
Big black letters. Loud, proud, pink-and-cheerful beads all around.

I showed Sandy, my light-up Eras wristband still blinking like a heartbeat. “Look,” I said, barely breathing. “It says brave.”

And we both knew.

That was why we’d come.

To celebrate me kicking breast cancer. To celebrate her retirement. To honor how far we’d come. Brave ladies, both.

I didn’t sleep for three nights after that. The story kept dancing in my veins. I told Eric. I told everyone. I’m still telling it.

Because in that moment — shining from the inside out — something clicked again. Another door opened, I must do something SWIFTIE size about BRAVE. 

Not just a bottle of wine. A helper. A promise. A true story. A strand in the great, glimmering web that Lord Sandwich started, that Taylor amplified, that fate keeps writing.

Bravery hides in beautiful places. My eyes and VERY grateful heart are wide open. 

 - Ali Story