Before the #RoadtoSXSW became but a glimmer in my eye — in fact, before Underground Music Collective or The Quinn Spinn even existed — I was a kid who cycled through dreams. I was looking for purpose and meaning, and ways to impact a large number of people. I always envisioned myself as a leader, even if I had no idea what leadership actually meant.

Throughout my youth and adolescence, I wanted to live a thousand lives. At different points, I aspired to be an all-star right fielder, a star quarterback and team captain, a lead actor, and a famous singer with the dance moves and calm, confident swagger of Jordan Knight. (OK… I still haven’t given up the ghost on that one, my 38-year-old ex-football player knees be damned.)

Right around age 12, I added “professional wrestler” to the list.

The year was 1999. WWE’s (then-WWF) Attitude Era was in full swing, and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin was at the top of the mountain. One day, the kids in my class were talking excitedly about the latest episode of Monday Night Raw, and I decided to check it out for myself.

I was instantly hooked. Finally, there was an outlet for my pre-teen suburban angst, courtesy of these larger-than-life characters and their over-the-top antics. For the next several years, I’d tune into every piece of WWE programming I could get my hands on. Raw, Smackdown, and even Sunday Night Heat were appointment viewing. Wrestling theme music became a regular part of my library (and still is to this day). Sometimes, I would convince my mom to let me order the Pay Per View events (and a couple times, I just did it myself and asked forgiveness later. Sorry, Mom!).

Eventually, I dove into the art form myself — first by participating in online-only “e-feds,” an internet-based role-playing game where we would write message board “promos” against our opponent, with victory awarded to the writer who created the most compelling argument before each match. Then, my brother and I started our own backyard wrestling federation — the infamous Long Valley Backyard Wrestling (LVBW). Blatantly ignoring WWE’s “Don’t Try This at Home” warnings, we laced up and competed in a crudely made ring with no mat in our parents’ backyard. Eventually, we met other aspiring wrestlers from around the Northeast, and traveled regionally to compete in various strangers’ backyards (who, admittedly, had built much safer rings) throughout high school.

By senior year, my interest in pursuing this career path had given way to a renewed focus on football. Nonetheless, my passion for and enjoyment of this unique, sometimes-bizarre form of entertainment has never waned. I’ve followed the action through the years and, as social media has broken down the walls of “kayfabe,” have come to root for my favorite wrestlers on- and off-screen.

The biggest date on the pro wrestling calendar is WrestleMania. If you’re a professional wrestler — or serve any function in the industry — it’s where you fight your entire career to be. It’s the reason why you put all those hours in; you’ll drive hours to wrestle in bingo halls and high school gyms for little-to-no pay, because every rep is building toward something greater. It’s building toward the moment where the eyes of the industry begin to look your way. It’s building toward the moment when you sign your first contract and have your first match with a major promotion. It’s building toward the possibility that, one day, you might get to have your own “WrestleMania Moment” — a featured spot on the Grandest Stage of Them All, where you reach the pinnacle by creating a memory that will live on through history.

Not everyone gets their “WrestleMania Moment.” In fact, most professional wrestlers don’t. That’s what makes it so special; it means that you’ve put in your 10,000 hours, have sacrificed greatly, and continue to persevere through the challenges that greet us all on our way to our visions turning into reality.

When you have that moment — one that can take years or even decades to reach — it is something to be cherished. If one thing along the journey had gone differently, you may have never gotten here. Now that you’re here, you may never get here again. All you have is now. Make the most of it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about major milestones, as the #RoadtoSXSW takes its turn into the home stretch. And, while I may not be competing for the WWE Championship in Las Vegas this April, I can appreciate what it means to travel a long, challenging road, to eventually stand before the biggest opportunity of my life.

I’m heading to Austin for my first SXSW this Friday. As a music industry thought leader, this is my first ‘WrestleMania Moment.’ This is my Super Bowl, World Series, and Stanley Cup Finals. It’s taken a long time and plenty of lessons — at least 60+, if you’re curious — to get here. There have been countless late nights and early mornings. There have been loads of triumphs, and my fair share of disasters. There have been glimmers of hope scattered through the past 11 1/2 years, and perhaps just as many moments of doubt and stress.

This is where I’ve fought my entire career to be — since the moment of singularity when this was all just a USB mic, a laptop, and an idea in my childhood bedroom, one August night in 2013.

Through it all, there has been faith. I’ve always held the belief that, if I just stay on the road a little bit longer, I’ll graduate from the “bingo halls” and “high school gyms” of my chosen industry, and have the opportunity to build this platform into one that transforms the music industry and the creative ecosystem at-large. That faith has been rewarded so many times along this journey — especially over the past couple of years — as our platform has been blessed with incredible opportunities in media and at conferences, festivals, notable venues, and more.

We’ve already made it to the big leagues. Figuratively speaking, we’ve been on Raw, Smackdown, and plenty of Pay Per Views — but this is the biggest one yet.

This is WrestleMania as I know it.

The lights are on. My music is playing. All that’s left is to walk down that 800-mile ramp to Austin, get in the ring, and create moments that live on, long after the bell rings.