I was most shocked, however, to realize just how much of Jackson's work is still resoundingly relevant. Throughout the show, there are clips of the singer talking about love, hope, and the future of our planet. And an act with his 1995 single "They Don't Really Care About Us" features images of police brutality as Jackson sings, "Beat me, hate me / You can never break me / Will me, thrill me / You can never kill me." Goosebumps. Is it 1995, or 2016?

Backstage, I got to talking to some of the cast. They told me there are over 63 performers in the show from more than 17 countries; a Brazilian acrobat talked to me about growing up watching Jackson's videos in awe, and a singer from Kenya talked about the impact M.J. had on her when she moved to the U.S. Hearing their stories gave me a flashback to the day that Michael Jackson died. Like the rest of the world, I remember exactly where I was when I learned of his passing: I was in Puerto Rico for a Hispanic journalism conference, learning about how to cover breaking news (talk about baptism by fire). That night, cars crawled down the streets of San Juan blasting "Beat It" and waving Puerto Rican flags. It felt symbolic, a reminder of the way Jackson crossed boundaries in my own multicultural life, but also across the world. No matter your hometown or race (cue "Black or White"), odds are Michael's music was present in one way or another.

I walked away from One feeling that, despite how complicated his life was (obviously, the man had some serious demons), the Gloved One would be proud of the legacy he left behind and the way his music impacted millions of people. For me, that impact has been a lifelong soundtrack: Those childhood moments eventually morphed into high school crushes accompanied by "The Way You Make Me Feel"; my first breakup had me cuing up "Leave Me Alone" on repeat; and as a hard-working grown-up, when I need a pick-me-up during a long week, I listen to "Off the Wall." (And FYI, if you ever want to feel sexy before a date night, listen to "Dirty Diana." Trust.)

So happy birthday, Michael. Thank you for the musical gifts you gave me — and all of us. Sure, right now I'm just a single girl who dances in her underwear to your music in her studio apartment. But if I do have a family of my own one day, just as during my own childhood, you will always be invited to the party.