And so there it was. Another man who forced himself into my world, just to make an exit the moment I refused to accept something he offered.

When his cousin approached me at the wedding, her first words to me were, “You’re so beautiful…I have somebody for you. He’s 40, rich, and single.” That description alone wasn’t enough to intrigue me or make me interested in getting to know him. In fact, it only made my stomach queasy.

40, rich, and single? Something isn’t adding up. But I digress.

If I were to add up all the time we shared in conversation at the wedding and after exchanging numbers, and remove all the pauses that lengthened things, we had approximately two hours of conversation.

Two hours.

In fact, most of our conversation consisted of him telling me he knew where to get the best pornstar martinis the city of Dallas had to offer. So when he sent a “breakup text” telling me how he didn’t want anything serious, and he didn’t want to disappoint me or get my hopes up, I knew it was simply because I told him the place he mentioned did not, in fact, have the best pornstar martinis I’ve had in the city.

I’m never shocked by how quickly humans switch up when you don’t say yes—when you don’t accept or agree to what they offer or want from you. And now more than ever, I have become comfortable with not accepting everything that’s presented to me.

You see, the me of yesteryear would face a situation like this and just take it. Some may call it being afraid of confrontation. I call it being afraid of their reaction. I hated the look on someone’s face when I was about to say something that countered what they said. I despised the discomfort I felt knowing there was either an argument brewing or the end of a conversation—maybe the end of even more.

So I would just say yes.

Agree.

Accept everything that was given to me.

In the long run, I was protecting everyone’s feelings rather than my choices. The audible ‘yes’ I gave in place of every withheld ‘no’ because I was scared of the disappointment, anger, or discomfort I could cause someone else.

It’s easy to become so agreeable that you lose the depth of being honest and transparent. We don’t notice how quickly we shut away our true perspectives and feelings. The question we should ask ourselves is: when did becoming agreeable outweigh honesty?

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For me, I knew that becoming a people pleaser was easier when I experienced too much loss, too soon. I once lied to a Muslim guy that I didn’t eat pork. We were talking about foods we’d never eat and he spoke of pork with so much disgust. Of course, I was expecting a Muslim to hate pork, but he continued on to say “anybody who eats it is just filthy!”

I immediately thought, ‘Oh my goodness. I can’t reveal that I’m a pork eater or he’d be disgusted with me.” So, I agreed. “Oh yeahhh, definitely no pork on my fork.” The truth was burning inside of me because I knew if they added a little bacon to my burger or pancetta in my carbonara, I wouldn’t fight it.

I hated premature endings, so I avoided them by agreeing.

Now, did this people-pleasing strategy ever work for me? To an extent. Yeah, it would keep me from losing people and opportunities at that moment. There would be times I thought, ‘it was worth it.’ But eventually, and sometimes sooner than later, I would lose the thing I was trying to keep. Those relationships built on hidden opinions never lasted, and eventually, I got tired of keeping quiet.

And you better believe that before I became fatigued, I was annoyed and resentful. Yes, I know—the two things I shouldn’t carry in relationships—but it was bound to happen. I found myself getting annoyed with everything they did and said. Anything that came from their lips made me roll my eyes internally. The resentment, maybe, stemmed from regrets of holding back. From allowing someone to get comfortable with a dishonest version of me.

If I had to be honest with myself, the resentment was misplaced. I was truly angry with myself for creating those expectations. I taught them how to interact with me and what I accepted. I swallowed the hard pill that it was my responsibility to set the stage and say who performs—and I didn’t. So when they finally do encounter the version of me that says no, it’s jarring.

Some of us share this reality. There may have been moments when we said we’re flipping the script!

From today forward, I’m saying no!

I’m not going to be a people pleaser.

I’m going to tell people how I feel.

If they don’t like it, they can leave!

I gotta put me first, Lucious!

Let’s hold our horses. Relationships still require compromise. It’s just about compromise that doesn’t lead to self-abandonment. There will be times when we agree to do something because we love someone. There must be a little bending in relationships. “I don’t really enjoy this, but I know you wanted to do it today, so I’m willing to try.” This way, you never abandon yourself, and the other person is aware of your feelings.

With time and experience, I’ve proudly become someone who can compromise without losing myself. I’d even offer solutions to soften the blow.

So let’s go back to Mr. Pornstar Martini. I offered an alternative, and that may have rubbed him the wrong way. Everyone I’ve told the story to says there was a possibility his ego was bruised. After all, how dare I feel like his go-to place wasn’t a place I would even consider for pre-dinner drinks. On the other side of a possibly bruised ego is a person who’s used to hearing ‘yes.’ Used to people agreeing, accepting, and going along with whatever they say. To me, it was a very insignificant matter, but to him, it was probably much bigger.

My growth here is that I didn’t agree just because I didn’t want to offend. I wasn’t afraid to lose out on Mr. 40, Rich, and Single because that description didn’t initially pique my interest. I also didn’t try to convince him of anything else. Not every topic needs a debate.

I let it be.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Situations like this, and even more difficult ones, are never just easy-peasy for me. I go back and forth in my head about whether something is worth disagreeing on in the heat of it all. I just got to the point where I was tired of intimidation keeping me quiet—especially this early on. I don’t know him. I have nothing to prove to him. This is the best time for him to take it or leave it.

Now, let’s place a magnifying glass over the other instances in which a reaction can intimidate or silence us.

With our professional peers.

With family we don’t want to lose.

When talking to someone older, who is seen as someone with wisdom.

Or with someone we admire.

With someone we want to impress.

You want to impress the new boss, so you become the kiss-ass that everyone ends up secretly hating. You only did it because you didn’t want to feel small or out of place with your true self. You didn’t want anyone to look at you sideways because you’re more different than similar to them. Yeah, intimidation of reaction has probably caused many of us to creep into a shell that doesn’t belong to us.

I’m learning that someone else’s reaction or approval shouldn’t determine my response. It shouldn’t determine whether or not I reveal my true self. So no, it’s not that I will go around saying ‘no’ to everyone and everything that’s offered to me, (although it may not be a bad idea) but I am choosing not to silence my perspective.

I’m doing it for every time I withheld my true self.

For every time I gave someone an inaccurate version of me.

For every time I said yes when I really meant to say no.

The goal isn’t to start saying no to everything. It’s to become someone who says yes and actually means yes. No hidden feelings, thoughts, or emotions. There’s so much liberation in being you, unapologetically. It’s possible to respectfully share your true thoughts on a matter. We were never meant to all be the same. We’re called to be more than someone’s yes.

For every time you say yes, make sure it isn’t coated in regret.

The first time I compared myself to someone else was in the third grade. I was an eight-year-old girl who wasn’t yet confident in her looks. I was much taller than anyone else in my class, and it came with extra meat on my bones. To top things off, I was one of the few Black kids in my predominantly white charter school.

We wore uniforms—shorts, plaid skirts, collared shirts with ties, and dress shoes. This was the age when confidence was built, which explains why I spent my entire childhood and some of my adult years, tucked under the wings of insecurity. I was in a room full of Girl Scouts who were much more petite.

There was a particular day I’ll never forget. We sat at our desks when the Girl Scouts were having the weirdest competition—who jiggles the most. Sarah, their ring leader, said, “if you stomp your foot on the ground and your thigh jiggles, you’re fat.” All of them took turns stomping their foot on the ground. First Sarah, then Emily, then it continued until it got to my turn. The girls giggled before I picked my foot up and gently stomped it on the ground. Even with my intentionally soft stomp, my thigh still jiggled more than anyone else’s.

I went through a whirlwind of emotions. I was sad, disappointed, envious, and insecure. All the things a child of my age shouldn’t feel. These emotions were followed by a series of questions to myself.

Why did my thigh jiggle so much?

Why was I always the biggest in every class?

Why did people treat me differently because of my size?

Comparison found me that day.

In retrospect, I never had a problem with being comfortable in myself. The problem came when I compared myself to the other girls around me. From that day forward, comparison always took from me—and it took more than just joy.

It took my confidence.

My gratitude.

My excitement.

My peace.

My presence.

My contentment.

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Before that day, the day comparison found me, I didn’t think about these things. I knew I was bigger, but I never saw it as bad. Once something to compare myself to was introduced, I lost. I saw being different as being less than. I began to question things that I never questioned before, like why was I the darkest girl in my class? These feelings would extend into my adulthood and make it hard for me to ever see myself as enough.

The one thing comparison took from me that I had to fight to take back? Contentment. I know many would say joy, but I say joy is an aftereffect of contentment. You find joy when you realize what you have, and it doesn’t matter if it’s big or small. Comparison made it hard for me to look at my life and enjoy it. All of a sudden, the things I had weren’t enough. The milestones I prayed to reach could’ve been more. That bachelor’s degree was nothing because someone I knew got their master’s. That 10-pound weight loss was nothing compared to the person who had already met their final fitness goal, and I was still trying to achieve mine.

Whenever I noticed that someone was doing more, I would compare my life to theirs. And sometimes, it was about things I had no control over. Three friends got engaged this year. All of a sudden, comparison appears. What exactly should I do? Curate a timeline that isn’t mine? Beg a man to propose to me? Get on my knees to propose if he’s taking too long?

The sad part is that there was never a time when I saw myself on the winning side of comparison. My ability to be content was stripped down to nothing. It became hard to enjoy my successes. My attention shifted from what I achieved to what I hadn’t. The reality is that nothing about my life changed—only where I was looking. If someone else didn’t achieve something, I would be proud of myself, more content. Comparison took away my ability to look at someone’s wins, be happy for them, and refocus on my lane. I always had to bring it back to me—to how what I had wasn’t enough.

In this life, it’s normal for us to want more. It becomes a problem when the more blinds us from what we currently have. Eventually, it even gets to the point where compliments don’t even matter to us. Someone tells you that you did something great, and it sounds like a lie. They saw your win, while you only highlighted your loss.

Comparison can make a perfectly fine life feel inadequate. It makes you hate your own because it doesn’t look like what you think it should resemble. Life never actually changes after comparing it to someone else’s. Yeah, for some, it may spark drive and ambition. You may compare yourself to someone else, and it ignites a fire in you. For others, it does the complete opposite.

Comparison is deceptive because we compare our lows to everyone’s highs. Have you heard people say,

“No one is showing you their losses. They’re just highlighting their wins.”

We never see the times when people are in the same place we are, so desperate to leave. We dismiss the many years it took them to get there. We dismiss the reality of their past being our present. We only look at where they are now, and somehow conclude that they’ve always been there. The only difference between you and them is time. It’s like looking at baked cake and forgetting that, at some point, it was just a bunch of random ingredients that couldn’t be consumed on their own.

Comparison is how someone else’s blessing can make yours feel smaller. This is how we train our minds to never see our cup as half full, and always half empty.

I wonder how many things we’ve overlooked because our gaze was fixed on someone or something else. We don’t realize the flowers in our garden are starting to bloom because our neighbor has already picked theirs and made a bouquet. So instead of watching our flowers in their season, we look down on them because they haven’t been made into a beautiful arrangement.

Can you imagine the beautiful seasons we’ve missed because comparison rushed us out of it? Because we were too busy looking at our neighbor’s bouquet? For me, I’m sure life would be a lot different if I didn’t allow comparison to tug at my sleeve. If I remained content through the different stages of life. If comparison had never found me in such a ruinous way. Maybe I would’ve realized when my own flowers bloomed.

When did comparison find you?

I saw this video on TikTok (and I so wish I could find it) where a girl said that we don’t have a community like our parents’ generation because nobody is willing to inconvenience themselves. The comments were full of people listing the things they saw their parents do growing up and how we don’t do them anymore, and I started to think about things I noticed.

This past weekend was a big holiday, and my childhood was full of these memories. Those barbecues at the park.

Endless food and drinks.

Water sports for the kids.

Bumping music.

The uncles would grill all day, as long as they had their Guinness. The smell of chicken, suya, and grilled corn would tickle my nose, and all I could think about was sneaking a piece of meat from Uncle B’s hidden foil pan.

Aunty Bisola loved getting up early, so she would bring the first round of food, and she already planned to tag-team the coolers of jollof rice and sides with Aunty Lola. They would plate the rice in styrofoam plates while swinging their hips to the sound of Nigerian tunes.

It was as if they worked in shifts. Once we started running out of food and drinks, the next shift would pull up with more. I’m talking about endless enjoyment on every side.

As a child, I didn’t care that we were outside in the heat all day. I was eating my favorite foods and playing with friends who turned into cousins. And I’m sure it was the only chance our parents had to actually sit down and talk—share the latest gist, settle small disputes, catch up. It was fun all around for everyone. This is where connections and community were built—our parents’ friends, whom we called aunty and uncle, their kids, who became the people we call cousins until adulthood, were all made here.

Those special memories felt like the perfect depiction of community. Community isn’t some new buzzword people are choosing to use. It’s not just friendship and knowing people. Community is about belonging.

The thing about community is that everyone belongs and has a place. People are not just taking up room—everyone is seen. If someone goes quiet, another notices. It’s a mixture of giving and receiving, not just parasitic relationships.

The more I dug into the ways that real community shows up for each other, the more questions I had.

Have we lost community, or has its appearance just changed? Maybe it’s not that our generation doesn’t have a community—it’s that our parents were living in a world that naturally encouraged them to have one.

I visited my friend in the hospital and had a chat with her family about community. We talked about the ways our generation is completely different. They were shocked that I came to the hospital so early in the morning, regardless of how upset I was with myself for not getting there early enough.

Her sister mentioned one thing that made me tilt my head and say, “Hmm, that’s also true.” Proximity is everything for a community. My memory doesn’t fail me when it comes to my childhood, so I can confidently say that we never had to take a road trip to see a friend. They all lived nearby. So close that they could just pull up to each other’s houses at the most random times of the day.

Some even lived in the same neighborhood. That’s why it was so easy for us to go four houses to my uncle’s house when my mom was in labor with my brother. When my father left, the neighbors who were close in proximity stepped up. Sometimes, we would wake up on a random Saturday morning and see our freshly cut grass. Our neighbor would wave from across the street and yell, “I was cutting mine already, so I figured I’d cut yours.”

People also stayed in neighborhoods much longer. We definitely can’t do that now. Everyone moves from apartment to apartment, chasing the next luxury spot. The ones who have houses have moved far away. It’s kind of hard to have a community when you have to drive an hour and a half to see someone. And don’t get me started driving that distance and not even being offered a meal. It’s not like I’m depending on them to feed me, because I’m going to eat regardless, but dependence is what makes up a large part of community.

Our parents depended on each other, while we depend on services. When we need a ride, we’re immediately comparing Uber and Lyft prices. Our parents would call a friend, not a taxi.

I met a guy who had a recent double injury, left unable to drive. Although I knew him for a short while, I found myself offering to pick up groceries for him when I got mine. He was surprised at my offer because it had been months, and nobody had asked him how he was getting food. Even if they had the technology, I don’t think my mom would be caught dead ordering groceries from an app if her only reason was that she couldn’t drive due to an injury. In fact, the house would be full of groceries and cooked meals from everyone.

They needed something built? Somebody they know has a toolbox they could put to work. They’re not paying money on TaskRabbit to put a bedroom dresser together (I’m still upset about having to do that).

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While it may seem like I’m giving all the glory to the older generation, I do understand that times have changed, and younger generations have received the short end of the stick.

Our parents had a living, breathing economy. My dad was a taxi driver, and my mom was a waitress. We lived in a four-bedroom house with two living rooms, a big kitchen, and a backyard. I don’t think someone who does both themselves could get a one-bedroom apartment in Dallas today. Today, you must have a full-time job, a part-time gig, and a side hustle before a realtor in the city shows you a basic, small home for $800,000.

And while we’re busy working all these jobs, our time to build our community dwindles, leaving us with enough time to extend an invite to dinner every blue moon.

Dinner at a place where we have to pay to park, only serves small plates that are much more than what you bargained for, and you dare not cancel the reservation because they charge your card anyway. Our community gatherings have highkey turned into expensive meet-ups, and it’s not completely our fault.

Our parents didn’t have to do the planning, scheduling, and checking availability—they just showed up.

Maybe community didn’t disappear—it just adapted.

I have community in different spaces, and they don’t cross paths much. My close friends, church friends, and creative friends all fall into different communities. Each one builds and bonds differently. If I had never taken note of that, I would foolishly say I don’t belong to a community. Some people, like our parents, may have all of their communities in one space. So it’s not the absence of community, it’s that we changed the way it functions.

I mentioned earlier that nobody wants to inconvenience themselves, but let’s test it.

Would you drive one hour to see a friend?

Would you babysit someone’s kids for free?

Would you drop off dinner for a friend who has been too busy to cook?
Would you help a friend clean their depression room?

Would you answer the phone at midnight to help someone else?

Would you help someone move?

Now, ponder on your responses. You probably had resolutions to each question that didn’t include inconveniencing you. But that’s the thing—having a community must start with inconvenience. Community must cost something.

Time.

Energy.

Funds.

Gas.

It costs. The hapless side is that inconvenience is the cost, and we’re all afraid to be that. Why?

Because inconvenience today feels like you’ve failed at something. Asking for a ride means you don’t have a car. We don’t want people to feel like we need them when, in actuality, we’ll all be needy at some point. We were never meant to do life alone and without the help of others.

We’ve optimized our lives so much that we’ve optimized people out of it. We find a solution for all of our inconveniences without calling on anyone else.

From my perspective, we spend so much time trying to find the right people to build a community with that we don’t realize the people we should actually look to—the reliable ones. The people who give without burning themselves out, and take without draining others. The people who make others feel like they belong. The people who don’t wait for an ask before taking initiative.

A sustainable community is built around people who don’t put themselves first all the time. Sacrifices do have to be made in healthy communities, but that’s what the older generations had down perfectly.

Maybe community isn’t built at the barbecue. Instead, it’s built on all the little inconveniences that made the barbecue possible.

Is inconvenience too high a price to pay, or is community worth the cost?

Lately, my days either start or end with thinking about my life—asking myself whether or not I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, where I’m supposed to be, and if there’s even meaning behind it. These thoughts can swarm your mind if you allow them.

Ever since the change in my employment status in January, I’ve found myself asking a lot of these questions, and can I be honest? None of the answers made me happy. Hidden beneath all of the self-interrogation was fear, hurt, and dissatisfaction. All of which stemmed from one question: Am I living a meaningful life?

Maybe you’ve asked yourself this in different situations.

After getting the degree, that hasn’t landed you a big job.

After going back to that toxic relationship.

After seeing someone start another successful business.

Life has a way of making us question our purpose and its meaning. It would be lovely for these thoughts to come with inspiration instead of restlessness or fear—but things don’t always happen the way we want them. I can’t even front about it, I am terrified about life.

I’ve heard so many older adults talk about how they wish they had done more, or how they didn’t leave the legacy they always imagined. I’m afraid of waking up one day, having those exact thoughts, and it’s too late to do something about it. I’m sure all of these adults have one thing in common— they let life happen to them. They never took charge of their circumstances and made something happen. Whatever life put on their plate, they chewed and swallowed, even if it wasn’t a meal they enjoyed.

I don’t blame them for feeling regret about living that way. It’s like wasting your calories on a meal that wasn’t even good. You could’ve had something tastier, made with love and care, but instead, you ate what was given to you. Because you decided to eat that nasty meal, you can’t go back and eat a good one. Nothing is worse than getting full from nasty food. Life is the same way. Nothing is worse than living a life without meaning.

But pause.

What exactly is a meaningful life?

The textbook definition says it’s having purpose, coherence, and significance. Life is meaningful when the things you do daily align with your values and lead to something bigger than yourself.

Bigger than yourself.

Those words stuck out to me, not because I’ve ever seen myself as small, but because I sometimes don’t see past myself. It’s easy for us to miss the big picture when we’re focused on the current circumstances, but life doesn’t stop and end at just you. There’s a bigger narrative that must be shaped.

I started really caring about living a meaningful life after becoming self-employed in January. It wasn’t my first time in this position, but it was the first time I knew exactly what to do, and I knew what kind of life I wanted to create for myself. I started to shape my own definition of a meaningful life.

Because the truth is, a meaningful life should be subjective—not based on the definition of others. It just needs to ladder up to something bigger than you and create impact. Some philosophers, like Susan Wolf, say that a meaningful life should be a subjective passion for an objective worth. That means a meaningful life combines what you love doing with activities that matter to the world.

So, my definition?

A meaningful life is lived with the intention of accomplishing something for more than just me. More than my goals, financial status, dream house, and family. A meaningful life doesn’t start and end with me.

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My definition used to change based on the season of life I was in and the people I was around. A meaningful life was dependent on titles, relationship status, and finances—all the things that quite frankly don’t matter if there is no impact. My definition would also change based on comparison.

We know the saying, comparison is the thief of joy. Truly, it’s the thief of many things.

We change what we see as a meaningful life because we’re too focused on comparing our current life to others instead of looking within. Social media has a way of making us feel as if we aren’t doing enough.

We see that a mutual got a new car, and instead of just being happy for them, we take a trip to the dealership.

Remember during and after COVID, when everyone was getting high-rise apartments with views? It was all a result of comparison. The apartment you once loved with the perfect amount of natural light and a quiet area, suddenly wasn’t good enough.

Or what about creatively? Someone you know started doing content creation, and it’s doing well—they’re landing the brand deals and partnerships, getting the PR, and going on the trips. Instead of feeling joy for them, you instead look at your life and decide that it isn’t enough.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with looking at these situations for encouragement, but there is a lot wrong with letting it be your driver for living a meaningful life. Why? Because seasons change.

That nice, luxury car was traded in for something more affordable.

Everyone moved out of their high-rise apartments.

Your friend got cancelled online and no longer does content.

Everything you let be your reason for change and define a meaningful life has evaporated along with your passion and drive.

Ask yourself this: if no one could ever see your life, would you still choose the same goals? Would you still choose that career? That car? That business idea that doesn’t quite make sense, but you’re going to do it anyway because, unbeknownst to me, everyone should be a business owner.

If your answer is no, that means you have been chasing recognition, not impact. Your perspective of a meaningful life has only been defined and shaped by what others will like, agree with, share, or congratulate. What a terrible way to live—for the applause of others.

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I’ve dug deeply into what I believe a meaningful life should be, but how do we actually create one? Not in a philosophical way, because I’m not trying to be fake deep. I’m being practical.

Routines

Intentional relationships

Learning

Setting goals

Acting

The scariest part about not living a meaningful life is that sometimes you may not even realize it. You take everything as it is, and you never take charge of the day. Instead, you let the day happen to you. I found myself here after becoming self-employed. My schedule used to be heavily shaped by my 9-5 job. The moment that job was gone, I lost my flow. Routines are the one thing that helps us stay on track and take charge. It can even be something as simple as a morning routine before the day starts.

Not everything in life can be prevented, but we can do our part in shaping what we can with intentionality.

Speaking of intentionality, we must do it in everything. Yes, even our relationships. Your next connection could be the one that catapults your greatness. No more fickle friendships that revolve around aesthetics. Build your circle with people who are driven to live meaningful lives so you can pour into each other when needed.

Having people around forces you to learn—or at least it should. You learn things outside of what you’re accustomed to because you built a circle of people who are constantly changing and progressing. Constant change only happens when you learn. Learn to overcome obstacles, learn about the unknown things in your field, and learn about what’s going on in the world around you.

After all of the learning, you’ll feel compelled to set new goals for yourself that mean something. Not the goals we write on a cute piece of paper at the beginning of every year, only to later ball up and shoot in the trash can while yelling “Kobe.” I’m talking about meaningful life goals. And when those goals are set, you act on them.

When you do this, it’s kind of impossible to live a life without meaning and impact. It even becomes a domino effect, and before you know it, everyone is making an impact.

So I’ll ask you again—are you living a meaningful life?

Some church girls think the only place for them is in the church, and I don’t want to confuse anyone—I am a bona fide church girl. A Jesus baby through and through, but this is the realization I’ve come to recently. I serve in multiple departments at my home church, and service to God is still work. So these things take up time in my weekly schedule. Sometimes, probably more time than I would like.

I found myself in church on Sunday for service.

Doing podcast production for my pastor on Tuesday.

Leading worship at Bible study on Wednesday.

Choir rehearsal on Thursday.

And a worker’s prayer meeting on Friday.

Now, I love the Lord, but as a young, hot, single, hot, social, hot girl, how am I ever going to meet people? Connect? Grow? If all I ever know is one place, one community, one environment, I have already minimized my potential in various areas of life.

It’s like how we see traveling the world and learning new things. I think traveling, or at least studying places other than your home, is imperative to understanding life. So when I say “church girls need to be outside,” outside is the travel—the study. But of course, everyone has different definitions of outside:

There are the nightcrawlers. They love a good club, and the section must be packed. These outsiders know the after-hours spots in even the driest cities.

There are the daytime-onlys. They’re only seen out when the sun is up—daytime activities, festivals, social happy hours. They don’t get caught up in nighttime activities too much, but every once in a while, they accept the invite.

Then you have your true travelers. You don’t see them, because they’re not going to be around. Catching flights is their definition of outside, and they would rather keep it that way because they are tired of the same thing over and over again.

So if there are so many things to do outside that don’t conflict with our beliefs, why don’t we do them? Why do we use going to church as some type of obstacle? Well, as the girl who was using the church as my no, there may be a couple of reasons. It starts with the biggest—service to God trumps everything.

I always stress to people the importance of serving in the church. While many of us attend one, and maybe even frequently, the connections and community you build when you serve are much stronger. You build true relationships with like-minded people. With this always in mind, I’ve been very OK with serving being the basis of my life. I didn’t need to do anything else because I felt everything I needed was at the church. The connections and relationships were less disappointing. There aren’t any petty fights or disagreements. We have fun, talk about God, and pray together. It’s fulfilling.

I avoided going outside because I wanted to avoid the trouble, and you know what kind of trouble I’m talking about.

Real relationship shege.

I know what type of outsider most men in my area are—nightcrawlers. And what could I possibly do with a nightcrawler?

Sometimes it’s even the fear of being judged. When you hold spaces in your church that are pretty visible, being seen outside of that setting is like a wonder to people. I walked into a housewarming party, and my friend yelled, “Whatttt? I never see you outside! What are you doing here?” At a common housewarming party. That piled on with “oh, you’re the girl from church.” After the third or fourth time it’s mentioned, I start to ask myself if people think I shouldn’t be there. That is a crazy way to feel when you’re just out enjoying yourself.

I don’t know whether to blame society or the church for this unnecessary amount of pressure to appear polished, small, never seen, or never heard. They both judge and condemn in the same ways if I’m being quite honest. I think they also see church girls as a monolith. A church girl shouldn’t be seen outside—she should be at church. She shouldn’t be a public figure—she serves in this department. All of these nonscriptural rules have shaped the way church girls see themselves and see life.

I don’t know which church girl needs to hear it, but it’s important to see things outside of the church. One thing I’m learning as a young, single woman is that there needs to be balance. At one point, my social and personal lives were malnourished. I made commitments to serve in the church instead of saying yes to dates or social events where I could have made amazing connections. And it wouldn’t be a once-in-a-while thing. I found myself constantly saying “no, I’ll be at church.”

Now, there is balance. I’m making time for weekday activities and dates. If it isn’t mandatory, it can be missed. While the beginning has been tough, it’s a necessary adjustment, I think, we should all make. The truth is, the world is bigger than your normal. Bigger than your routine. There are experiences outside of familiar places like the church.

Take a look at the full experience of humanity. We come across different people, not just the ones from the church, and we should be prepared for that. Not all folk are church folk. Will you know how to engage with someone who isn’t familiar with the church when you need to? We can’t be shocked when we keep ourselves to one distinct community.

I want to say the obvious thing—joy and having fun are a part of life, and not every outing has to be tied to ministry.

You can try a new restaurant’s happy hour.

Go to that rooftop pool that has daytime parties.

Go salsa dancing with your friends on a random Thursday evening.

Doing things outside of church helps you grow. Loving God and having fun are not enemies that must live separately. They can coexist when done correctly.

So, are you outside this summer?

It’s actually quite absurd when you think about it.

Don’t like someone too fast or it’ll fall apart even faster.

But don’t take too long, because then you’re lacking intentionality.

Never tell someone you like or love them first.

But if you never tell them, they’ll never know, so be more open.

Don’t be too available.

But be available because availability is the only way you’ll get to know them.

Don’t always be the first to reach out to them.

But reach out enough so they know you actually enjoy talking to them.

Is all of this not exhausting to people?

Journal entry - May 8, 2026

And at this point, we can just forget dating altogether. Whenever I tell someone, “What if I’m just meant to be alone?” they come with all of the “you shouldn’t say that, the tongue is powerful talk.” I get that the tongue is powerful, but I’ve also become a realist when it comes to this dating stuff. Liking people isn’t fun anymore. It’s a competition. Like, how can this guy be persistent enough to ask about me to my friend, call me every day, and send money, but admitting he likes me and being a bit more intentional was too difficult?

I’ve grown and experienced enough to learn that there are two main types of people when it comes to dating and falling in love.

There’s type one, who is considered free.

They live in the moment and allow infatuation when consistency is present. Even if it’s for a short period of time, that consistency allows them to be open to finding out more. There are no worries of being too fast. Although many would hear their story and tell them to slow down, they don’t believe in slowing down what has already been going at a good speed. They live life with no timeline, because they allow things to take their course however it chooses.

That man has sent sweet good morning texts every day for the past two weeks. It makes you feel seen, wanted, and thought of. You don’t hear saxophones—you hear wedding bells.

Then there’s type two, rigid in nature.

These people love a good timeline, and most times, they put a timeline on everything in life–jobs, relationships, financial goals, personal accomplishments. They have strict dating rules because their time is of the essence, so there is a timeline for liking someone. Too fast, too soon? Immediately no. These people are not moved by things. Instead, they are moved by time spent. Many would hear their story and call them strict, disciplined, or a type A dater, but they don’t let love and like happen to them–they knock on their door when they feel it’s time.

You and that girl have been talking for 9 months. While everyone else around you is asking, “what’s next?” you don’t feel the pressure for it to be a next because you’ve decided you are not getting into anything serious until you reach a certain age. Everyone before that age is research.

As someone who has been both type one and two, and has also dated both, it eventually gets muddy. The more we try to guide our emotions, the more they become unbearable to deal with.

What happens when type one tries to regulate their free spirit to type two’s rigid nature? They collide. And why wouldn’t they? Type one’s free spirit has been labeled as clingy, or too pressed for something serious. Type two’s rigidness suffocates the genuine spark of type one. They see that life should happen in seasons, and there isn’t a season in the world that goes by that fast. All of a sudden, you’re left wondering why things turned into another failed dating experiment.

Journal entry - May 17, 2026

“If you don’t give me love, I won’t give you my love anymore.” These are the words that came from a man that I only knew for maybe one hour. I’m not shocked that I ended up on a random date on this solo trip, but I’m shocked at how quickly this man was in love. He was yearning to love and be loved, and it sparked from the moment he saw me. My friends called it love bombing, but doesn’t love bombing need to come with things? Haha, this man only came with stress and pressure. In fact, it was so much that I left in the middle of the date.

He was type one, the free person. Granted, I would consider this situation an outlier because are people really falling in love at first sight and expecting the person to immediately be on board?

Outlier? Yes, but he does represent a deeper truth. He wasn’t afraid of liking and feeling for someone, even if the timing was chaotic or questionable. He knew exactly what he wanted and jumped in with no assistance. Risky choice, but to him, worth it.

Quite honestly, outside of this outlier, isn’t that how we are supposed to date? Freely? I would love to allow my interactions and feelings about people to flow naturally. If interest is sparked before a 30-day dating calendar, then why not? I don’t want to put guardrails on dating because I’m afraid of where it will end up. I can only know where it’ll end up if I actually let it drive me.

On the contrary, being driven by emotions can be a scary thing. Especially when we live in a world full of manipulators and people who have hidden agendas. That night, I was type two–a seldom act. I gotta watch my back. Too many games are played when it comes to dating, like the guy I once dated who said he would count how many times in a week I called first, and how many times he called first to determine if we were equally interested in each other. Sick behavior.

My Mexico City date…or field research, ended up failing because his genuine spark collided with my stiff dating style. How many people have we dated or tried to get to know that ended abruptly because the dating styles were the complete opposite? If I were type one that night, maybe, possibly, something more substantial could’ve come from it–but I wasn’t. That’s the reality of dating today. Two different type of daters trying to get to know each other in a way that only they themselves would accept or understand.

So how do we win a game that seems impossible to win? We find balance. What that balance looks like? I’m not completely sure yet, but I do know that discernment plays a big role in it. I know that’s such an annoying thing to hear because discernment isn’t something you can just do, but it’s the main thing that’ll help you in situations like this.

So, are you choosing a rulebook or freedom?

It was at 2 A.M. on a random weekday that I decided to book a trip to Mexico City. I made the bold choice after realizing I needed a mental reset and some creative inspiration. For a few months now, creating has been difficult—thinking has been difficult. Since creating is all I do for work now, having a healthy mind is important for me. My capacity to create didn’t match the amount of work I had. After talking with different friends who visited, I knew Mexico City would be the perfect place to get out of a creative funk. The art and culture there would spark something in anyone.

Journal entry - May 13, 2026

After a terrible day one, I prayed that today would be better. It had potential, but it’s like this door at the Airbnb is the weapon formed against me. This is the third time I’m locked out. Sweaty. Hair is a mess. I didn’t cry yesterday, and I’m trying not to today. Why does stuff like this always happen to me on trips? Inconvenience, that is.

Can you imagine your phone on one percent, locked out of your stay, in the heat, with no ETA for the locksmith? Day one of my trip started shaky and ended even shakier. From my Uber driver having his car towed at the airport while I was in it, to getting rained on as I walked back to the Airbnb after dinner, to getting locked out of the Airbnb twice in one day and the following day to make it thrice, I just knew this was the beginning of a terrible trip.

The me from a few years ago would’ve broken all the way down. There would’ve been nothing anyone could do to fix the day, even though I would have expected them to find a way. I would’ve made multiple calls to those close to me in hopes that they would comfort me or solve my out-of-country problems. I was one of those people who allowed anything to shift the trajectory of their day. You know those people who would have a sad day, and they would play sad songs to make the sadness even sadder? That was me.

Surprisingly, I still had joy in these terrible moments of my first day in CDMX. Of course, it was stressful being on a solo trip in a different country, facing all of these inconveniences by myself, but I would like to think the comfort I found came from God alone.

Journal entry

I was here praying, asking God for peace and for this trip not to be in vain. I looked down at the scar on my arm from donating plasma to make money. God has truly brought me so far and always taken care of me in the big and small things. He’s doing it for me now, and he was doing it then. That’s why I’m even able to be here. It was all part of the process. The journey of growth. Experience.

I’ve grown in many ways because, hell, I haven’t broken down after all the wahala (trouble) I’ve already faced here in CDMX. Learning to be calm in every situation. Clearly, there is something God wants me to see or learn.

That realization brought calm to me, and seeing that old scar changed my perspective. It was no longer I can’t believe this is happening to me, and it became this is happening, now what? In retrospect, I think God wanted me to see how far I’ve come. I would’ve deemed it impossible to take on this much by myself, but it was personal growth I wasn’t aware of. The only reason I was now aware was because I was in a tough situation.

Tough situations are where personal growth is tested. Being locked out wasn’t a random inconvenience. It was a condition created for me to not only test my growth, but also to recognize it. In fact, the only reason I was able to sit down, journal, and reflect was that a journal and a pen were all I had on those hot, Mexico City steps. I didn’t spiral or break. I stayed calm and adjusted. That’s how I know I’ve grown.

Growth doesn’t announce itself, and it doesn’t always feel like progress. In tough moments, you find out who you’ve become.

It was rare. It felt like I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I’ve been so accustomed to rushing dinner and being so out of schedule that we eat on the couch. And while we would catch up on our shows, the evening still felt disrupted by the day’s events. It always felt like we didn’t get the best of the evening.

I was living day to day on the premise that there was always something I should be doing. This mindset made small moments, like having dinner and conversation, seem so monumental, yet temporary. The unfortunate actuality is that it should be baseline.

The atmosphere was peaceful that evening.

We played music while I cooked in the kitchen.

We filled the cooking time with board games and conversation.

We actually sat at the dining table to eat and talk about anything and everything.

It felt like peace.

And peace should be normal.

That’s how I always imagined adulthood as a child.

I did not imagine rough days at work and having to cancel evening plans.

I did not imagine handling adult tasks deep into the evening.

I did not imagine being so overwhelmed from the day that I just snack instead.

I’m not saying I thought adulthood would be a piece of cake, or that these types of days wouldn’t happen. But I didn’t imagine it being like this, this often. I wanted life to feel like an early 2000s, black TV show.

And you know exactly what I’m talking about.

When I was a child, I would watch TV shows and think, “Wow, I can’t wait to live this life. I can’t wait to be an adult.”

Take Girlfriends, for example. Joan’s house was known as the hangout spot. It was almost like everyone just knew if something was happening, it was happening at Joan’s—dinner, holidays, parties.

To me, that is normal. It was their normal.

They even had a regular restaurant they would go to, and there wasn’t always a formal invite. Whether the entire group was there, or just some of them, the restaurant was their normal.

Their normal was comfort. They were comfortable in their spots, so they didn’t mind doing the same things in the same place, and at the same time, all the time. It was theirs. They still had bumps and potholes along the way, unbearable sometimes, but after all of that, they returned to their normal.

That’s actually the perfect way to define it. My normal is comfort and repetition, and comfort is the baseline. There should always be something stable to come back to. I know we all see the importance of comfort in finances, relationships, and work, but what about the comfort in our daily routines and lifestyle?

It’s not that life is hard every day. It’s just that it requires a lot of effort from you every day. Is it wrong that I don’t want each breathing day to consist of working?

Where did I even learn that wanting ease is equivalent to laziness? Why can’t I want a balanced life—working hard some days, while others are smooth and effortless? It got to the point where if I was resting too much, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough.

There may be a very unfortunate possibility that normal isn’t what I thought. Well, in a way. I think we have to curate our normal and then schedule it. Yes, schedule the normal. When I don’t schedule my normal, anything can happen to my day. The thing with schedules is that I have to stick to them. I feel a rush when I have a schedule and stick to it. It makes me feel on top of the world. And I need that.

I have to stop waiting for life to become normal. I have to create my normal and make it my standard. If that’s making sure I have dinner at the table, while sweet melodies play in the background, regardless of how the day goes, then I’m making sure it happens.

I’m very interested to know, though. What’s your normal?

This year, I’m intentionally investing more time and effort in my friendships. I don’t want our time together to be fleeting moments. When we were younger, being together felt effortless—memories stacked on top of each other without much thought. As we get older, age has a way of thinning those moments out. So now, we’re called to be more intentional. To move beyond convenience and show up with care, because new memories won’t create themselves.

Whenever I recall my biggest milestone moments or the times when I was at my lowest, my friends were right there. While my family showed up for me, I think we all understand how there are some things you can’t tell your family too soon, if ever. That’s when my friends came to the rescue. My friends became my pillars. My safe space.

I cannot count the cherished moments my friends and I have shared.

The useless ramblings and emotional vent sessions.

The laughs and cries.

The late nights and early mornings.

The regrets and the proud decisions.

Every time we’re together, I’m reminded that these moments are gifts that shouldn’t be taken for granted. Considering that, I want to pour more into our well. I want to be intentional about the time I spend with the ones I love because nothing lasts forever. Somewhere along the way, we started to treat our friendships like they would always be there. We tend to them with less care than we do our significant others, careers, personal growth, and chasing money. We just expect our friends to understand and adapt to whatever we throw at them.

Our friends have been understanding. But should we let that become the standard?

I had a friendship that was built on rekindling after long periods of being absent. The conversation and connection after months of no communication or time together seemed so sweet. It felt rewarding and comfortable enough that we would overlook the issue of not talking for months on end. While we both acted as if it was OK, we could feel the difference—the separation. Being clueless about each other became the norm. “Did I ever tell you about that?” Followed by an abbreviated story because we were honestly too tired of repeating the story we’ve already told a million times.

I don’t want a friendship like this anymore. This isn’t even a friendship—it’s two strangers existing in each other’s world.

We talk about having an intentional partner. A partner who knows what they want and doesn’t hesitate to go after it. A partner who finds little pockets of time to talk to you on their busiest days. A partner who would drop everything at the snap of a finger when you’re in need. Have you ever realized that those are the things we expect and receive in friendships? Well, at least in mine.

I know romanticizing a friendship might sound unusual. After all, the thought of romance is often reserved for a partner. But I’ve come to realize that romance is simply caring enough to choose presence and express love, even when absence or going with the flow would be easier.

In a culture that praises being low-maintenance, I stand firmly on depth. My friends have pulled through for me time and time again, and because of that, they deserve more than my leftover time. It’s easy to get caught up in our own world so quickly that we forget to pour into these relationships.

So how do we romance our friends? For starters, we should verbalize it more. Every chance we get, tell them how proud we are of them. Throw compliments around at them. Give them their praises and tell them how much we love being around them, because nothing feels warmer than hearing those words from the people you chose to be in your life.

As we get older, it’s hard to have quality time with friends. Schedules become much tighter, and work-life isn’t so balanced. These are the times when finding simple moments matters. Create special experiences with your friends. The other night, I invited my best friends over for dinner. I cooked a nice meal of smothered chicken with rice and broccoli. For the first time, I got creative and did a nice tablescape. It was this simple moment that made the day sweet.

It also made us realize that every time we meet up doesn’t have to be overdone and involve spending a lot of money. We decided to rotate hosting monthly dinners. And while we’ve managed to meet up more on other occasions, this new recurring dinner feels great. Sometimes you just need new settings or activities. This is what builds intimacy. All of those yapping sessions that turn into deep conversations, then shift back to funny topics—that’s where the roots get deep.

Friendship doesn’t need grand gestures to be meaningful. It just needs care and a willingness to choose each other, even when life pulls us in different directions. When we show up like this, intimacy has room to grow—slowly, naturally, and honestly.

So cheers to deeper roots.

Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like they’re in an endless rush to do things? Itching to get to the next thing.

You wake up in the morning and immediately begin to rush.

You rush to brush your teeth and head to the gym.

You rush your gym time, ignoring the fact that you’ve found it impossible to get the adequate amount of cardio, lifting, and stretching you need.

You leave the gym, rushing past the man at the front desk who always tells you to have a nice day, to get home and take your rushed shower before work.

You rushed through breakfast and didn’t enjoy your $12, organic, farm-raised eggs. You bought those eggs for that reason, though—to enjoy them.

You hop in the car, making good enough time to get to the office well before nine o’clock, but I mean, why wouldn’t you? You already spent the entire morning rushing.

Even with ample time, you’re still rushing on the road.

You annoyingly honk at the person in front of you because they didn’t hit the gas as soon as the light turned green.

You rush through all of your tasks at work before heading home to do it all over again the following day.

Our days are a constant adrenaline rush. Persistent stress. It’s almost like we’re seeking something. How often do we rush to the next thing and forget to appreciate the present? I believe that the hopes and blurred promises of things to come keep us as prisoners of the future.

I remember spending five years unemployed. I was young and freshly laid off from my first post-college position. I desperately needed to get out of that place of desolation. I did everything I could to make money, hustling all of my talents and rubbing my pennies together. At that moment, it was tunnel vision for me. I could only think of life outside of unemployment. I couldn’t smile, laugh, or stay happy because I didn’t have what I wanted. The future me would always hold present me captive.

When God blessed me with a job, it hit me. Everything I was doing during the hustle phase was preparation. Or at least it should’ve been. In retrospect, there was so much I didn’t stop to learn. So much I glossed over, rushing to the next stage. I was so consumed with the life ahead of me that I didn’t nourish the one I currently had.

Since then, I’ve been reminding myself that only one person knows what the future truly holds, and that’s God. Regardless of the detailed planning I do, everything is up in the air. Out of my control. So what’s the rush? Time is unreachable for us.

The inability to love, enjoy, and live in the now makes it inhabitable. The things that we don’t have bother us even more because we’ve successfully rushed through every aspect of our lives. The moment we are unable to rush something, and the usual bending and twisting of time becomes an unyielding structure, we feel like our entire world is crumbling under stagnation. I hear it all the time from people. I’ve even said it myself a few times. “I feel like my life is just stagnant, like I should be doing more. I’ve been in one position for so long.”

That feeling of stagnancy is an illusion. You’ve moved, just not in the way you wanted, not at the speed at which you would like. You tell yourself you still don’t have the things you desire, forgetting that along that road of wanting and yearning, you’ve received many other progressive blessings that have moved you back to the stage you initially skipped on your journey. The stage that was most necessary for growth.

The truth is that rushing has nibbled away at the fullest potential of our happiness. Our contentment. We rush so we’re never satisfied with anything. We can’t see the beauty or the uniqueness of our current placement because we refuse to stop and smell the roses. We’re a walking, living, breathing drive-by. We don’t stay to see what we’ve made happen. No, we don’t even wait to look at the aftermath or take it in. We just act and move. It’s a thrill for us. Whether we hit the target or hit a window, we wouldn’t even know.

We even rush to meet our long-term goals, forgetting that they’re labeled long-term for a reason.

Marriage? You need it in a hurry. Forcing yourself into unfathomable situations with the one who doesn’t even deserve you.

New job position? Yes please! It doesn’t matter that you’ve held your current position for less than a year. There’s more money on the table, and you want it NOW!

Gotta shed some pounds? ChatGPT is cooking up a meal plan that keeps you under 1,100 calories a day. Dangerous, but it’ll get you there.

Are you catching it? The common theme with rushing through stages of life is the risk of a bad outcome. Some may say life is about taking risks. No, life is about calculated risks, and how many of our risks have we really sat and thought about before moving? It brings us back to that persistent stress we live with.

We must learn to stop. Learn to pause. Learn to move at a normal pace.

Relish in the present. Rest in the comfort that there is a reason for the current stage we’re in. Nothing we go through in this life is in vain. Everything falls into place and serves as a prerequisite for what God has in store for us.

Rushing through the present can lead to cavities in the future. So don’t rush so far ahead that you rob yourself of lessons in the present.

It’s like shaking a jar of cookies you shouldn’t eat, but you were going to indulge anyway, because why not? Instead of finding a sweet treat, you find nothing. But that empty jar doesn’t make you mad. Instead, your reaction is ‘aww man, well maybe I really didn’t need one.” That’s what emptiness feels like. To exchange your wants for whatevers.

A psychologist may tell you that emptiness derives from emotional disconnection. Your emotions are what drive you. Feeling happy, sad, angry, or scared dictates your next move. It dictates how you react to things and how you see people. When you disconnect from those feelings, and become numb to everything, it dries up the fuel that keeps you going.

Have you ever been in a room full of people conversing, constant movement, laughs—all the things that would typically create a distraction for you? But instead, it doesn’t move you. It doesn’t add or detract from your current state. You’re basically running on autopilot, completely detached from every situation. You start to feel like you’re an observer of life rather than an active participant.

Emptiness feels like being alone even when you’re surrounded by people. It’s not that those close to you haven’t been at your side. It’s not that they don’t check in on you. It’s that even with all things considered, it doesn’t feel like anything.

But what if the emptiness you feel isn’t a deficiency? What if it’s a warning about the direction you’re going? It could be that the things that make us happy and give us drive aren’t what they’re painted out to be.

We live in a world obsessed with doing rather than being. We relentlessly chase promotions, perfect aesthetics, social media clout, and the approval of others. These things are fleeting and external. When we build our sense of self-worth entirely on foundations outside of ourselves, the inevitable moment they crumble or fade leaves behind a vast, echoing void. The jar is empty because we expected others to fill it, not ourselves.

And so, we find ourselves perpetually jogging on an emotional treadmill. We mistake movement for progress, constantly reaching for the next external milestone. We fight for the title and validation–believing that this one will finally seal the crack in the foundation. But these external measures are like trying to fill a bucket with holes in the bottom. No matter how much you pour in, it will never fill up.

The emptiness persists because we have outsourced our sense of wholeness. We have handed the master key to our emotional house to strangers and institutions, making our stability contingent upon their fickle appreciation. This chronic reliance on the external not only empties the jar but convinces us that we, ourselves, are incapable of generating our own sweetness. We forget that the greatest reward is not the cookie someone else offers you, but the deep, quiet satisfaction of being the one who baked it in the first place.

So the next move is yours. Will you continue to take on fruitless endeavors to fill yourself up based on the gratification of others? Or will you finally turn inward, recognizing that the emptiness is not a failure, but an invitation?

The quiet void you feel is simply the space awaiting your own authentic creation. It is time to stop observing and start building a life whose worth is measured not by the applause of the crowd, but by the resonance of your own soul.

When we like things, it’s easy for others to tell. If you like the game of basketball, you probably watch it pretty often, engage with basketball content on social media, and you may even compare basketball to the most unrelated topics in your conversations. You like basketball, so you find a way to involve it in almost everything you say and do.

So why is liking someone more complex for some people? Why does the ability to show passion suddenly escape their grip?

I’m disgusted with myself every time I look back at the occasions in which I explained to someone what they should’ve done–something, anything that would make me feel more wanted by them.

Did you see the new picture I posted? Because you didn’t say anything about it.

I changed my hair color. Do you like it?

Instead of just replying ‘wow’ to my photos, use words that make me feel liked.

Romance is expressed through actions, words, and gestures.

For me, it’s not even in the grand gestures. I don’t need rose petals scattered across a hotel room floor, the bed full of designer gift boxes, or a fancy dinner date with a breathtaking skyline view. Now, all of those things would be easily accepted and appreciated. Who am I to say no? But romance is so much simpler than that. Tangible objects are not equivalent to romance. They break. They fade. They aren’t always timeless. True romance is comprised of the little things that people often miss.

Romance is the early morning or late-night text you send when you’re aware that I’m sleeping, yet you send it anyway because you know it will put a smile on my face when I finally check my phone.

Romance is listening to me ramble about the book I finished reading and taking the initiative to send me a new read.

Romance is not saying a single word when I’m going on and on about my day at work, but you don’t have to say anything because your eyes haven’t left me, and they do all of the talking for you.

Romance is you remembering the things that I’ve forgotten, because you take pride in being my personal task manager.

Romance is you placing your hand over mine to calm me down because you’ve been attentive enough to notice that I fiddle with my fingers whenever I’m overwhelmed or anxious.

Romance is you sharing a song, accompanied by a message of why it makes you think of me.

I could go on and on about little romantic gestures that pile up like little raindrops against a windshield, then transform into a mighty blur that must be wiped away to see what’s in front of you. But that’s the problem. I feel like I’m always going on and on about it. I feel like I’m constantly having to explain to someone who tells me they want me that they’re not expressing it enough.

I once told a guy, “I just don’t think you like me enough, and honestly, that’s OK.”

He gave a shocked response. “Must I jump off a cliff to show you that I like you? How can you say that?”

That reply irritated every fiber of my being, because he didn’t get it. Staying up late to talk to me doesn’t make me feel romanced—especially when you previously went days without saying a word. You practically filled your cup halfway and expect it to be overflowing now that you’re pouring water into it again. Sadly, those days of no contact became a wasteful spill. Congratulations, you’ve started from the bottom–again.

To him, he was doing everything to show me that I was the main character in his world, but it still wasn’t enough for me. Romance cannot be either chill or laid back. Romance should be loud, strong, and bold.

Romance is a language that is particular and must be learned for each individual. The learning experience in itself is romantic. It’s romantic when someone is willing to study you, then put everything they learned to the test and experience a greater outcome.

And that’s how I know when someone just doesn’t like me, when they aren’t the least bit concerned to learn about the things I love, interested in how I spend my free time, or how things make me feel. If I have to be a broken record, you’re just not that into me. If I have to constantly tell you things about me, whether it’s in the fine print of my life or bold headline text, maybe I’m not the right fit for you.

I want romance not only to meet me at the doorstep, but to step into my home. I want romance to engulf me like the sweltering heat on a Texas summer day. I want the type of romance that gives me butterflies and causes you to ask me, “Why are you smiling?” To which I would respond, “I can’t just smile?”

I want romance that doesn’t come with a second thought. A thought of doubt or feelings of ‘maybe I’m overthinking that’. Romance that is so bold and clear that I never enter a state of unwanted confusion.

I want romance that keeps me warm even when you’re away. Romance that turns me into a fresh-baked cookie—soft and sweet. I don’t need proximity to feel the heat of your romance because it lives in the memories, actions, and time we’ve spent romancing each other.

I want incomparable romance. I don’t think of Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose, or even Whitley and Dwayne. I think of us. I think of our story, our experiences, our love.

I want romance that comes without me having to send a reminder text. Is that too much to ask?

I forgave those who bullied me because I didn’t look like them. I was too plump. Too tall. Too dark. Too loud. Too quiet.

I forgave those who broke me. The ones who took my kindness and soft heart for a weakness.

I forgave those who left me because I never wanted childhood abandonment to be a tough stain that was impossible to wash out of the delicate fibers of adulthood. I didn’t want that brokenness to grow and intertwine with the good parts of me.

So I forgave.

In fact, the biggest example of forgiveness I’ve given was that of abandonment. Forgiving the absent parent. It took years to finally understand how much it impacted me. Impacted my past and present, but I forgave because I refused to let it impact my future. I refused to let anger, hate, and disdain wipe away my true, soft character.

But with that forgiveness came ugliness.

Even now in the conversations, smiles, and laughs, there are moments in which I find myself wondering how the hell I allowed this. I began to doubt my forgiveness. I should’ve made them suffer and beg a little bit more. I should’ve let them spend years not hearing from me, because after all, it’s payback. They did the same thing to me. Why do I have to be the one to forgive?

That side of me, completely ungodly, sometimes wants to raise its ugly head. And sometimes, I find myself granting access to it.

Maybe I should go a few weeks without them hearing from me. Let them feel what I felt all those years. Let them beg and call with no response. Just cold silence. Let them wonder what they did wrong or wish they could’ve changed the last words they said to me. Let them quickly rush to their phone every time it rings, hoping it’s me who’s returning their call. And every time they realize it’s not me calling back, their ringtone becomes a piercing sound that they hate to hear, because their hope has decreased to nothing.

I know it wouldn’t be right. But wouldn’t it feel so good?

I have to admit, I hate that I had to forgive without hurting them back.

But the ugliest part of forgiveness, in some cases, doesn’t even come from matters within. It comes from those around you. Having to explain your reasoning behind forgiving someone, who everyone knows hurt you badly, feels like taking the knife from the offender and stabbing yourself. Constantly, slowly, puncturing the heart every time you explain it to the next person.

Some may ask, “Why even explain yourself to them?” To that, I say, “Why not?” Forgiveness is to be open, transparent, and free. In some ways, I feel like I was able to forgive because it was no longer a hidden thing.

But what happens when forgiving one person hurts the next? Has your forgiveness come at a cost?

When I forgave my dad, I hurt my mother. To her, it seemed like all her years of pain and struggle to take care of my siblings and me were washed away. It ripped little tears in our relationship that led to something bigger. Something uglier.

Maybe it was because my act of forgiveness nullified her act of sacrifice. It turned what could’ve been a beautiful sign of growth into an ugly graveyard of bones, each bone representing the dead things that could’ve been: the beautiful, functional family, a loving two-parent household, the flourishing businesses and careers, the normal childhood for me and all of my siblings.

We often talk about the good sides of forgiveness, how it frees you from bitterness and lets you control your life again. How it improves relationships and mindsets. It’s a release. It’s what God calls us to do because if we can’t forgive each other, how can we expect God to forgive us?

But can I be honest? Sometimes, to forgive is to lose.

Lose your pride.

Lose your self-worth.

Lose your valid emotions.

Lose your most cherished relationships.

Did forgiving make a change? Would I have been the same or even better if I hadn’t forgiven? Maybe forgiveness did impact my future—just not in the way I tried to avoid.

Maybe the future me will put myself last because forgiving people is more important. Maybe I will never regain those relationships that still hurt me to live without. Maybe others will see how willing I am to forgive people and use my heart to play hopscotch when it’s their time to shine.

Forgiveness is a walking, breathing, maybe. Because you never know what forgiving will do in the present or future. Maybe it will heal you, or maybe it will keep you in bondage.

As crazy as it sounds, through all the ugliness, I’m still glad I chose to forgive. I would choose forgiveness a thousand times over. What I’m still learning is navigating it, and that’s OK.