“When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” —Maya Angelou
Let me keep it real with y’all: I’ve experienced some hard moments in relationships, but I’ve also been blessed to share incredible ones with some truly amazing women. That deserves to be said upfront.
That said… yeah, I’ve been kind of a jerk in my younger days. And when I’m unhappy in a relationship, I can be a lot. I know that about myself. But I try to show up as honestly and openly as I can. I’ve learned to be clear with my intentions from the start. If I say, “I’m not looking for a relationship,” I mean exactly that. It is not code for “please try to change my mind.” I’m not sending mixed signals. I’m just trying not to waste anybody’s time—including my own.
"Jerry Maguire" ruined an entire generation with that “You complete me” line. Healthy relationships aren’t about finding someone to fill your empty spaces. They’re about two whole-ass people choosing to build something together. If I ever go into something thinking, “Maybe she’ll change,” I already know I’ve messed up. That’s not love. That’s fantasy.
I’m not a fan of dishonesty. Deception erodes trust, and once that’s gone, what are you even doing? If I’m into someone, they’ll know. If I feel unwanted, I leave. That’s it. I don’t stick around where I’m not welcome. I’ve got my dignity, and I don’t play the desperation game. If someone doesn’t want me, I’m not chasing. I’ll catch the message the first time, thanks.
But if I’m in it with you, I’m all in. I’ll work hard to make it work. I’ll exhaust every reasonable option before walking away. What I don’t do anymore is go back to a relationship once it’s ended. Break up, make up, break up again? Nah. I’m too grown for that emotional roller coaster.
I don’t believe in settling just to not be alone. If I’m with someone, it’s because they add something real to my life. Kindness is non-negotiable. Give me someone who wants to make the world a better place, who values justice and community, who can see underneath my armor. Someone secure enough to challenge me and strong enough to grow with me. I don’t need to be fixed or taken care of. I just want someone to share space with—someone I want in my life, not someone I need in it to feel whole. That’s not love. That’s co-dependence. I’m good on my own. I’m hilarious, I’m interesting, and I play a lot of golf. I know how to enjoy my own company.
I don’t date to break hearts. I date because I genuinely enjoy women—their company, their energy, their wisdom, their joy. And I learn something new about myself in every connection. I’m always growing. I’ve made mistakes, but I try not to make the same one twice. And if I do? It means the first lesson didn’t stick. Like a fine wine (or a well-aged scotch), I truly believe I get better with time.
I’ve fallen in love a few times, and I think everyone should. Falling in love is part of the human experience. It's like a roller coaster ride. Sometimes it’s magic. Sometimes it makes you want to throw up. Sometimes it’s both in the same ride. But it’s worth it. Every single time.
Even if I’m not sure I’ll be a better partner as I get older, I do know what I want—and more importantly, what I can give.
I still have those moments where I think, Yeah, it would be nice to have someone to share all of this with. All the wins. All the weirdness. All the late-night snacks and early morning coffee. I want to cheer someone on. I want someone to see me—all of me—and still choose to stay. Maybe someday. Maybe never. Either way, I’m okay.
It is what it is.
But if it does happen? Let it be like Ruth said—“Where you go, I’ll go.” That’s the love I’m holding out for. Not perfect. But honest. Mutual. Rooted in choice.
Lenten Reflection: Choosing with Intention
“But Ruth said, ‘Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.’” – Ruth 1:16 (NRSV)
Lent is a season of truth-telling. Of letting go of the illusions we cling to and being honest about what we really need—and what we’re really offering.
🌿 Am I showing up as a whole person in love—or just hoping someone else will complete me?
🌿 Am I letting my fear of being alone keep me in half-hearted connections?
🌿 Do I trust that love, when it’s real, is rooted in choice—not codependence?
This season, let’s clear the way for the kind of love that says, I choose you—not to fix me, but to walk beside me. Let’s become the kind of people we’d want to walk beside, too.
📖 More reflections: flanneldiaries.com
Remember that scene from Sleepless in Seattle when Meg Ryan’s character, Annie, tells Walter she’s developed feelings for Sam Baldwin—even though they’ve never met? She fell in love with the idea of him, just from a few minutes of hearing him on a talk radio show speak tenderly about his late wife.
I always wondered how Walter could be so calm. I mean, they’d just spent the whole Valentine’s weekend picking out china at Tiffany’s. And she breaks off their engagement based on a feeling that Sam might be her soulmate? It’s fricken' amazing he didn’t dump the champagne over her head and call her a liar—or worse a whore.
Instead, what does Walter say?
“I don’t want to be someone that you’re settling for. I don’t want to be someone that anyone settles for. Marriage is hard enough without bringing such low expectations into it, isn’t it?”
And Annie’s response?
“Walter... I don’t deserve you.”
And then she just... stands up and runs off to find another man. Like, damn.
I’ve always admired Walter for that. You have to be so secure in yourself to not freak out in that situation. That is some enlightened, next-level Zen shit right there. But the truth is—he was right. No one should be settled for. No one should be someone’s placeholder. Not in marriage. Not in relationships. Not ever.
I don’t want to be someone’s “they’re-alright-for-now” person. That interim warm body between breakups. That backup plan. That “maybe this will work out” attempt. I’ve been that. And I’ve had people try to make me that. No thanks.
There were times in my life when I channeled Walter. And there were also times when I was messy and bitter and let my bruised ego run the show. But once the dust settled—and I got my head on straight—I’d always come back to Annie’s words: “I don’t deserve you.”
Nope. You didn’t. That’s facts. That’s clarity. That’s truth.
Maybe it’s the pragmatist in me that still wonders if Walter ever found the woman who deserved him. I hope he did. Because even though he was basic, stable, predictable, and had a shit-ton of allergies—he was a good man. And there’s someone out there who wants exactly that. That’s the kind of love story I’d love to see. The kind where two people choose each other fully, honestly, and with open eyes. No settling. Just two humans who want to be there. Together.
Lenten Reflection: The Courage Not to Settle
"Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good." – Romans 12:9 (NRSV)
Walter had it right. Love is already hard enough without lowering the bar. Lent is a season of honesty. A time to examine our expectations, our choices, and how we show up for ourselves and others.
🔹 Where have I accepted less than I deserve—just to avoid being alone?
🔹 Have I treated others as placeholders, rather than people worthy of deep, authentic love?
🔹 What would it look like to love with clarity instead of fantasy?
This week, let us check our hearts—not just for who we love, but how. May we refuse to settle. May we choose with courage. And may we become the kind of people worthy of the love we seek.
Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.
"The next day the large crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!'" — John 12:12–13 (NRSV)
In the Christian tradition, the Sunday before Easter is Palm Sunday. But with my current schedule, every day feels like a Tuesday. Time has lost meaning—except maybe when it comes to deadlines and coffee refills.
Palm Sunday is a beautiful, bittersweet story. It marks the moment Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey, greeted like a rock star. The crowds are waving palms and shouting "Hosanna!"—which literally means "save us." It’s a moment of hope, celebration, and public affirmation.
And yet… we all know what happens a few days later.
The same crowd that welcomed him with open arms was calling for his crucifixion by Friday. The same people who called him blessed were now shouting, “Give us Barabbas!” and demanding Jesus be executed. It’s the ultimate fall from grace.
That kind of reversal feels painfully familiar. We see it all the time—putting people on pedestals, only to watch them crash down when we find out they're flawed, human, or just disappointing. In today’s terms, we might call it "cancel culture." But really, it’s not new. It’s ancient. And it speaks more about us than the people we cancel.
In the crucifixion story, ask yourself—who would you be?
Would you be Peter, who loved Jesus but denied knowing him when things got hard?
Would you be Pilate, who knew better but still washed his hands of it all?
Would you be Judas, the one who betrayed his friend with a kiss?
Would you be the crowd? Easily swayed by power, by pressure, by propaganda?
Would you be Mary, who stayed with him to the very end?
The truth is, we’ve all been all of them—at different times in our lives. We’ve betrayed, denied, abandoned, judged, or stayed silent when it mattered. We’ve also grieved, resisted, and held space for truth in the face of injustice.
So much of the crucifixion story is about what people expected of Jesus. They wanted a soldier, a political revolutionary, a king with a sword. And instead, they got a teacher, a healer, a poor brown man riding into town on a donkey, saying: "Love your enemies. Feed the poor. Welcome the outcast."
Of course they were disappointed. Of course they turned on him.
Isn’t that what we do? When leaders, activists, or even our partners don’t save us the way we imagined—they disappoint us. And disappointment can breed resentment, which can lead to betrayal.
That’s the tragedy of misplaced expectations.
We want the world to change, but we don’t want to change ourselves. We want someone to fight the systems for us, but we don't want to put down our comfort or complicity to fight alongside them. It’s easier to crucify the messenger than to take up the message.
And while we’re here, let’s talk about what’s happening right now in this country.
It’s as if we’re watching a slow-motion dismantling of the federal government—and half the country is fine with it. A sitting president ignoring the checks and balances of the Constitution, acting like he’s above the law, and undermining the authority of the Supreme Court. As someone who studied political science and believes in democratic institutions, I’m stunned. We’re not just in a political crisis—we’re witnessing a moral one.
There’s a coup happening. And we’re watching it unfold on TikTok.
And while people point fingers at immigrants, queer folks, drag queens, or trans kids as the "problem," billionaires are laughing all the way to the bank. Social safety nets are slashed while tax breaks for the ultra-wealthy expand. We’re told to fear the marginalized when it’s the powerful who are rewriting the rules for their own benefit.
It’s no different than ancient Rome. Oppress the people. Distract them with scapegoats. Then crucify whoever dares to speak truth to power.
So yeah… I think a lot about Jesus these days. And I think maybe he wouldn’t be welcomed by a lot of churches in America. I think he’d be out in the streets, flipping tables in front of ICE detention centers, feeding houseless folks, and asking us why we traded our humanity for convenience.
I’m just trying to be a good human.
Did I get it all wrong? Maybe. But I’m still trying.
Lenten Reflection: From Palms to Passion
Palm Sunday reminds us how quickly love can turn to rejection, how fast crowds can shift from praise to punishment.
📖 "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!" – John 12:12–13 (NRSV)
This week, as we move toward Good Friday and Easter Sunday, reflect on:
🔹 Where in your life are you still expecting someone else to save you?
🔹 When have you turned your back on what you once believed in?
🔹 Who are the prophets and peacemakers today that we’re still crucifying with our silence?
May we walk into this Holy Week with open eyes, open hearts, and the courage to face our own contradictions.
But blessed are we, too, when we refuse to follow the crowd—and choose instead to walk the way of compassion, resistance, and radical love.
🕊️ As above, so below.
Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.