My Most Unexpected Inspiration

The Day a Cockroach Changed Everything
Let me set the scene: It was late. Too late for compromises or rational thinking. I was splitting time between graduate school projects, my nonprofit job, and an experimental sourdough starter I swore was going to change my life (spoiler: it didn’t). My phone pinged with a message from a friend, her name alight on the screen like some lifeboat in the storm: “You free on Friday? Double date?”

The ask seemed simple enough—dinner at a funky taco joint in East Austin with her and her partner, plus some guy she thought I’d “totally vibe with.” In the name of dating optimism, I said yes. And I was feeling pretty good about it, at least until the cockroach appeared.

That Friday, I showed up, tacos in hand and heart cautiously open. My “date,” Jeremy (whose name I remember solely because of the ensuing events), looked promising at first. He was charming in the way your Landlord Special “renovated” kitchen looks from certain angles: functional, just mismatched enough to have personality, but hiding enough flaws to make you squint. About ten minutes into our conversation, though, I noticed movement on the table near me.

A cockroach—large, fearless, and straight out of my nightmares—ambitiously climbed onto the salsa bowl as if it had arrived for happy hour. What happened next is not something I’m proud of. Without a second thought, I screamed loud enough to give the live mariachi band a break. My chair skidded. The cockroach scurried. And Jeremy? He... laughed.

Not an awkward chuckle. A deep, guttural laugh that seemed to mock not just my temporary terror, but also, by extension, my micromanaged life. He made some joke about how “fate sends cockroaches for a reason” and went back to his guac like nothing had happened. It was in that humiliating moment, staring down the judgment of someone who thought I was overreacting, that I had my epiphany: the cockroach in question didn’t represent my fear of bugs. It represented my fear of vulnerability.

Peeling Back the Layers
If you’d asked me before this dinner what vulnerability looked like for me, I’d have given you the standard answers: being open to relationships, allowing myself to make mistakes, occasionally crying in front of other humans. But none of these compared to the raw, unfiltered realness of my cockroach freak-out.

Let’s be honest—dating often feels like a series of controlled performances. You make sure your bangs aren’t actively rebelling, listen to music on the way to “set the vibe,” and rehearse anecdotes that make you sound competent and endearing. You project calm, calculated effort, hoping someone buys into the story you’ve curated.

But the salsa cockroach left no room for calculation. My reaction was primal, guttural, and unapologetically real. It didn’t conform to some sanitized version of myself I sometimes show on first dates. And the lesson hit me like a Texan summer heatwave: vulnerability isn’t just about choosing to open up; it’s about what happens when you can’t control your reactions and are forced to be completely, unabashedly human.

Take the L—Laugh it Off
Jeremy and I didn’t work out (shocker), but the cockroach incident became a metaphor I couldn’t shake. Life, too, is full of moments that scurry onto your perfectly crafted plan, salsa bowls and all. And you’ve got a choice: double down on keeping up appearances, or laugh it off and take the lessons it’s offering.

Humor is an underrated currency in dating and relationships because it’s one of the most honest ways we connect. When we allow ourselves to laugh—especially at ourselves—we level the emotional playing field. It’s not about being self-deprecating to a fault, but rather being real enough to say, “Oops, yeah, that was weird,” and moving on without shame.

So, the next time you trip on the curb, accidentally reply “Love you!” to your waiter, or share a story that gets zero laughs—it’s okay. Own it. Those moments are more interesting than nailing your speech about your five-year plan.

Learning to Lean Into the Messy Stuff
Another takeaway from the salsa fiasco: leaning into imperfection can breed real connection. For years, I thought “effort” translated to a perfect blowout and witty conversation. But the times I’ve connected most deeply with someone have been the messy ones—when my dog decided to interrupt a date by destroying the living room, or when I accidentally let a Taylor Swift breakup lyric slip while venting about an ex.

Those moments strip away the façade and leave you exposed, your quirks and awkwardness sitting in the open. And you know what happens? The right people embrace them. Turns out, the kind of connections worth building happen when you stop worrying that you’re "too much," and just let yourself be.

Want some tips for owning your imperfections? Here’s what I’ve learned:
- Drop the Script: Forget the monologue you’ve practiced in the mirror. Just talk. If you say something goofy, so be it.
- Pause Perfection: No, you don’t need to order the fanciest cocktail or know how to pronounce “charcuterie.” (Besides, we all know it's just a fancy way to serve cheese and crackers.)
- Be Honest About the Embarrassing Stuff: Like how you once fell off a paddleboard in Lady Bird Lake or sobbed during a particularly intense Great British Bake-Off episode.

Messy, but Make it Beautiful
I keep coming back to that cockroach not just because it was the lowlight of the date, but because of what it represents for me now: permission to be gloriously imperfect. Permission to embrace awkwardness, ugly cries, unscripted moments, and yes, even bugs in the salsa.

Life—and especially dating—isn’t about who hides their mess the best. It’s about who’s willing to lean into it and share it with others.

So here’s to ditching the curated performances and letting yourself be authentic, even when it’s unflattering. The sooner you embrace your inner chaos, the easier it gets to find the people who see it as endearing—and maybe, even love-worthy.

If that’s not the most unexpected inspiration, I don’t know what is.