If you’d told me twenty years ago that my greatest love story wouldn’t start with a candlelit dinner or a chance meeting under Southern magnolia trees, but rather at a scratched library desk with a dusty book in hand, I would’ve rolled my eyes. Hard. Isn’t that how a rom-com plot starts when there’s no actual romance to be found? But here I am, head over heels with a passion that blindsided me, overturned my world like a Lowcountry storm, and ultimately saved me: storytelling.

So, let me be your hype-woman for a minute, cheering you on as you go after whatever stirs your soul. But first, let’s rewind a bit and let me tell you how the love affair all began.

Chapter One: Falling For Stories in Grandma’s Kitchen

Let’s get one thing straight: my grandparents could tell a story so good it’d make you want to crawl right back into childhood just to hear it again. Picture this: little Ebony, cross-legged on a creaking kitchen floor, listening as my grandmother peeled sweet potatoes with the kind of rhythm that deserves its own beat in a Beyoncé song. Her stories weren’t just entertaining; they were lessons disguised as folklore.

There was the tale of the sea island conjure woman who outsmarted a greedy trader or the Gullah fisherman who sang to the waters until fish leapt willingly into his nets. I didn’t understand it fully at the time, but those stories carried ancestral truths—recipes for survival, love, and resilience. If Shakespeare had iambic pentameter, my grandparents had the cadence of the Carolina coast, steeped in salt air and gospel notes.

Those moments in the kitchen were the foundation of my storytelling flair. They taught me that a good story doesn’t just entertain—it leaves breadcrumbs, little clues to follow about who we are and what we can become. By the time I was 12, I wasn’t just hearing the stories. I started writing my own, scribbling on notebook paper like some kind of wannabe Zora Neale Hurston (bless my heart).

Chapter Two: From Flirty Pieces to Serious Commitment

When you’re younger, exploring a passion feels a lot like dating, doesn’t it? There’s no pressure, no expectation. It’s casual. Fun. Will-you-be-my-side-hustle vibes. Growing up in Charleston, I experimented with what my muse could look like. For a while, I thought I’d become a singer because that way I could stay close to those back-porch spirituals I loved so much. Spoiler alert: I can’t hold a pitch to save my life. Next, I dabbled with painting during a summer program at my arts magnet high school. Let’s just say everyone knew which ugly canvas belonged to me.

But writing? Oh, writing. I kept coming back to it like an old flame who just gets you. At Spelman, I learned to refine my voice, and not just any voice, but the voice that carried bits of Charleston’s traditions, my parents’ teachings, and my own messy, glorious journey of figuring it all out. When a professor handed me Hurston’s Mules and Men, I felt like she’d wrapped a bow around my destiny.

The thing about passion—and here’s where I get to play your slightly bossy best friend—is that it doesn’t always demand immediate commitment. Sometimes it sits quietly in the corner, waiting for you to notice it, while you fumble through other possibilities. But when you’re ready, it shows up like, “I’ve been waiting for you to get your life together. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Three: Lessons From My First (Writing) Heartbreak

Like any good relationship, passion isn’t always sunshine and heart-eye emojis. After I finished grad school at Columbia, I scored a job at a Charleston newspaper. It felt like hitting the romance jackpot: they paid me to tell meaningful stories! But let me tell you, there’s nothing cute about deadlines that show up faster than text messages from an ex or editors who redline your soul’s work.

Between the hustle and heartbreak of newsroom writing, I almost called it quits. I questioned if I was truly built to be a storyteller or if I should grab a 9-5 gig with less emotional baggage. But here’s a thing you should know—real love, whether with a person or a passion, challenges you. It pushes you to grow, to ask yourself the hard questions.

That stretch of uncertainty forced me to dig deep, to ask why I started writing in the first place. For me, it wasn’t just about weaving words together. It was about preserving history, reflecting identity, and creating a mirror through which others could see themselves.

That realization led me to pivot, focusing on writing the historical fiction novels I’d dreamed of during all those childhood afternoons in Grandma’s kitchen. And just like that, my passion and I reconciled. Messy moments and all, we made it work.

Chapter Four: What My Passion Taught Me About Love

If you’ve stayed with me this long, you’re probably wondering, “Okay, Ebony, so you’re in love with storytelling. What does this mean for me?” First of all, thank you for sticking with me—gold star for curiosity. Second, chasing your passion is a masterclass in how relationships work because:

  • It teaches you patience. Passion doesn’t always hit you with firework-like revelations. Sometimes it’s a gentle ember that takes time to grow. Treat your passion like a slow burn romance. Let it develop.

  • You’ll have rough patches. You know how we all love to romanticize the “honeymoon phase”? Well, passion has them too. But sooner or later, you’re going to hit those moments where you lose faith, like that time I stared at a blank page for three weeks straight. Stay the course. Growth often hides behind discomfort.

  • It requires being vulnerable. Sharing your passion with others feels like exposing your quirkiest side on a first date. Awkward and terrifying. But connection—and fulfillment—don’t happen until you put yourself out there.

  • It demands that you love you first. Here’s the tea: your passion isn’t some magic fix-all. I had to learn that no amount of storytelling could replace nurturing my mental health or relationship with myself. Falling in love with your passion requires loving the person living it.

Chapter Five: Your Turn

Here’s where the empowerment part comes in, and listen closely because this is personal: whatever it is you’re flirting with—photography, teaching, cooking, coding—invest in it. Feed your curiosity. Maybe it’s a fling or maybe it’s the soulmate of passions, but you won’t know unless you take the first step.

If there’s one thing Charleston’s sea breezes and New York’s buzzing streets have taught me, it’s this: the world moves in rhythms, and your passion is the thread that pulls the melody together. Follow it, trust it, and let yourself fall in love all over again.

Because, darling, isn’t that what life’s all about—letting our hearts leap at what stirs us?