The Moment That Changed Everything

Every now and then, we have those movie moments where life slams the brakes, the soundtrack shifts, and everything pivots. For me, it happened at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Flatbush. Yes, a Dunkin’. Not exactly top billing for an epic transformation—but bear with me.

It was a Friday night, and I was 22, fresh out of undergrad, deeply single, and (to make matters worse) definitely not ready to mingle. My dating attempts were shot-through with insecurity, a flair for overthinking worthy of a Nollywood drama, and a complete lack of confidence in myself while navigating apps like Tinder, which felt equal parts playground and battlefield. I was a walking contradiction: putting effort into curating the perfect profile while dreading every swipe like it might expose me as a total fraud.

But back to Flatbush. On this particular night, I’d just finished tutoring a high school kid in English Lit. (Shakespeare—his choice, not mine; miracles exist). Exhausted and hungry, I stopped by Dunkin’ for my usual coffee and Boston Cream. As I debated the merits of adding a hash brown to my very unhealthy meal, I looked up and saw her.

Here’s where it would sound poetic to say the room went quiet or that time stopped. But honestly? It was nothing that fancy. All I remember is her wearing this bright yellow hoodie and being so comfortable in her own skin. She laughed at something on her phone—actually laughed, not the polite “haha” I was handing out in DMs. Her energy was magnetic, and I knew immediately: there was something different about her.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t ask her out (the boy was not ready). But seeing her being unapologetically herself was enough to spark a shift in me. I didn’t articulate it at the time, but that moment at the Dunkin’ counter became a small, glowing pin on my mental map: the life I wanted wasn’t just about finding “the right person”—it was about becoming a person I liked being around, even solo.

Phase One: The Profile Glow-Up

That night, walking home, I took a hard look at my dating app profiles. Let me tell you, they were a garbage fire of clichés. There was the awkward "smile-but-not-too-much" gallery of selfies, some blurry group photos where my face was anyone’s guess, and the bio that read (and I quote): "Just a chill dude who likes books.”

  • Yawn. Could this dude BE more generic?
  • Where were the unique touches about me—Malik from Lagos who devours spicy jollof rice, cries at romantic comedies, and has low-key strong feelings about whether pineapple belongs on pizza?

Here's what I did to refresh my vibes. Spoiler: it worked wonders:

  1. Show AND Tell: I swapped out boring bio phrases for specifics.
  2. Old: "Into music and food."

  3. New: “Always on the hunt for Afrobeat records—and the kind of shawarma that changes lives.” A little personality goes a long way.

  4. Picture Perfect: I retired all the "meh" selfies. Instead:

  5. One smiling pic in natural light (bonus: Brooklyn rooftops make killer settings).
  6. One hobby photo: me thumbing through Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. Nerdy? Sure. Unapologetically authentic? You bet.

  7. No group photos where I looked like I was being held hostage, and definitely no sunglasses inside.

  8. Own Your Quirks!: I got honest about my romantic comedy obsession. If someone couldn’t vibe with me crushing hard on Love Jones or laughing my way through Bridget Jones’s Diary, they weren’t my people. Period.

Phase Two: Re-learning "Flirtation Basics 101"

Here’s the deal: flirting didn’t come naturally to me. As a teen in Brooklyn, I was more the “quiet bookworm on those MTA rides” type than the charismatic guy spitting game at the bodega. But adulthood meant shifting my perspective—I had to learn that flirting wasn’t just some suave-guy flinging cheesy pickup lines like they were MJ three-pointers. Flirting was... connection.

Think gentle teasing, playful curiosity, or throwing out an inside joke during a first date. It doesn’t have to be fireworks right away.

Case in point: my first time messaging someone new after the Dunkin’ moment. Her profile said she had a habit of trying (and failing) to keep plants alive. Instead of "Hey" (the app world’s equivalent of gas-station sushi), I started with: “I have a thriving pothos plant I call Ricardo. Should I be worried about introducing him to you?”

Her reply lit up my notifications two minutes later. Connection made.

Phase Three: Trust Yourself to Grow

The person I was at 16 thought relationships meant waiting for someone to "save" you (ahem, shoutout to bad rom-com plotlines for that one). By 22, I thought they were about projecting the perfect version of myself. The Dunkin’ Donuts moment taught me differently: relationships aren’t what make you whole; they’re a place to share the wholeness you’ve already built.

So here’s my takeaway for anyone who’s struggling with romantic confidence right now—whether that’s on the apps, at the bar, or somewhere else altogether:

  • Ditch the pressure to perform: You’re multitasking a life out here! Your job isn’t to appeal to everyone, but to find people who vibe with who you actually are.
  • Rewrite your own stories: Is your insecurity calling the shots? Flip the script. Start small—describe yourself with curiosity, not judgment. “I’m kind of shy, but I’m working on it” goes much further than, “I’m awkward and bad at flirting.”
  • Be patient—be playful: Maybe your Dunkin’ moment is somewhere random too. Even if it doesn’t come today, showing up for yourself (and heck, for some solid iced coffee) is always worth it.

Conclusion: Say YES to Becoming You

Looking back, I’m glad the stars didn’t align for me to meet Hoodie Girl that night. I had work to do—on myself, for myself. She wasn’t the final chapter, but she was the pushstart to a story of growth I’m proud to keep writing.

So if you're out there reading this, unsure of where to start or mourning one too many failed swipes: You’ve got this. The person you’re waiting to meet could honestly just be you. Also, as a side note: always say yes to the hash browns. Life’s too short for lukewarm decisions.

Keep flirting, keep laughing, and most importantly—keep finding yourself right in the middle of it all.