Why I Chose This Path

The Spark That Lit the Fire: Conversations Around the Dining Table

Growing up on the South Side of Chicago, our dining table operated like a courtroom, a therapy session, and a storytelling workshop all rolled into one. My mom, ever the English teacher, turned even casual conversations into grammar lessons cloaked in storytelling ("It's not 'me and James went to the store,' DeAndre, it’s 'James and I.' Now, finish explaining how you knocked over the cereal aisle."). My dad, who drove the city bus, would bring home wild stories about riders from every corner of Chicago, each one bursting with humanity, humor, and a tiny moral lesson tucked at the end like the tag on a fortune cookie.

At the heart of these stories was always connection—how people relate to one another, the mistakes they make, the beauty in human flaws. Even at eight years old, I was taking mental notes. I began to understand that behind every awkward misunderstanding, every brave romantic gesture, every heartbreak, there’s a lesson that is universally human. Somewhere in there, I realized I wanted to collect stories—not just mine, but everybody's. And relationships? That’s where the richest, most complicated narratives live.

Fast forward to now, and I see how these dinnertime conversations set the foundation. Relationships, whether romantic, platonic, familial, or fleeting connections with a stranger on the #4 Cottage Grove bus, are what drive us—and dare I say, often define us.

The Jazz of Relationships: Improvisation, Vulnerability, and Harmony

Jazz. That’s the metaphor I keep returning to. My dad first introduced me to Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, and the artistry of improvisation, and it hit me one day how much love and dating mimic that flow. In both, you’re constantly riffing, adjusting, finding your rhythm with someone else while keeping your core intact.

Take dating, for example. It starts with the warm-up: gauging interest at a coffee shop, an earnest DM, or an awkward "Hey, I noticed you like spicy tuna rolls too!" Then there's the riffing stage—you lay down your opening notes (a first date), and they respond. Maybe their sense of humor is a little different than yours (they’re a SZA fan while you’re more of an Erykah Badu type), but together, you're creating something raw and new.

Like jazz, relationships demand vulnerability. The best solos come from letting your guard down, accepting that a sour note here and there isn’t failure—it’s honesty. Growing up in a city like Chicago taught me a lot about honesty. The city doesn’t sugarcoat much, and frankly, neither do I. Relationships should be the same: honest, challenging, messy—and deeply rewarding.

Lessons From a Paris Café: Love is a Shared Language

When I spent that semester abroad in Paris, I thought I’d go there to perfect my French and soak in art at the Louvre. I didn’t guess that one of my most valuable takeaways would come from people-watching in tiny cafés.

Parisians have this way of making you believe that every fleeting glance, every excited exchange over an espresso, is laced with meaning. I could barely keep up with the language at first, but I quickly noticed how people communicated through gestures, expressions, and pauses. This reminded me that relationships are about so much more than words; they’re about the meaning behind them.

So many moments in a relationship happen between the lines. It’s the way someone lightly taps your knee under the table, their tone softening when they call you by your childhood nickname, the unspoken ease of letting someone take the last French fry. Love transcends literal language. It’s a mutual effort to understand each other in all the ways communication exists.

Why Relationships and Writing Are Sisters

At first glance, a career in creative writing may not scream “passion for relationships.” But here’s the thing: both fields require a willingness to stare unflinchingly at what makes us human. Writing forces me to put messy emotions under a microscope—the missteps, the unsure hearts, the betrayals—and turn it into something meaningful.

Let’s be real: dating isn’t all Instagram-worthy rooftop cocktails and first-kiss fireworks. It’s also nervously asking, “So… are we exclusive?” while your stomach does the kind of backflips Simone Biles would envy. It’s disagreeing over who’s picking up the takeout and hesitating before texting back when you’re annoyed. Writing and relationships both thrive on these precise moments—the unscripted, vulnerable bits. How you navigate them defines the story.

Plus, if relationships involve collaboration (which they absolutely do), writing taught me the ultimate lesson: sometimes, the best thing you can do is revise. And revise again.

My Top Three Life Lessons About Love and Connection

All this reflects why I do what I do—not just to analyze relationships but to celebrate them. If my experience as a writer, observer, and occasional dater has taught me anything, it’s this:

  1. Romanticize the Ordinary. People think love needs to look like a rom-com montage, but the best moments are oftentimes about the everyday—the handwritten note left on a laptop, the way they bring you coffee with two sugars because they just know. It’s okay if your love story is more “Lo-Fi Chill Beats” than “Hollywood Soundtrack.”

  2. Listen Like a Jazz Musician. Listening isn’t just hearing what someone says; it’s hearing the notes they don’t play. It’s noticing how they react when they talk about their biggest failures or the way their voice lilts up when they describe their childhood dog. Relationships are made in the details.

  3. Stay Open to the Rewrite. Yep, the dreaded rewrite! Whether it’s letting go of past baggage, course-correcting a behavior, or relearning how to communicate, change isn’t an eraser—it’s a highlighter. Growth doesn’t invalidate where you started; it improves the entire picture.

Why I Keep Telling These Stories

I choose this path because relationships are complex, and I believe in amplifying the story beneath the surface. Whenever a reader says, “This is exactly how I feel, but I didn’t know how to say it,” it’s like scoring an intentional basket in a pickup game of hoops—it means I got the signal, I made the play.

The truth is, relationships aren’t just something we do; they are core to understanding who we are. Whether I’m writing fiction, exploring a certain Chicago rhythm, or talking about the nuances of emotional connection for this platform, my goal is simple: to get us to reflect, laugh, and feel.

That’s why I’m here—to help navigate the lyrical, unpredictable improv of connection. And if I can get someone to chuckle about their last awkward date or recognize the beauty in their long-term partnership, then I’ll know I’m doing something right.

We’re all just figuring this out as we go. But here’s the good news: like a favorite jazz record, the riffs only get more beautiful the more open you are to playing along.