I never expected life lessons about love to come from three little words: Midnight gospel radio.

When I was 22, fresh out of Northwestern and still buzzing from too much youth idealism and too little student loan grace period, I spent a summer in Paris. One late night, curled up in a studio apartment barely big enough to stretch my limbs, I stumbled upon an old AM radio station. The DJ was hilarious, half-rambling, half-preaching in that seductive, low-octave French that's equal parts poetry and possible scam art. He was talking about love—big love, messy love, the kind that unravels you and dares you to pick yourself back up.

It was strange. And oddly comforting. But it also rooted itself in me because, looking back, it was exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

Here’s how a weird French midnight radio show lit up my view of love—and taught me things I still carry in relationships today.

Lesson 1: Love Is Jazz

If love had sound, it’d swing to the improv of Miles Davis’ trumpet. And this midnight DJ? He described love as exactly that: Jazz.

“L’amour, c’est comme le jazz improvisé,” he said—it’s like improvised jazz.

Anyone who's ever been in a relationship knows this truth deep in their bones. Love is anything but scripted. It's not always a slow jam; sometimes, it scatters like bop, twisting on beats you'd never expect. Sure, we think we know the rhythm—the first date spark, the honeymoon period high, the occasional "you left dishes in the sink AGAIN?" blues. But just when you get comfortable with the melody, love throws in a wild sax solo and you're left either spinning in awe or scrambling to keep up.

That summer, I was nursing the bruises of a breakup—the post-college relationship that crashes because life hits harder than puppy love. I wanted love to follow a Chicago step dance choreography: smooth, practiced, and with every turn mapped in advance. But love doesn’t work like that. It’s unpredictable, emotional, chaotic. Learning to appreciate the surprise of it—to lean into its rhythms instead of trying to master them—is an ongoing practice. Relationships breathe like jazz, and even the missteps can carry an offbeat beauty.

Lesson 2: You’ve Got to Say “I Don’t Know” More Often

Mid-monologue, the French DJ took an unexpected pivot: Love is humbling, he said, because it constantly challenges everything you think you know.

And somewhere deep in my gut, I winced. It hit too close to home.

See, I have this thing—it’s the oldest, most loyal companion I’ve ever known. It’s called “The Need to Be Right.” Growing up in a household led by two hardworking Black parents, respect was currency, and owning your intellect was a given. My mother made sure I could back up every debate about why I didn’t need a curfew with three well-argued points. But in relationships, being right doesn’t win you connection. It plants a seed of distance.

Take my post-college breakup. I remember arguing about something ridiculous—I think it was the “right” way to fold fitted sheets (spoiler alert: there is none). I dug in, not because it mattered, but because it was a hill I’d decided to die on. What I learned the hard way, though, is that every argument has space for curiosity. Admitting “I don’t know” diffuses pride. It invites grace. And in love—where we’re constantly negotiating hearts, pasts, and futures—grace has to be a language you speak fluently.

So, here's a pro tip: Next time you argue with your partner about the "best" route to Target or whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie (it is, don’t @ me), try pausing and admitting, “Maybe I don’t know." Trust me—your ego will survive, and your relationship might too.

Lesson 3: Romance Is Less Candlelight, More Chaos

Paris is famously called the City of Love, but it’s wildly romanticized in movies. I once watched someone aggressively pluck a baguette out of a pigeon’s reach and yell “idiot bird!” in front of the Eiffel Tower. Real romance? It’s awkward like that.

The midnight DJ had no patience for perfect. His words shook loose the idea that romance thrives in grand gestures. Sure, we all love those swept-off-your-feet moments, but he said that the real heartbeat of relationships is found in the messy middle—those cracks that let your human awkwardness shine.

Romance is your partner seeing you ugly-cry because you forgot to buy almond milk and texting, “Stop stressing, I got you.” It’s when your boyfriend interrupts your Netflix marathon to make you laugh with the dumbest impression of Don Cheadle you’ve ever heard. It’s not always picnics or perfect sunsets. It’s compromised plans. It’s laughter at the dumbest stuff. It’s the smallest acts of take-your-shoes-off kindness that keep you steady when life throws weight.

That French DJ knew what he was talking about (though his version was more smoky-nightclub-in-Montmartre). And trust me, it’s advice I carry into my relationships now: Romance isn’t in the show—it’s in the substance.

Lesson 4: Love Reflects Your Relationship With Yourself

Here’s where things got deep. At some point in his sultry tirade, the DJ said something that made me pause the old radio recorder I’d been using to save his wisdom gems: “To love another, you must first love who you are alone.”

He wasn’t reinventing the wheel—self-love as a prerequisite for healthy relationships isn’t exactly a plot twist. But hearing it voiced late at night, spilling through scratchy airwaves while I sat in a city that didn’t entirely feel mine? It stuck.

In my early 20s, I was running hard: deadlines, career goals, that “grind culture” badge we all wear too proudly. And somewhere in all the chasing, I got real good at ignoring the “me” in the mirror. I mean, who needs radical self-reflection when the grind is calling, right? But the problem is, your relationships call you out. If you're battling insecurities you haven’t faced, they’ll seep into how you love. And insecurity does wild things to a partnership—it clings, lashes out, shrinks affection into spaces it isn’t meant to live.

Loving yourself isn’t just a cute slogan; it’s essential work. Once you make peace with your quirks, flaws, and past, loving someone else gets a lot less terrifying. You stop loading them up with the task of saving you—which, let’s be honest, is a love killer every time.

Putting It All Together: My Love Is Late-Night Radio

That summer in Paris, love became a weird mix of bebop improvisation, humbling moments, chaotic humanity, and deeply inward reflection. Thanks to one out-of-the-blue French DJ, I started to understand that love isn’t about fitting someone (or yourself) into a too-tidy box. It’s a mess, yes, but it’s a specific kind of mess you learn to cherish.

If you’re reading this and wondering what love advice to carry forward from my accidental midnight gospel guru, here’s the roundup:

  • Relationships are unscripted and wild, so trying to control every stride will only make you trip.
  • Arguments aren’t battles to win—let humility lead you.
  • Look for romance in the small stuff, not just the grand stuff.
  • And most importantly, spend time loving yourself before trying to build something lasting with someone else.

That French DJ may never know he taught a struggling 22-year-old from Chicago how to love better. But that’s the magic of inspiration, isn’t it? It sneaks up on you—sometimes in the rhythm of late-night radio, sometimes in the rhythm of your own city pulse—and recalibrates the map you thought you had figured out.