Here’s the thing about risks: they don’t come with guarantees, instruction manuals, or even a friendly nudge saying, “This is going to work out.” Nope. Risks are more like cliff-side dives where you just pray the water’s deep enough. My biggest leap? It wasn’t career-related, though I did once leave a cushy tech job to write about life and love for a living. It wasn’t scaling a business or even my first book deal. No, my greatest risk was infinitely more terrifying: opening myself up to love after a relationship that left me mentally holed up like a desert tortoise in its shell.

Let’s rewind.

The Fallout: When Comfort Becomes Complacency

I was in a long-term relationship that, looking back, should have had an expiration date stamped on it like a carton of milk left too long in the Arizona sun. My partner and I were comfortable—and if there’s one thing I've learned, “comfortable” can sometimes masquerade as “content.” We knew our routine: weekend meal prepping, Costco runs, and reruns of The Office on Fridays like it was an Olympic sport. But our spark? It had fizzled so quietly, I didn’t even realize it was gone until one night she brought it up: “Nate, is this really what you want?”

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t, and she knew it before I did.

The breakup was, at best, amicable, and at worst, a gut punch. I wasn’t mad—we were both just two people who had gone from partners to polite roommates. Still, the end of something long-term leaves behind a crater. Cue sleepless nights, solo desert hikes, and way too much Luke Combs on repeat. I was painfully aware of what I’d lost: a semblance of stability in a world where control often feels like a mirage. But as weeks turned into months, a persistent thought began to surface: Maybe, just maybe, I’d been holding onto “good” out of fear of finding “great.”

The Leap: Love Unscripted

Here’s the tricky thing about growth—it doesn’t happen in comfort zones. So I did the least “me” thing I could imagine: I said yes to a blind double date organized by a mutual friend. Think of every rom-com where the date shows up late, spills their drink, and somehow leaves you wondering why you agreed to this to begin with—that was the level of skepticism I carried into it.

But here’s what happened instead: dinner turned into dessert, dessert turned into an impromptu karaoke session because, apparently, my sense of risk-taking had upgraded to “singing Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ in front of strangers.” And by the end of the night, it was clear that this wasn’t just another “meh” night out. It was possible—just possible—that I’d stumbled into something real.

Lessons from the Leap

Jumping back into dating felt a bit like learning golf in the Scottsdale heat—awkward, frustrating, and with a lot of missed swings. But pushing through fear taught me more than just the value of perseverance.

Here’s what I learned when love decided to call my bluff:

  1. Growth Requires Space to Breathe Leaving a safe, cozy relationship was agonizing. But staying in it would’ve been quietly suffocating. If you’ve stopped asking yourself, “Am I fully here?” and started asking, “What’s keeping me here?”—it might be time to create space. Growth needs room to bloom, even if that means growing out of something familiar.

  2. Risk Is Messy—And That’s Okay
    Love is never going to arrive neatly packaged with air-tight guarantees. Opening up to someone comes with an unspoken contract: you might get hurt. But the alternative—staying closed off—feels a lot like circling around aimlessly in a gated community when the desert’s out there waiting.

  3. The Story You Tell Yourself Matters
    For months after my breakup, the little voice in my head was stuck on repeat: “You failed. You couldn’t make it work.” It wasn’t until I re-framed the narrative to, “This ended because it couldn’t grow,” that I started finding peace. Changing how I talked to myself was as transformative as the breakup itself.

The Aftermath: What Great Looks Like

So, what happened with that blind date, you’re wondering? We didn’t end up in a whirlwind romance or some cinematic “off into the sunset” moment. We dated for a while—long enough to reaffirm that taking chances does get you somewhere. But ultimately, this wasn’t “the one,” and I’m okay with that.

What mattered more was this: I took the leap. I risked rejection, awkward silences, and the dreaded possibility of karaoke-induced shame—and in doing so, I discovered not only what I want in relationships but also how much I’m capable of giving.

Today, I’m not dating someone just for companionship. I’m dating to connect, to grow, to share pieces of myself I once deemed too fragile. Yes, finding love again may still be a work-in-progress—like the half-finished adobe designs scattered across Phoenix. But whether it’s romantic love or self-love, risking discomfort is the price of admission for something real.

A Final Note: Go For It

Maybe you’re staring down a metaphorical cliff right now—considering a breakup, a leap into vulnerability, or even just asking someone out for coffee. It’s natural to hesitate. After all, taking a risk doesn’t promise the perfect outcome, but it does promise growth.

The most extraordinary parts of life—love included—don’t happen when we play it safe. They happen the moment we decide to trust that something bigger, braver, and better will catch us.

So go ahead. Take the jump. The water’s better than you think.