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We all know those movie moments: a protagonist crosses paths with a stranger who seems ingeniously placed by the universe to deliver wisdom, alter the course of their life, or at least teach them how to parallel park. I never thought I’d have one of those moments—my life, while colorful, has never been particularly cinematic. That is, until I met Linda. Linda was the stranger who taught me a lesson, though not in the rom-com, meet-cute sort of way you might be imagining. No. Linda was more of a cosmic curveball, appearing in an unexpected place to give me the kind of tough love I didn’t know I needed.

Here’s what happened.

A Picnic Table Epiphany

It was a sticky summer evening at Barton Springs Pool, a place my fellow Austinites will recognize as sacred ground for communal swims and people-watching. I wasn’t there to swim, though—I was there to stew. After a rocky couple of months punctuated by a disappointing situationship, I’d reached peak disillusionment. I had my journal in hand, ready for a brooding main-character moment at one of the picnic tables overlooking the springs.

Halfway through writing a particularly dramatic sentence about “the erosion of modern romance,” Linda appeared. She was probably in her late 50s, wearing colorful leggings, a tank top that said “Texas Forever,” and one of those floppy sun hats that seems to demand respect. She plopped herself down at the opposite end of my table like we were old friends.

“Looks serious,” she said, nodding toward my journal.

I opened my mouth to say something dismissive—maybe even a little snarky—but Linda didn’t give me the chance.

“Men?” she asked knowingly.

I blinked. “Uh—yeah.”

Linda sighed. “Classic.”

Lessons from Lemonade Linda

Here’s where things got interesting. Linda introduced herself, explaining that she just finished a barre class, and for reasons known only to her and the cosmos, she decided to sit down and give me advice. Over the next 20 minutes, she dropped wisdom bombs that, in retrospect, were as sharp as they were absurd. I may have started as a reluctant participant, but somewhere between her unsolicited tips on love and her unapologetic sips from a mason jar of homemade lemonade, Linda taught me some things I’ll never forget.

“Love is like a broken chair. Learn to fix it, but don’t sit in it if it’s busted beyond repair.”

At first, I thought Linda was talking in riddles—or maybe had mixed too much tequila into her lemonade. But as she elaborated, this metaphor came into focus. She explained how some relationships are worth repairing, even if they’ve taken a few hits, but others are better left out on the curb for bulk trash pick-up. “Know the difference,” she said. “And please, child, don’t waste seven years trying to glue Ikea furniture back together.”

“Romance thrives on curiosity, not control.”

Apparently, Linda had been through three marriages and joked that she was "semi-retired" from dating. One of her takeaways? Love doesn’t thrive in environments of micromanagement or expectations that the other person will "complete" you. “It’s like a houseplant,” she said, swiping a strand of hair out of her face. “Water it, sure, but don’t drown it just because you’re nervous it’ll wilt.”

I found this surprisingly profound, and for the first time that evening, I laughed—like, a real laugh that felt good and cathartic. Linda smiled triumphantly, as if her work here might truly be done.

Real-Life Realizations

After Linda’s spectral appearance at the picnic table, I decided to take her advice to heart—or at least give it a test run. Over the next few weeks, I noticed the lessons Linda taught me resurfacing in unexpected ways. Here are some of the key takeaways from our bizarre little encounter that I hope you’ll find useful:

1. You Are Not a Project, and Neither Is Your Partner.

Think about it: why do renovation shows get cancelled? Because sometimes the foundation’s too cracked to build on. While Linda called it “busted chairs,” the principle is the same. Stop trying to be the person who can fix a relationships’ crumbling infrastructure. Instead of a fixer-upper, look for something move-in ready—or at least a partner willing to do some DIY with you.

2. Keeping Mystery Alive Actually Matters.

Linda might describe this as “not drowning the plant.” Call it balance, call it curiosity—keeping a small element of surprise in your relationship can make a huge difference. Be open, but don’t smother each other with constant updates about every single mood swing or insecurity. You’re not a weather app; you don’t need live hourly broadcasts.

3. Trust Strangers Sometimes.

Obviously, don’t go letting people dig through your wallet or take rides from anyone who looks like they fell out of a crime podcast. But, occasionally, a stranger pops into our lives to give us exactly the perspective we need. This might not mean an actual person—maybe it’s a book you pick up at random, or a song lyric you hear at the right time that shifts your outlook. Stay open to surprises. As Linda illustrated, serendipity works in strange ways.

Saying Goodbye to A Season

By the time Linda’s barre-toned figure hopped up and headed off into the Austin sunset, I felt lighter. She didn’t solve my problems or magically make my situationship feel less crappy. Instead, she reminded me of this simple truth: We don’t always need someone to swoop in and fix everything. We just need a nudge, a shift in perspective, or a stranger bold enough to sit at your table uninvited.

If you’re going through it right now, please know this: Life, love, and the lessons they bring are rarely neat, but that’s what makes them meaningful. Some days feel like you're propping up broken furniture, and on others, a Linda-type person appears out of nowhere to serve lemonade and unsolicited advice. Either way, keep your table open. You never know who (or what) might sit down.

Go be curious. Water the plant—but not too much. And for goodness’ sake, don’t waste your weekends with super glue on furniture that’s already destined for the curb. Consider this your Linda moment.