Every family has its quirks, and mine was no exception. In our modest Miami home, we had two narratives running constantly: the story of my parents’ brave pursuit of freedom and the story of El Principito—or, as most know it, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. My abuela read it to me first in Spanish, tucking me in under the soft hum of our outdated ceiling fan. Soon, I was reading it back to her, stumbling over the more poetic lines, with her smiling gently, correcting only when necessary.

At nine, this whimsical little book about a golden-haired prince on interstellar adventures felt fun but distant. It wasn’t until my twenties, when I was balancing student loans, heartbreak, and moving halfway across the country—abandoning palm trees for Midwestern windchill—that it cracked me wide open. I realized this wasn't just a children's book; it was a story about how we navigate love, loss, and all the messy feelings in between. It taught me that relationships aren’t just about others—they’re about what they reveal in ourselves.

This epiphany didn’t just hit me like a slow, pensive epilogue—it took me by the collar, particularly in the chapter where the prince tames the fox, who tells him, “You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.” Those twelve words reshaped how I saw relationships—romantic, platonic, familial. Maybe they’ll speak to you, too.

The Fox, the Rose, and That "Oh" Moment

Quick recap, in case The Little Prince has been gathering dust in your high school bookshelf: The fox is this wise but lonely creature encountered by our hero during his journey. At first, the fox refuses closeness, stating the obvious: "I'm not tamed." But then he reconsiders (as foxes do when a golden-haired prince stops by) and asks to be tamed. What does "tamed" mean? To establish ties, to make each other special, to introduce intimacy—and, in turn, vulnerability.

I’d argue that taming someone (or letting yourself be tamed) is every relationship’s biggest gamble—emotional Russian roulette. It’s exhilarating to build this connection, but there’s also the looming risk of attachment leading to heartbreak. And who wants to risk that? Plenty of people double down on "independence" and avoid forming ties altogether. I was one of those people in college, swearing I was too focused on my career to bother with anything serious. Then a woman with piercing eyes and an espresso order I’ll never forget waltzed into my life and broke a few walls.

We tamed each other—or, rather, she tamed my fear of vulnerability while making me realize that forming bonds would always be complicated but necessary. A year later, we broke up. I mourned for longer than I want to admit, hating every song on the radio and rolling my eyes at sappy couples holding hands. But here’s the plot twist: somehow, through the ache, it was worth it. That year wasn’t a footnote; it was a chapter. I’d learned tenderness, patience, and that an espresso order can feel like a love letter.

The fox said it best: "It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

Love Is Uncomfortable—and That’s the Point

Here’s the thing about taming: it isn’t clean. It’s sticky, unpredictable, sometimes outright uncomfortable. Opening yourself up to love—real love—is like agreeing to a high-stakes duet on Karaoké Night when you barely know the words. But the discomfort? That’s where the magic lives. And The Little Prince taught me that without discomfort, there’s no real growth.

Take my parents: their love story is one my abuela retold with all the telenovela-worthy drama you’d expect. They met as teenagers in Havana, married young, and fled their homeland in the middle of the night on a fishing boat, sacrificing everything so their future kids could live in freedom. I used to think their love was glamorous and Hollywood-level iconic—until one Thanksgiving, my dad casually admitted over turkey that they fought for years about something as mundane as whether to budget for cable. Turns out, behind every epic love story are the everyday squabbles and work of staying in tune.

What The Little Prince reminded me is that recognizing our "roses"—what makes our relationships unique—requires labor, discomfort, and sometimes crying into crumpled tissues at 2 a.m. That’s the paradox of love: it asks for your vulnerability but pays you back in spades by showing you who you are.

Practicing "Taming" in Modern Relationships

Let’s talk real-world applications, because this is where the fox’s wisdom translates to Tinder dates and late-night texts. Relationships today tend to emphasize instantaneous gratification. The moment something feels deeper—or scarier—there’s a temptation to hit the proverbial eject button.

Instead of running, what if we embraced “taming” as a conscious effort?

Here’s how that might look:

  • Be Intentional About Vulnerability: Meaningful relationships don’t happen by accident. They require stepping out of your comfort zone to share dreams, fears, and the playlists you listen to on sad days. Yes, even the super emo ones.

  • Recognize the Small Stuff: The fox noticed how the prince transformed his world. Suddenly, the wheat fields were golden, just like the prince’s hair. That everyday poetry? It’s recognizing how your person lights up when they talk about their favorite Conspiracy Theory podcast or how you remember they like their popcorn buttered halfway through, not just on top. Don’t underestimate these small details; they’re the wheat fields of modern love.

  • Celebrate Uniqueness: Stop comparing your relationships to others’. You’re not playing house in an Instagram story; you’re building something messy and profoundly yours.

Love, Loss, and What Grows After

When the fox bids the prince farewell, he leaves him with a bit of wisdom that, frankly, hits harder than any rom-com monologue ever could: “You may weep for your rose, but it is your rose.” The rose doesn’t owe you closure, and the weeping doesn’t mean the connection wasn’t worth it.

This book showed me that real relationships—whether they last a year, a decade, or an eternity—don’t need to be "forever" to matter.

When I reflect on that Midwestern heartbreak, I don’t cast it in this sepia-toned sadness anymore. Sure, we didn’t end up together, but I learned how to love better because of her. I became a little more open, a little less scared of connections. That counts for something.

Building Connections That Matter

Ultimately, The Little Prince isn’t just a story about a kid wandering planets—it’s a guide to human (and extraterrestrial) connection. Whether you’re navigating the giddy early days of infatuation or the complexity of long-term relationships, the fox’s words ring true: love requires intention and effort. And yes, it also requires being okay with the fact that one day, you may weep for what you’ve tamed.

But here’s the thing they don’t tell you in college or at self-help workshops: those tears aren’t wasted. They’re proof you took the leap—and, maybe, learned something beautiful along the way.

So, find your rose. Tame your fox. Build something. Risk the mess. As my abuela wisely says, "Cualquier cosa que valga la pena nunca será fácil.” What’s worth it is rarely easy.

Does it hurt sometimes? Of course. But trust me, it’s the good kind of ache.