Ever been hit by the quiet kind of joy that sneaks up on you? It’s a little like realizing mid-dance that your two left feet suddenly found the beat, or nailing your mom’s legendary oxtail recipe after years of thinking her secret ingredient was witchcraft. That’s the feeling I had the first time I sat down to write about relationships—and meant it.

I wasn’t trying to go deep at first. Honestly, I’d just wrapped a round of edits on one of my political thrillers, and my brain felt like the Metro at rush hour—loud, crowded with half-formed thoughts, and in need of some maintenance. So I decided to switch gears and dissect something universal, something low-stakes and fun: dating. And just like that, I tripped into joy.

An Accidental Love Affair With Words

Let’s backtrack a bit. I’ve always been a storyteller. Growing up in northeast D.C., I learned early on that the best way to deflect my mother’s eagle-eye for trouble was crafting a solid, believable narrative. (E.g., “Why do I smell jerk seasoning at 1 a.m.?” “Mama, it was research for my future restaurant.”) It wasn’t always successful, but it laid the foundation for my writing chops.

Still, my early career as a Capitol Hill staffer didn’t exactly scream romance or introspection. I spent my 20s translating complex policies into two-page memos. Writing about tax reform is many things—necessary, strategic—but Lord, it’s not sexy.

Fast forward to that day when I started jotting down my thoughts on love. What began as a mental cleanse turned into a rabbit hole of memories, musings, and truths I didn’t even realize I’d been holding onto. Before I knew it, I was writing about the moment I understood love wasn’t always some grand Hollywood gesture but the small, steady acts—the way my father always made my mom tea after a 12-hour hospital shift, or how my grandparents still dance to Gregory Isaacs in their kitchen.

I hit "save" on what I’d written and leaned back, kind of stunned. There it was: the joy people talk about when they’re doing something they can’t imagine not doing. It wasn’t just writing—I’d done that for years—it was the why that changed. Writing about love and relationships tapped into something raw, something human. And I was hooked.

Joy #2: Seeing Myself in the Story

One of the first things I noticed about relationship advice columns is that they often sound like they’re written by someone who lives in a rom-com montage. You know the type: “Just be your best self, and love will find you!✨” Meanwhile, the rest of us are out here sweating through awkward first dates, ignoring texts from situationships we should’ve dropped months ago, and asking our friends, “Is this normal, or am I just gullible?”

The truth is, connecting with others is messy, and it forces you to look inward. It’s bumping into cultural habits or generational quirks that make you pause. As a kid in a Jamaican household, I learned that emotions weren’t things you aired out in the open. My siblings and I joked about how my parents could give Olympic-level performances in stoicism. But underneath those unspoken rules were deep wells of respect, sacrifice, and familial love that I didn’t always appreciate until much later.

Writing about relationships gave me permission to examine those layers. To reckon with how those experiences shaped me as a person, a partner—and eventually, as someone trying to help others figure out their tangled webs of connection.

And in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t become the guy with all the answers. I’m more like the uncle who’ll make you laugh during Sunday dinner, then sneak in something you really needed to hear. (Pro tip: If you're asking, "Do they like me, or am I imagining things?"—you already know the answer. Trust me.)

Joy #3: Helping People Help Themselves

Here’s the thing about writing about relationships: it’s not about dishing out advice (though I can tell you why texting back “lol” three hours later is a terrible move). It’s about giving people permission to question, explore, and define what love and connection mean for themselves.

This hit me hard during an event a few years back. I was invited to speak on a panel about creative writing, and during the Q&A, someone asked, “How do you write so openly about relationships without being self-conscious?”

At first, I laughed—because avoiding self-consciousness is like trying to eat curry chicken without messing up your shirt. (Spoiler: You can’t.) But then I said, “I have to remind myself: vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s bravery in disguise.”

That answer sparked more questions, mostly from people who shared their own stories, doubts, and epiphanies. It turned into a conversation about relationships in all their forms—not just romantic but platonic and familial too. And when I got home that night, I realized that joy wasn’t only in writing these pieces, but in knowing they could spark something in others: courage, clarity, or hell, even just a laugh after a bad breakup.

Finding the Takeaway Between the Lines

If you’re still with me, you might be scrolling through this piece thinking, “Okay Marcus, big joy moment for you, but what’s in it for me?” Fair question.

Here’s what I’ve learned—and what I hope you take away:

  • Start Small: You don’t have to overhaul your life to find joy. It might surprise you in the mundane. Who knew a written tangent about my parents’ tea habit would reshape my whole career?

  • Get Curious: Think about what lights you up—all those tiny moments when time speeds up, and everything feels like it just clicks. Follow those trails. Worst case? You end up with an interesting hobby. Best case? Joy.

  • Let Go of the “Shoulds”: Relationships, passions, life—all of it gets easier when you stop worrying about societal expectations. Your connection is yours alone to define. Your passion is yours alone to uncover.

I didn’t set out that day to become someone whose writing would help others navigate their feelings or reflect on the way love shows up in their lives. But here we are. The beauty of joy is that even though it’s deeply personal, it’s meant to be shared. It makes room for more joy—in yourself and others.

So whether you’re on the brink of understanding what fuels your happiness, or still just trying to figure out why your latest crush only texts you at 10:33 p.m., don’t sweat the details. The joy’s out there. Sometimes, all it takes is sitting still long enough to let it find you.