Why I Chose This Path

“Did you know,” my father would say over bento dinner, pausing just long enough to make sure I was paying attention, “that in some cultures, gifting flowers wasn’t just a romantic gesture—it was an entire language?” As a child, I would wrinkle my nose in response, not yet understanding how peonies could speak louder than words. But now, decades later, I find myself weaving that wisdom—the art of symbols and subtlety—into every bit of my work. My father, the history professor, and my mother, the floral artist, had set an invisible path before me, one that connected my love for stories, culture, and relationships.

I’m often asked why I made the leap from museum curation to writing about dating and relationships for a living. The answer could be as simple as: “Because art imitates life, and love is the greatest masterpiece.” But that barely scratches the surface. If you’ll indulge me a little more, I’d like to take you on the journey of how and why I’ve come to call this interesting (and often hilarious) career path home.

Art, History, and... Bumble Fumbles?

I used to spend my days in museum halls, curating centuries-old artifacts in hushed, climate-controlled rooms. These were spaces where everything had significance—a shard of pottery might tell the story of an ancient civilization, or a single brushstroke could convey the unspoken longing of an artist.

Love, I realized, wasn’t all that different.

Relationships are about meaning, too—the eye contact that lingers half a second too long, the “casual” playlist someone made that oh-so-conveniently features your favorite band. And just like in art history, relationships are messy, layered, and constantly evolving. Sure, I’ve curated my share of Edo-period scrolls, but who knew the real treasure was buried in decoding a five-word text that reads, “So, what are you up to?” in the middle of the night?

When I began writing about relationships, it hit me: there’s an art to all of it. The way we present ourselves on a date, how we communicate, what we don’t say—all of it speaks volumes. Suddenly, writing about vulnerability, connection, and working through heartbreak didn’t feel all that removed from my time studying human emotion through oil paints and sumi ink.

If curating allowed me to study people from centuries past, this new path lets me explore how we navigate love today. (Spoiler alert: humans are just as complicated—and just as funny—as ever.)

What Japanese Tea Ceremonies Taught Me About First Dates

One of the most vivid memories of my childhood is watching my mother prepare tea for guests. The process wasn’t rushed; every movement was deliberate, from whisking the matcha to placing the cups just so. What struck me, even back then, was how much attention my mother paid to detail—not because anyone asked her to, but because she believed that care is the foundation of connection.

Isn’t that true for relationships, too?

Think about the last time you got to know someone for the first time. The simple gestures—the way they remembered your favorite drink, or how they chose a spot that wasn’t too loud because they knew you hated crowded spaces—all of it says, “I see you.” In a world that’s often chaotic and impatient, those moments of thoughtfulness stand out.

The tea ceremony also taught me the value of being present. Not scrolling through Instagram under the table (we’ve all been guilty of it), not calculating the ideal time to text back, but truly being in the moment. That’s something I now write often about: showing up for your relationships, whether they’re brand new or decades old.

The Paris Years: Romance Isn’t Always a Love Lock

During my short academic stint in Paris, I remember walking across the Pont des Arts bridge, famous for its “love locks.” At the time, couples were still affixing padlocks to its railings before throwing the keys into the Seine as a gesture of eternal love.

Sounds romantic, right? Well, here’s a reality check: I was walking this scenic bridge after a brutal breakup. No one tells you how silly those love locks feel when you’re single and carrying groceries in the drizzle. But it was also during that time that I realized something. Romance isn’t locks and keys; it’s resilience.

That breakup, though painful, became one of my greatest teachers. It forced me to understand what I needed, what wasn’t worth compromising on, and how to find meaning outside of a partner—lessons I wouldn’t have learned had I not had my heart unceremoniously plucked like a sad tune on a violin.

There’s this pressure to turn everything in your life into some poetic Parisian fantasy, but let me tell you: sometimes, life is just soggy bread and a missed bus. And that’s okay, too. I write about those moments, the ones that don’t get Instagrammed—the slow build of healing, the way the mundane can quietly stitch broken hearts back together.

Why Modern Love Needs a Culture Writer

Love, in today’s world, isn’t just about two people. It’s about culture, too—societal expectations, shifting norms, and our kaleidoscope of individual experiences. Writing about relationships offers me a chance to unpack not only what we do, but why. Why do we swipe more than we converse? Why do people ghost instead of communicate? And why does the “3-day-texting-rule” still exist in 2023?

As someone who’s lived both in Japan, where indirectness is almost an art form, and in North America, where people are a little more... let’s say, forthcoming, I’ve seen how cultural upbringing shapes the way we approach love. In Tokyo, a subtle gesture—a refill of your tea cup or the way someone holds their umbrella slightly closer—can signify interest. In Vancouver, it’s often “Wanna grab a beer?” Understanding how these norms differ—and echo each other—adds a fascinating layer to the love stories I get to write about.

Relationships are universal, and yet deeply personal; writing about them through the lens of culture gives me an endlessly deep pool to dive into—and trust me, I’ve done my fair share of belly flops.

Closing Thoughts: From Art to Advice

Choosing this path, for me, wasn’t about abandoning my past—it was about connecting it to something that has always fascinated me: people. Art taught me how to see, and writing about relationships taught me how to feel. And hey, there’s humor in both.

Somewhere between the achingly beautiful tea ceremonies of my childhood, the hours poring over Romantic poetry, and my own trial-and-error-filled love life, I’ve carved out a corner of the world where I can tell stories that remind us we’re not alone. Because whether you’re interpreting a centuries-old vase or a cryptic “Hey” text, the same truth applies: love is always worth exploring.

So here’s my advice: Take time to notice the details. Slow down. And whether you’re flirting, falling, or figuring it all out—remember that every part of the journey matters. Every hesitant message, slight misunderstanding, and shared laugh adds a brushstroke to the art of connection.

And who knows? One day, we’ll all look back at the masterpieces we’ve created. Until then, I’ll be here, cheering you on, one awkward date story at a time.