The Stranger Who Taught Me a Lesson

The Unexpected Guru at Gate B12

It started, as many memorable lessons do, in a place of supreme boredom: an airport terminal. I was in Denver, slumped in one of those uncomfortable seats designed to punish people whose flights are delayed. My eyes were half-glued to my phone, scrolling through memes to distract myself from the betrayal of United Airlines.

That’s when I heard it.

“You know what your problem is?”

The voice was old-school raspy, the kind of voice you imagine belongs to someone who drinks their coffee black and their whiskey neat. I looked up and saw him—a guy who looked like he had stepped out of a Wes Anderson film, wearing a battered fedora and holding a paperback copy of On the Road. He was jabbing a finger at a younger man seated across from him—some buttoned-up, tech startup type. The poor guy’s face was a kaleidoscope of confusion and discomfort.

The old man tapped his book for dramatic effect. “You,” he said, “keep looking for someone to complete you. Big mistake. Huge.”

Now, was I eavesdropping? Absolutely. Did I have any shame about it? Not a shred. I leaned in like I was trying to hear the specials at a noisy restaurant.

The stranger went on, words spilling out like he had been waiting decades for this captive audience. “You’ve gotta be a whole damn pie yourself. Stop waiting for someone to bring the cherries!”

That line—“Be a whole pie”—was the moment my ears perked all the way up. I started furiously typing it into my Notes app, like some kind of live tweet at a philosophy TED Talk. He was speaking directly to startup guy but, let’s be honest, he might as well have headlined the group therapy session I didn’t know I needed at that moment.

Are You a Pie or Just Crust?

Here’s the thing: I’d been guilty of not being a “whole pie.” I’d been waiting for someone to come along and bring the cherries, whipped cream, or whatever metaphorical garnish made me feel complete. Whether it was a person, a career milestone, or even some far-off sense of “I’ve got it all figured out,” I’d placed the burden of my own fulfillment onto others or external moments.

It’s a common trap, isn’t it? Relationships, especially, invite this kind of unintentional outsourcing. We say things like, “They make me feel whole,” or “They complete me,” the way Tom Cruise did in Jerry Maguire. (Side note: romantic as that line is, it’s also a recipe for codependency. Cute in movies but exhausting in real life.)

The idea of being a “whole pie” hit me harder than my last awkward date where the guy asked if I “believe in horoscopes or science.” (Why not both, Chad?) It launched me into a kind of spiritual inventory: Was I bringing my best self to my relationships? Or was I lurching into them with cracks in the crust, hoping someone else would patch me up?

Whole Pie Energy: A User Guide

So, if you’re curious, here’s a little cheat sheet on cultivating your inner “whole pie”—lessons lifted from the wisdom of Gate B12 and applied shortly after:

  1. Bake Your Own Damn Life
    Start with the crust. No one’s going to roll it out for you. What are the things that truly light you up, the passions, hobbies, or quirks that make you… you? Whole pie energy comes from people who are so immersed in their own joy and fulfillment that their presence feels magnetic.
  2. Love painting? Paint badly until you paint well.

  3. Speak five languages fluently? Impress your cat with them first.

  4. Cherries Are Extra, Not Essential
    Other people, no matter how fantastic, are cherries. They’re those glittering extras that enhance your life but don’t define it. Your job is to be so full of flavor yourself that any cherries added to your world make it magical—not salvageable.

  5. Handle Your Burnt Edges
    Okay, real talk: we’ve all got burnt edges, aka unresolved baggage. Whether it’s your tendency to ghost when things feel serious (guilty) or your inner critic shouting louder than Lizzo at a concert, acknowledge your flaws. Work on them. Don’t guilt-trip yourself for not being perfect, but don’t ignore the work either. Pro tip: therapy is basically pie crust school for your soul.

  6. Share, Don’t Rely
    Healthy relationships are about partnership, not cohabitation of identity. You’re not here to “lean in” to each other so hard that you both collapse under the force of it. Share pieces of your lives, sure, but keep something for yourself—your passions, your boundaries, your alone time when Love Is Blind comes on, and you need to ugly cry without judgment.

The Happily Ever After Isn’t the Lesson

Back in the airport lounge, Old Fedora Guy finally stood and gave the punchline of his unscheduled lecture. “Be your own whole pie,” he told the younger man. Then, with a dramatic flourish that was somewhere between a mic drop and a bow, he walked away.

I have no idea what happened to the young man after that. For all I know, he went straight home, deleted all his dating apps, and started a peaceful sourdough baking hobby. Or, maybe, he stayed exactly the same and ignored all advice because humans are notoriously stubborn.

What I do know is this: I stopped waiting for the cherries.

I’ve started embracing my own “whole pie-ness.” I now carry the lesson wherever I go—whether I’m choosing to keep my crust strong through journaling, finding my filling in books or creative projects, or simply reveling in the joy of my own company with a giant bowl of popcorn on Friday nights.

Because here’s the truth: The stranger at Gate B12 handed me a recipe, not a miracle cure. And as much as I’d like to call this a happily-ever-after moment, the process of becoming whole is ongoing. Some days you’re the gourmet French tart; other days you’re a gas station pecan pie. What matters is that you’re baking yourself with love, humor, and a little bit of seasoning every single day.

Final Takeaway: Pie First, Partner Later

So, reader, whoever you are and wherever you find yourself on the “dating to committed” spectrum, remember this: You don’t need someone to complete you. Maybe complement, sure. Maybe spur growth. But complete? Baby, you’re already the whole damn pie.

And if you ever feel tempted to forget it, just imagine a stranger in a fedora shouting it at you in an airport. Works like a charm.

Now, go bake something incredible.