What I Miss about Being in Love

I miss being in love. Not because of the man, but because of how love made me feel.

 

It was the feeling of being heard, of watching my ideas land softly and be met with curiosity, even excitement. Love showed up for me as intellectual intimacy. When someone was beside me, it became easier to acknowledge my own thoughts, and trust their worth. I didn’t need him to agree with me. I wanted him to be curious enough to stay with an idea until I understood what I was really trying to say.

The truth is, raising my own blood pressure takes no effort at all. I can do that instantaneously. One unfortunate memory will do, like the guy who didn't text back. One thought and BAM! the spiral begins. My body reacts before logic can catch up. Feeling good seems to require a much more complicated set of circumstances. Love, especially, is a diva. It needs alignment. Timing, openness, safety, presence... all have to agree at once. But honestly, she’s worth it.

Recently, I found myself thinking about the last time I was in love. Not to romanticize it, but to understand it. The way you replay a place you once visited, trying to remember the taste of the food, and what surprised me was this: I wasn't remembering him. I was remembering who I was when I was with him.

In love, I felt expansive. I noticed more. I listened better. I responded with grace. I was most alive when I was with someone as curious about the "whys" as I am. I was excavating parts of myself I hadn't reached before. Love felt like having someone steady the ladder while I climbed to a higher view. It lived in the pauses after a thought shared, in the mutual smile before the response. In conversations that stretched from culture to politics to the ways we raise children, where differences weren't battlegrounds, but invitations. We didn't compete. We explored.

Yes, there was touch, skin, heat, closeness, but love wasn't anchored there. It was bigger than the physical. It was in the moments my soul slipped free and breathed fully. Because the soul is meant to dance, unchoreographed, without music. Just pulse and truth held safely by love. Like admitting I shaved only the knees down and being met with an outburst of laughter.

Nothing was different about me back then. I wasn't prettier, healthier, or wealthier. I did use to equate vulnerability with surrender. So, what changed was what became possible in his presence.

The Story of how I Fell in Love by Accident

I met him at a charity event tucked inside a candlelit courtyard. String lights hung overhead, pretty standard and mood effective. Generous floral arrangements of white hibiscus, peach Angel's Trumpets, and bleeding hearts, very Miami, very à propos.

It was Miami, so I didn't bother checking the weather, big mistake. The Magic City had the audacity to dip into the low sixties. I was wearing a sheer golden sequin dress with thin spaghetti straps, designed for confidence, not wind-chill.

I stood near the edge of the crowd, quietly observing, my natural demeanor. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him hesitate before approaching me. He was tall and slender, obviously loyal to his gym membership. His afro was coarse and full, with silver strands poking through. He looked slightly nervous, and oddly enough, something about that disarmed me. He allowed himself to be vulnerable at first sight rather than coming forward fully polished. Interesting.

"Are you cold?" He gently asked. Already slipping off his blazer.

"I must have deeply offended the weather," I replied.

He chuckled and draped the blazer around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm sorry Miami betrayed you," he said. "It usually behaves better."

We laughed and chatted with no rush.

"What brought you here tonight?" he asked.

"I believe in Color of Hope," I said. "And I believe in showing up when I say I will."

He nodded. "I like that."

"And you?"

"I am taking steps to be a better man than I was last year. So, I volunteer more and attend charity events that speak to me."

That answer lingered.

We exchanged numbers. Nothing cinematic. Nothing forced.

Weeks passed. Dates followed. Many adventures and long conversations that stretched past comfort and into curiosity. Eventually, we were together.

Our relationship was driven by discovery and I welcomed that. Like Improv’s “yes and” rule, his questions were layered and he’d always want to know deeper. I never felt interrogated. I felt liberated. I valued how most of our conversations would end with a revelation for either of us. Like the time we were working on something together and I said to him “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not finding the words to express what I’m trying to say today,” and he kindly replied, “vocabulary is your strong suit, babe. But what I’m hearing is a learned hyper-dependence that may make it difficult for you to accept partnership.”

I went quiet. I don’t think he knew just how right he was. He had found the thing underneath the thing I was trying to say.

There was also the time that I told him why I have such a hard time getting close to people. And he replied, “it’s ok. It was probably necessary for you to develop that barrier while growing up. But remember, you’re not in that situation anymore. So, it’s ok to let that go.” I think that was the first time I felt someone showing me grace.

Secrets were revealed, not for drama, but to purge what was crowding within to make room for new core memories.

In time, we went our separate ways, amicably. But I disconnected from the kind, pure, non-judgmental me. I still like to talk about deeper things, but with the people in my life now, it’s often easier to brush it under the rug. Like the time I started to explain how I want to go live somewhere abroad. I was met with questions about logistics instead of curiosity about why. Or worse, when I do want to talk about something deep, I don’t feel challenged. No one calls me out on my bullshit.

Carrying Love Beyond the Destination

He revealed the door to a version of me I hadn’t known how to reach on my own. I started to understand my own patterns, my own wiring, and the stories I carry. Every conversation was an invitation inward. A chance to examine an emotion and appreciate it without judgment. And once you learn about yourself, grace for others comes easier. Almost naturally.

 

I was in that relationship for a short while, but time doesn't matter here. A new rhythm takes over. One that feels truer than anything I was forcing before. What a beautiful feeling love is.

It didn't belong to Miami.

It didn't belong to him.

It is within me, and it still lives here. It just needs the right key.

I carry the experience of being learned rather than managed. He gave me a safe enough space to discover her. I don’t know whether I’ll ever find this exact kind of love again. But I know what it feels like to flourish inside it. Curiosity. Safety. Challenge. Grace. Presence. I know those conditions now. And I know the woman who emerges when they’re there.

FIN

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