What We Build When We're Ready

I knew what I wanted, and I'm choosing it.

Welcome to Signals from Earth, essays on culture, life, and the questions that keep us restless. Sometimes sharp, sometimes tender—always searching for meaning in the mess.

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Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

You can tell a lot about someone by how they travel. After spending a weekend away together, something really clicked into place. If I was serious about her before, I was even more certain now. There we were, driving to dinner with the gorgeous red rock ahead of us, a soft rain falling, and a rainbow stretched across the dusk-lit sky.

We met online. I remember seeing her profile and pictures and thinking she was so adorable. She had such a bright smile. Through her photos, I got the sense that she lived a life I might want to be part of. She was getting over a cold when we initially started chatting, so we spent those first few weeks texting, deepening the connection before we even met in person.

But something felt different from the beginning. Lavender flowers in hand, I met her for the first time—and the spark was instant, electric.

Before this, I had just come out of another relationship. And it was one I really tried to give a chance. Things moved fast—maybe too fast—but I loved her. I think I wanted it to work so badly that I started dreaming before we’d really figured out whether our lives could actually move in the same direction. Within a month, it became clear they couldn’t.

So when I met someone new only a couple of months later, I was cautious. Hopeful, but very cautious. My feelings for her grew fast too, and that scared me. Not because I didn’t want them, but because I wasn’t sure if I could trust myself again yet. Was I getting swept up in something that might also fall apart?

I started overthinking everything. Was I being wise this time? Was I being too much? Was I trying to build a future out of feelings instead of reality? But I stayed honest. I kept having open conversations about the things that matter to me—my values, my vision for the future, the kind of love I’m building my life around. And she met those conversations with care. With curiosity. And that only deepened my excitement.

I think the bigger lesson, though, was about forgiveness. Not hers, but mine. I had to forgive myself for walking away from something that didn’t align. For loving someone and still choosing to let go. For believing there might still be something better waiting if I stayed true to what I needed.

She has her own fears from previous relationships, but I think they’ll dissolve in time. She’s told me as much. That says a lot about what we’re building together, and how much it’s worth protecting.

She’s so gentle with me. The way she touches me, curls up next to me, hangs onto me like she never wants to let go—it softens something in me. She’s one of the most affectionate partners I’ve ever had, and that kind of touch heals me in a special way. It’s such a good match for how I show love, naturally and instinctively.

She loves that I ask her questions—and she asks me some great ones too. Lately, she’s been asking more about politics, philosophy, and history. And I love it. I can tell she’s really listening. Not just absorbing my answers, but coming to her own conclusions. We talk about the world we want to live in. The future we want to build. She tells me she wants it too. That we’ll raise communists.

I’ve slept over at her place. She’s slept over at mine. We’ve crossed "the fart bridge." I’ve seen her in what she calls her “stupid little mask” (her CPAP machine 🤣) and she still looks beautiful. Her dog loves me. And my anxious lockdown cats will love her eventually. It all just feels serendipitous.

Around her, I feel like a nurturer.I think that’s just who I naturally am, but with her, it lands in a way that feels different. Important. And I think it’s healing for both of us.

She makes me feel loved and cared for, but also lets me know how much it means to her—the way I love her. The way I check in, offer support, ask questions, listen closely—none of it feels like too much. It just feels... right.

The future feels very bright. We're dreaming of traveling together, eventually living together, the possibility of having kids, and having a ceremony where we gather everyone we love and say: this is real, and it matters.

It's still early, but the conversations feel honest and natural. Like two people actually wanting to build towards something.

And I think that’s what all of this reveals about me: I’m not afraid to dive in. Not anymore.

I know what I want. And I want to build a life with people who are ready to build with me. After surviving one of the biggest heartbreaks of my life two years ago, I opened myself up again—and was gifted this beautiful and fulfilling love. I found something that better aligns with my vision of the future. And thankfully, I had enough clarity to recognize it when it arrived.