I have a different definition of romantic than I think most people do. For example, I don’t find common gestures such as giving a bouquet of roses romantic in and of themselves. The first quality of being romantic, to me, is thoughtfulness. Experiences that speak to the other person are romantic. At one point in my life (I was much younger) I didn’t want roses, so my boyfriend brought me purple flowers — all sorts of purple flowers. Lots of purple flowers. That was romantic. He also once filled my room with balloons like a balloon pit. That was also romantic.

Romance can be found in emotional connection. One of the most romantic stories I’ve heard was a couple’s trip to Chicago where everything went wrong. They ended up being escorted out of a bad neighborhood by the cops and watching the rain rise over Lake Michigan. The laughter is what made it romantic.

Romance is very personal. It has to do with being in that place with that person uniquely. It doesn’t need to be a big gesture, it just has to be made with the other person in mind. A notion to share, a sensitivity to the other person. A little originality. It should engage positive emotions. It shouldn’t be a big, embarassing gesture (unless the other person likes those. They probably don’t.)

So my notion of romantic is not quite the norm. It’s the thought that counts, but the thought really has to be there.

I do not feel optimistic for the future. There seem to be so many things to worry about — climate change, the degradation of our political system, the loss of social security … I’m not a pessimist, but these are pessimistic times.

I will survive — I think. That’s how uncertain I am. I live in the present, so I don’t think much about the future. But when I do, it’s bleak.

When I was younger, I had a vivid spiritual life. I would find myself occasionally immersed in an otherworldly experience — under a waterfall, on a quiet street, under turmoil. I believed in spirits, because I had encountered them. Hunches were often accentuated by feelings of dread or elation that seemed to come from outside of me. It was a time of big emotions.

This stopped when I went on the bipolar medication. No more presences, no more portents. This caused me to reevaluate my spiritual life of prior years. Did none of those things happen? They felt real to me. Were my spiritual moments just artifacts of my bipolar disorder? I have trouble believing that, but the boundary seems sharp.

Or does it? I realize that those spiritual moments did not end abruptly, but did a slow fade. Through my adult years, as a professor trained in logic, I questioned my experiences. They were artifacts of my extreme moods, of stressful moments. I distanced myself from those extraordinary occurrences.

Nowadays, I don’t know what to believe. I pray, but I don’t know if I pray to a supernatural presence. I believe that praying sharpens my ability to deal with the world, a very rational thought. I don’t feel those moments as I did when younger, but I think I’ve internalized those feelings and hunches and claim them as my intuition. Perhaps the spirits were pieces of me I hadn’t claimed yet. But I miss those days.

I have had a lot of delicious food. My favorite would have to be international food, with a special weakness for Thai and Indian. I’m going to limit this to meals that were so good that I can remember them to this day.

A friend of mine once made me a stew of curried chicken with coconut milk and young coconut meat from an Indonesian recipe. I do not have the recipe for it, for which I am heartbroken, but I think it was a kind of soto ayam. It was mildly spicy and very comforting.

At a Persian restaurant in Chicago, I had roast chicken with a pomegranate barbecue sauce. I do not know the name of the dish either, but I can remember this meal even though it was over thirty years ago. The sweet/tart glaze of pomegranate works very well with grilling. The restaurant has long since disappeared.

Curried beef brisket at Waldo Thai in Kansas City falls on this list. Anything from Waldo Thai falls on this list, to be honest, especially their curries. Perfectly balanced with plenty of aromatics from lime leaf and basil.

Banana bread and an aged sherry from a winery in upstate New York whose name I don’t remember. I had gotten there early and was sampling the sherry, which tasted of violets and leather and all sorts of flavors I had never encountered in sherry before. The banana bread was part of the man’s lunch because I got tipsy on the sip of sherry. The whole incident was almost like an enchantment.

There are good meals and then there are culinary experiences. The items on this list are definitely culinary experiences.

The question is “If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over, which one would you choose?” I have to admit that it would be a pair of jeans and my shirt of a cat drinking coffee. Something relaxed but still a little dressy. Casual but a little upscale. It’s a definite mood.

I have had a number of crushes, a large number of crushes. Some of these were really intense and lasted years, others were fleeting. My first crush was one of the fleeting ones, seeing that it was in kindergarten.

His name was Randy. He lived around the block from me, by the railroad tracks in an asphalt-shingled house. He had a round face and shaggy blond hair and blue eyes. I don’t understand why I got a crush on him; it was part of that inexplicable kindergarten thinking. But I talked about him constantly.

My mom and I went over to his house to visit, and afterward my mother told me she ‘wasn’t comfortable’ with me going over to Randy’s house. I knew it was because of the house and that he didn’t have a father at home. I don’t know how I knew this unless my mother told me, and it didn’t make sense because my mother told me to be nice to everyone. The crush disappeared as soon as it was formed, because I didn’t want to disappoint my mother. Thus I internalized my first lesson on social class and bias.

I went on to have many crushes, some intense and some fleeting. I learned the most from my crush on Randy, things I look back on and wish I hadn’t learned.

Daily writing prompt

What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

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I feel like you could ask me on different days my favorite thing about myself, and I would have different answers. Some days it’s my sense of humor; other days my intelligence. Occasionally it’s my courage. Today, my favorite thing about myself is my sense of joy. I am, overall, a joyous person.

Joyous is not quite the same thing as happy. Happiness is a state, fleeting, full of excitement or pleasure. For example, when you visit someone. Joy, on the other hand, is a longer-lasting state of being, full of contentment and well-being. (Embark Behavioral Health, 2025).

Joy, to me, is the flow of a stream through my life, one which occasionally bubbles up. I feel the bubbles in my soul, and they sometimes come out in laughter. Laughing for no reason startles people sometimes. I can’t help it; it’s the bubbles.

I feel joy even when I’m depressed, which doesn’t make sense to most people. But joy is my love for the universe, which I feel even when I don’t feel any love back. That’s what depression feels like, like something has put a transparent wall between me and love. But joy is still there, beneath the despair.

Joy is a subversive quality. It does not depend on external factors. It is not a response to good things happening externally. It cannot be taken away, only pushed aside temporarily by things like disaster and depression. It is the thing I like most about myself, at least today.