Love Makes Us Dance

Some tears just slip out uninvited, carrying truths too urgent to ignore.

Mine came last night, watching a film about love and timing. But their origin was months ago in Spain, when I realized I was leaving behind something I once thought I’d never find—a love that felt like a dream yet grounded me in life.

Years earlier, heartbreak had convinced me of many misconceptions about love. To protect myself, I got a journal, listing every non-negotiable trait I hoped for in a partner.

I thought I was guarding my heart. In reality, I was drawing a map that would one day lead me to him—Mr. International—who proved that love beyond fear isn’t a fantasy, but a devotion to life’s magic.

The movie he recommended, The Map That Led Me to You, follows a man guided by his grandfather’s journal that ultimately leads him to an American girl on vacation in Barcelona. Soon she has to return to New York to begin her banking career. Sound familiar?

Their story unfolded on the same cobblestones I once walked, in the very city where I discovered my own journal come to life. Watching them, I cried with recognition: this was my story too.

But the deeper lesson wasn’t just about love—it was about surrender. In the film, the girl tries to return to her “real life,” while love whispers that presence, not order, might be the truer path. She leaves Barcelona only to realize she went back to obey order: the sequence of first comes professional life, then comes love.

And sitting in my American apartment, I had to ask myself: had I done the same? Had I left Barcelona—left him—out of devotion to timelines, to order, to the fear of my wildest dreams arriving “too soon”?

For someone who spent months dancing through Barcelona, living in love’s rhythm—literally, as a dancer abroad—ordinary time feels jarring, like being out of step with the music. I can only pray I'm here for growth, not just compliance with expectations.

But perhaps space itself can be a gift. To have the room to answer our own questions, deepen our understanding of who we are, discover our place in the world—and see whether love is strong enough to celebrate that personal becoming.

Maybe love reveals itself only when we risk stepping out of order, when we trust the map is still unfolding beneath our feet.

And timing, after all, is everything in dance. You can know every step perfectly, but if you're off the music, you're lost.

Tempo is not created by the dancer—it's set by the music. All we can do is listen, surrender, and let the rhythm carry us to wherever we're meant to be next.

So I choose courage. To keep moving with love's rhythm, trusting that even distance and unanswered questions are part of the choreography.