Step 1: The Art of Being...with Yourself

There’s a certain kind of magic that comes with a Friday night when the world feels open, limitless, and just a little bit surreal. When the weight of the week lifts, and the air hums with possibility, and when I spread my wings and fly.

Tonight was one of those nights. It started with a little piece of chocolate, the kind that melts on your tongue and unlocks something deep inside you, turning the mundane into the extraordinary. Suddenly, the city lights flickered just a little brighter, the air smelled a little sweeter, and my own thoughts felt like poetry.

With my beats snugly in place, I pressed play on Brownsville Girl. Dylan’s voice unfurled like a half-remembered dream, weaving together tales of outlaws, fleeting romance, and the kind of longing that never quite fades. The song sprawls like a road trip through time, full of detours and echoes, pulling me into its winding narrative. I walked, letting my feet take me wherever they wanted, no destination in mind—just movement, just feeling, just being.

The park at dusk is a different world. The trees whisper secrets, and the pathways stretch like veins through the heart of the city. I passed couples lost in quiet conversations, lone joggers pounding the gravel path, and lamps that cast golden halos under the old-growth Live Oaks. Their branches swayed with ease, holding the night’s memories, like a song carried by the breeze. I felt untethered, weightless, like I had stepped outside of time itself.

There’s something intoxicating about being alone but not lonely. About having nowhere to be and no one to answer to. It’s a rare kind of freedom, the kind that lets you breathe deeper, think clearer, and feel more alive than ever.

So there I was, with Dylan narrating my thoughts, my body moving through the cool night air, and my mind wide open. And in that moment, I knew: this was the perfect Friday night.

Lesson 1 of the Hopeless Flirt Academy, enjoy your own company!