on loving like it could be enough
and almost crying on a friend's couch
Today’s free newsletter is sponsored by Hinge, because I am now a #HingePartner. Last month, Hinge launched No Ordinary Love, a Substack series spotlighting real love stories from real Hinge couples—told by some of your favorite contemporary writers. I read Worth It, Ola and Lia’s story as told by Hunter Harris, in a moment that mirrored theirs: in London, freshly unemployed, en route from Germany to Portland, chasing love.
I like to think I nearly cried the first time I read Ola and Lia’s story because I was in London, and I’m Nigerian — and for a brief moment, I too was a Nigerian in London.
More likely, it was because I was newly funemployed, sleeping on a friend’s couch for a day or two. Once again, I’d found myself in that familiar geographical limbo — leaving Germany, en route to Portland. The change had turned me tender.
Was I someone who took risks? Lying on that couch, it sure felt like it. I’d been risking it all for a while now, hadn’t I? Breaking my own rules, doing it for the plot, hoping things would turn out well enough. They had better; I’d just left my job to be with a man.
When Lia first met Ola — a day after matching on Hinge — she thought he was dressed a little too casually for a first date. Nervous, she burned the plantains, but he ate them anyway. He was funny. He had no job. He was thoughtful. No car. His friends were magnetic. He’d turned up in jogging bottoms. Split-the-check TikTok would have a field day with this, she thought. And still, she stayed.
My friends and I had been raised on dump-him memes and don’t-settle rally cries, all nuance routinely sacrificed on the altar of self-preservation. Still, we stood firm in our boundaries, tucking away any minor infractions — those moments of quiet self-betrayal always carefully out of view, hidden from judgment.
I remember waiting in line for the bathroom at a party three years ago, listening to the girl in front of me talk about a guy she liked but couldn’t quite commit to. They’d met at work and hit it off immediately. She knew what he made because she earned the same. She thought little of her job, and even less of his — a dead-end sort of job, she said. She liked him, but she wanted someone with their life more put together. Someone who could help her put her life together.
That day, I went home and asked a boy if he’d like to go on a second date. I was done shelving stories before they had a chance to begin, searching for the kind of perfection I would never offer.
Three times, Lia points out Ola’s ambition. Once, she reminds herself of his potential. I know that kind of self-soothing all too well — the quiet reframing, the whispered reminder that there’s more to come, that it could all be worth it.
I took to doing this thing a while ago: asking older couples to tell me where they were when they were my age. Those who know me know I have a thing for questions. I like details and context and setting. If I can, I want to know how much they each earned, where they lived and how much rent cost. I chose these couples carefully: no family money, but successful now. I seek attainable aspiration. That too is a form of self-soothing.
I’ve found that everyone wants that glass slipper moment, but there seem to be fewer princes to go around—at least by the standards we’ve come to define them. I wonder what stories Lia told herself during those months when Ola was unemployed. I wonder what stories everyone else told her. It’s a special thing, to have a love that drowns out all that noise and hones in on what you do know—so the what-ifs and maybes feel a little less daunting. I’ve been there. I know.
It’s hard to imagine a world where love isn’t a covert financial proposition — and therefore, an investment. Only the truly privileged get to look past that. Still, it’s worth examining what love should look like now, when the terrain is nothing like our parents’ and youth feels less like promise and more like survival. There will be many boys still grinding it out in their childhood bedrooms, and girls stuck in dead-end jobs because what else is there? We’ll all cling to ambition like a hail mary.
I had a great time in London that day. I didn't cry—only nearly—mostly I felt grateful to also be in love and part of something bigger. London was my last stop from Germany before heading back to Portland. Three years ago, I asked a boy on a second date. Two years now, we’d been doing long distance. The Friday before, I'd quit my job to build a life with him.
I was praying hard that it would all be worth it.
Let me know in the comments about a time you’ve risked it all—or at least something—for love. To read more stories on modern dating, check out Hinge’s No Ordinary Love series on Substack.
All opinions are my own and as seen on is not affiliated with any of the parties mentioned.
the last paragraph... wow... feels like time dilating and dilating and then i blink and it's today. wow
Three years ago, I was working at one of the biggest tech companies in the world, on paper, it was the dream. But in reality I had a toxic boss and was miserable. Then I met someone. We clicked instantly but he was about to leave for a three month trip across South America. One night, he asked me to come with him.
Let me be clear: I do not take risks. I’m the planner. The sensible one. The "maybe next time" kind of girl. But something in me said go. So I handed in my notice, packed a (big) bag, and flew to Nicaragua. It was the single best (and scariest) decision I’ve ever made. Three years later we're still together and have just bought our first home: the risks were all worth it.