If I could relive any one day from my past, it would be yesterday. Specifically, last night. August 20, 2026.
It didn’t start out particularly amazing, or even memorable. I’m at the tail end of my summer vacation, still helping out with my mom—who remains bedridden—while balancing the final stretch of alternating weeks with kid two. In a few days, I have to head back to school to get my classroom ready before the year kicks off at the end of the month.
I had plans to see Sierra, who is heading out of town on a work trip this weekend. But last night was different. We didn’t have a rigid itinerary; we just wanted to see each other. I drove the 45 minutes out toward her house—a distance that sucks in theory, but vanishes entirely when you’re headed to the right place.
She’d had a stressful day at work and wasn’t super hungry, so we decided to head to a nature trail and preserve on one of the University of Michigan campuses near her house. It’s one of her “go-to” spots when she needs to decompress, and I wanted to see it through her eyes. I could instantly tell she was in her element. She showed me her favorite photo spots, pointed out where people sneak in to take wedding photos, and we even watched a deer bolt through the trees.
For dinner, we grabbed a casual meal. Honestly, I’m thoroughly convinced I could attend an insurance seminar with Sierra and still find a way to have a blast.
At dinner, the topic somehow drifted to the Savannah Bananas and how I managed to score tickets for their game in Detroit next month. I started trying to explain the whole banana ball phenomenon, mentioning the 60 Minutes piece on them from last year. She said, “Oh, we should check that out when we get back to my house.”
We may have made it sixty seconds into that 60 Minutes clip before the clothes came off.
We ended up upstairs, fooling around, but the physical reality of where I’m at right now came with a quiet reassurance. With just about anybody else, certain limitations would feel like a massive roadblock. But with her? It didn’t diminish a single second of what was happening. I believe her when she says she’s here for the long haul, and I know I’ll get the rest sorted out.
In between, we shared some deep, heavy thoughts. We talked about exes, politics, and how I’ve spent the last year ruthlessly closing doors and de-friending ghosts from the past because they don’t belong in my present. She told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else or talking to anyone else. I told her the exact same thing.
At some point in the middle of all that raw honesty, she looked at me and said, “It’s because you’re in love.”
Even I was smart enough to recognize the mother of all green lights when I saw it.
I’ve already given her full disclosure about everything else lately, so why hold back now? It’s time to put my money where my mouth is.
“I am,” I told her. “I’m in love with you. I’m falling in love with you. I already fell in love with you.”
And then she said it back.
Later, as we were saying goodbye, I wanted to make sure there was no pressure, so I told her: “I’m going to say it right now, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it back in return: I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replied.
You know that scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy’s house touches down, and everything is trapped in a sepia-toned black-and-white filter until she opens the door and sees Oz for the first time in full color? That’s what it felt like.
Driving home, I was still trying to play it cool—partly because I’m still learning how to navigate this, and partly because I’m battle-tested enough to know how fragile new things can be. I thought about what would happen if the whole thing ended tomorrow, or in six months. It would devastate me, sure. But I also know something I didn’t know years ago: I’d survive. I don’t need her to survive anymore; I want her because the world is infinitely brighter with her in it. I’ve earned those battle scars over the last six years, and they taught me that a relationship is a magnificent addition to life, but it isn’t the whole oxygen supply.
Waking up this morning at 6:00 AM is apples and oranges compared to yesterday. The house is humming with its usual background noise—the TV is on, my mom and I are talking, and the real-life machinery of caregiving is spinning back up. My sister is back from Windsor, and the morning-after reality is stark.
It’s just detail. It’s nuance. It’s not the thing that’s keeping my head spinning this morning.
Yesterday wasn’t a “perfect” day by cinematic standards. There are still plenty of messy, complicated personal challenges we’re both navigating. But we’re invested. We’re all in.
So yeah. If I could relive one day from the past, right now, it would be Thursday, August 20, 2026. Yesterday.
Rebuilding a life takes grit, consistency, and a lot of ‘Option C’ thinking. Having crossed the 1,000-day milestone, I’m now charting the territory beyond. The mission remains the same: No glitz. Just the work. New to the blog? Start your journey here to see the blueprint and the ‘Tricorder’ perspective behind the rebuild.
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The article “it’s because you’re in love” first appeared on Rebuilding Rob.
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