People have told me that my grand romantic gestures were too much, that maybe the reason I wasn’t finding love was that I expected too much, and maybe even that I was too much.

Is it too much to text someone you kind of maybe might like to meet at Beach 86th St. RIGHT NOW, even if it’s winter? Or if you’re miles apart, to suggest you drive toward each other until you meet in Lebanon, Kansas, or Broken Arrow, Oklahoma? Fly to Paris for the weekend? Have a candlelit picnic on top of a train car? Get matching tattoos even though you’ve only dated for three months? I don’t think it’s too much. I never thought it was too much.

I was single in New York City for twelve years before I met the guy who didn’t think I was too much. The guy who said let’s do this, let’s set forth, let’s fly away. I knew he was out there, and I never ever gave up the hope that believing in love meant something.

Because it means everything.

We’ve got the tattoos to prove it.