Hi Reader,
A month ago, I found myself doing something I had promised I’d never do again: live with a partner.
It wasn’t a planned decision. In fact, it went against everything I’d built my life around for the past four years. But sometimes, the universe delivers opportunities that don’t align with the story you’ve written for yourself—and those can be the most transformative of all.
Let me explain.
About six weeks ago, my partner of almost a year and a half abruptly lost the place he was staying. With just two weeks to vacate, and a plan to go nomadic this summer, he wasn’t looking for a new apartment.
That left us with two options:
- He could fly back home to California for the next few months. Or...
- He could move in with me. (Temporarily, just until we both head out on our nomadic plans in the summer.)
This was not in the cards for me.
When I moved into this apartment four years ago, after decades of living with parents, roommates, and romantic partners—including my ex-husband—I made a firm decision: I was done with cohabiting.
For the first time in my life, I was living alone. And I loved every minute of it!
Not sharing physical space. Not navigating different standards and preferences for cleanliness, temperature, music selection, music volume... Having complete autonomy and privacy. It was a privilege that most humans throughout human history never had access to.
And I don’t say that lightly. In both the last 12,000 years of post-agriculture, sedentary living—and the six million years before that of hunter-gatherer life—it was almost unheard of for someone, especially a woman, to live entirely on her own. We’ve only recently gained the financial, legal, and social autonomy to make this a possibility.
It’s a luxury of the modern, developed world. And I wasn’t ready to give it up.
So when this “live-together” scenario came up, my initial reaction was full-blown panic.
- Would he be a distraction while I’m writing my book?
- Would he respect the space like I do?
- Would we get on each other’s nerves and start fighting more?
- Would we lose sexual desire from being around each other too much?
- Would this ruin the best relationship I’ve ever had?
For a full week, I resisted. I refused to even consider it.
But then… something in me softened.
I remembered: it’s just for three months. And more importantly—maybe this wasn’t a problem, but a gift.
A rare chance to share space with someone I love. To fall asleep and wake up together every day. To experience the comfort and magic of cohabiting without the pressure of permanence.
Maybe this wouldn’t be a distraction to my work, but a support. A way to keep each other on track with our healthy habits, hold each other accountable, and actively collaborate.
That part has been especially meaningful. He’s building his health coaching business that I help him think through. I’m writing a book that he helps me think through. And together, we’ve been co-creating a LoveSmarter™ inspired line of “good for the world” merch. (More on that soon!)
He’s also been helping with groceries, errands, and house chores. That support has lightened my mental load in a way I didn’t even realize I needed.
Perhaps most beautifully—we’ve been able to just be. Cooking together. Meditating together. Taking our morning walks together. Exercising together. Having dinner together. Reading together (during daily reading hour). Watching shows together. Sharing endless kisses and hugs throughout the day. Laughing in our shared routines. Holding each other through hard moments. Living out this surprise little chapter of domesticity with presence and care.
And it actually presents a beautiful and unique opportunity to say goodbye to this apartment I've loved so much with my beloved Prince by my side. This place—on the iconic Lower East Side on NYC--brought us together in one of those magical moments of serendipity. It was my first home I could truly call my own. He had lived in the neighborhood for 15 years. The day he was moving out of it... was the day we met at a pull-up bar in the neighborhood park (now forever known as our "pick-up bar").
So here we are—living together, unexpectedly, in the place that began it all. A full circle moment.
A month in, I’m happier than ever with the decision. None of my fears have come true. And all of the possibilities I couldn’t see when I was gripped by fear? They’ve unfolded in the most nourishing, supportive, and joyful ways. I've enjoyed every single moment of having my Prince in my little castle.
A big part of the reason this works so well is that we are really compatible—aligned in our personalities, lifestyles, routines, values, energy levels, love languages, pheromones, sex drive, snuggliness, sleep preferences, personal growth levels, approach toward conflict resolution, cleanliness levels (a big one!)..., even our horoscopes and human designs (I apologize to our materialistic skeptics, my man is a big fan of the stars, I had to have my readings done - the things we do for love, right?). If this had been my ex-boyfriend--living together would've been a disaster.
But this? This feels like a seamless, nurturing expansion.
One of my friends once stayed at my apartment while I was away and left me a gift: his favorite book, The Surrender Experiment, where the author makes a case for saying "yes" to all the opportunities that come your way. I didn’t realize how much that book title would come to mean to me.
No, I don't think we should say yes to everything. We live in a world where too much comes our way. Some offers, some people, some situations should be a no.
But once in a while, the universe places something in front of us that we didn’t ask for. Something that scares us. Something that may even go against our story or identity.
But if there’s alignment, trust, mutual respect, saying yes might not just be okay… It might be the exact thing we needed.
Because autonomy is precious. But so is connection.
And when you’re with the right person? Surrendering to something new can feel like expansion.
As Joseph Campbell famously said: "The caves we fear hold the treasures we seek." Or as my man likes to say: "Follow Your Abyss."
With love,
Dr. Zhana