Looking for Luke

For the past month, I’ve been binge-watching Gilmore Girls. All seven seasons plus A Year in the Life. At first, I wasn’t even sure why I decided to rewatch this show—I’d seen it all before, after all. But by the time I reached the final episode of A Year in the Life, it finally hit me.

Lorelai and Luke.

Through everything life threw at Lorelai—countless relationships, good times, bad times—Luke was there. Steady. Constant. Always showing up. For a long time, that was Perry for me. He was there through so much of my life. But unlike Lorelai and Luke, Perry and I didn’t end up together.

When Gilmore Girls first aired, I was much younger. Back then, I identified most with the younger cast. I grew up with Rory, Lane, Jess, Dean, and Logan. Their stories mirrored the things I was going through at the time—figuring out identity, testing boundaries, falling in love, making mistakes. I understood their world because it felt like mine.

Now, watching it as an adult, I see things differently. I relate much more to Lorelai—the single mom juggling everything life demands, carrying responsibility while still searching for her own happiness. Her struggles, her resilience, even her mistakes, resonate with me in ways they never did before.

The one thing I don’t have, though, is a Luke. Perry isn’t my Luke. And I know that Gilmore Girls is fiction. It’s not real life. Life doesn’t always give us the kind of love that stays, the steady presence who anchors us no matter what. But fiction doesn’t have to be real to matter.

Because even when it’s fictional, it still makes us feel. It inspires us, makes us hope, and sometimes helps us see our own lives more clearly. Maybe that’s why I write the kinds of books I do. Because even when reality falls short, stories—whether it’s Gilmore Girls or the worlds I create—give us space to dream. They remind us that even if life doesn’t always tie itself up neatly, there’s still beauty in the journey.