I recently lost a dear friend to cancer. Gabriela was young, ambitious, and full of life.
And during her final years, she chose to live erotically — not just in the sexual sense (though there was that too), but in a way that embraced life’s depth and wonder, even as her body was failing her.
She took a permanent leave from her high-pressure job in finance.
She became an avid free diver and kite surfer. She traveled often. She fell in love.
She surrounded herself with experiences and people who made her feel vibrantly, unapologetically alive.
When the mini-series Dying for Sex came out just after Gabriela passed, it felt like a message from her.
A reminder that eroticism isn’t just reserved for when life is easy.
It’s the thread that weaves meaning through even our hardest days.
A pull towards what enlivens and restores us.
Dying for Sex tells the story of Molly Kochan, who — after being diagnosed with terminal cancer — embarks on a series of erotic adventures.
Her choice wasn't about escapism and recklessness (though it might look that way to some).
It was about reclaiming vitality.
At its core, Dying for Sex is about a woman finding her voice — and her courage to ask for what she truly wanted.
How many of us have never even let ourselves ask that question?
“For a long time with sex—and this is why I had a problem in my marriage—I was really, really, really good at figuring out what other people liked and then I could simulate that like an actor for them…but I never really knew what I liked,” Molly shared in her podcast.
After starting hormone therapy, Molly was warned her libido might vanish — but instead, it ignited.
She became hungry for the feeling of being desired.
Her husband, though kind and loving, couldn’t meet her there. He saw her as a patient, not as a lover.
As author Rebecca Woolf puts it:
“He also wants to keep her alive as long as possible—which is a very different thing than wanting her to feel alive in the time she has left. She wants to be touched. Fucked. Seen. Held.”
So Molly did what many would consider unthinkable: she left him.
Her sexual exploration was a way of reclaiming agency when so much else was slipping out of her control.
(And here’s something the series misses.)
In real life, her husband supported her journey. They remained close friends after their separation—a far more nuanced, compassionate narrative than the media often portrays.
Watching Molly’s story—and reflecting on Gabriela’s life—made me think about how easy it is for all of us to slip into something smaller without even noticing.
In my work with couples, I see it every day:
People who long for more intimacy, more inspiration, more meaning—but who feel stuck in autopilot.
We numb ourselves with another drink, another mindless series, another scroll—when what we’re really craving is connection.
Over the past 85 years, Harvard researchers have tracked the lives of hundreds of people, monitoring their careers, health, relationships, even the air they breathed.
Their goal? To find out what truly predicts a happy life.
The answer wasn’t diet.
It wasn’t exercise.
It wasn’t wealth.
It was the strength of their relationships.
Being deeply intertwined with others in ways that make us feel seen, valued, and understood.
Strong relationships don’t just make us feel better.
They literally help us live longer.
And yet—how often do we prioritize that?
We chase productivity, discipline, self-improvement—and while those things matter, they rarely feed the parts of us that ache for tenderness, wonder, and aliveness.
We forget that the mundane can be magical when we allow it.
That a night of laughter with someone you love will nourish you more than a perfect checklist ever could.
Shannon Murphy, the director behind Dying for Sex, said she hopes people walk away feeling "like they can be fearless with the people they love and stop lying to themselves, which is hard to do."
"I think so many of us hate talking in these terms, but radical honesty is really scary," she says, "and the more we tap into that, the more satisfied we will be in living our lives."
I couldn’t agree more.
My husband and I are both in our second marriage.
And the thing that sets this marriage apart isn’t luck or magic—it’s how we communicate.
Our ability to ask for what we want.
To check in with where we are.
To hold space for the hard questions—the ones that don’t have neat answers.
Radical honesty hasn’t pushed us apart.
It’s deepened our connection.
It’s built more trust, more freedom, more tenderness between us.
So if you allowed yourself to be radically honest—
As Esther Perel reminds us,
“Eroticism isn’t just the life force that makes sex great.
Eroticism is what makes life itself worth living.
When times are tough, eroticism is what inspires us to survive—and even to thrive—despite all odds.”
Let this be a reminder:
What you long for is trying to lead you somewhere.
Trust it enough to take the first step.
