Let’s discuss something that is everywhere these days: public suggestions. I’m sure you’ve seen the videos. It may be in the middle of a crowded baseball stadium, at a busy airport, or on stage during a performance. Someone kneels, the crowd gasps, phones go up, and all of a sudden, what should be a private moment is now a public show. At times, it breaks your heart. Other times, it’s a little awkward. Either way, it always stirs up conversation.
And I get it. I’ve been there.
When I proposed to Nancy at Tampa International Airport, surrounded by travelers, coworkers, and two of my medical assistants hiding with their phones ready, I didn’t think millions of people would end up watching. But they did. After reading all the comments, interviews, and reactions, I gave more thought to what makes a public proposal seem wonderful and what makes it feel awkward.
At their heart, proposals are emotional times. They stand for hope, love, and commitment. Adding a public part to it makes everything more interesting. It gives you a mix of nervousness, excitement, and adrenaline. For the individual proposing, it can be a way to convey, “Yo means a lot to me.” I want everyone to know. That has a little quality to it. It’s br ve. It’s a party. And it can feel like something right out of a movie. But let’s be honest. It’s also risky.
When you involve an audience, you’re adding pressure not just for the person asking the question but also for the one being asked. That “yes” now carries the weight it wouldn’t carry in a private moment. There’s this unspoken tension like you’re expected to perform a certain way because people are watching. And if your partner doesn’t like being the center of attention, a public proposal might feel more like a trap than a celebration.
That’s why knowing your partner is everything. Some folks love the grand gesture. They’ll light up in front of a crowd, soak up the applause, and feel loved in the public declaration. Others may want something quiet. Intimate. Just the two of you, sharing a moment no one else gets to witness.
With Nancy, I knew her heart. I knew she was generous, full of love, surrounded by friends, and not afraid of the spotlight. But even then, I was careful. We’d discussed a proposal, and she’d said the reunion would be too much, too many eyes. So I shifted to something she wouldn’t expect but still felt deeply meaningful. I chose the airport because that place had become part of our story. It was the bridge between our past and our present. The scene of reunion, ner es, and butterflies. Not just a random location. It meant something to both of us.
I still recall standing at the gate with my prin ed speech in my hand. My heart was racing. When Nancy came, everything else went away. For a few seconds, there was no one else. In my brain, the noise, the people, and even the cameras all went away. I was so immersed in her presence that the moment became something extraordinary. And real.
That’s the thing I try to tell people now. A good proposal, no matter where it happens, has to feel like you. It has to reflect the relationship, the journey, and the love story you’ve built. You can rent a hot air balloon, choreograph a flash mob, or propose in your kitchen in sweatpants. It doesn’t matter if it looks fancy or goes viral. What matters is if it feels genuine.
I’ve seen public proposals go sideways, too. You can probably picture it. The person gets down on one knee in front of hundreds of people. And their partner stands there frozen. Or says no. Or walks away. These moments can be painful because they make something deeply personal feel like a performance. No one wants to feel backed into a corner.
So here’s my advice, for what it’s worth. If you’re planning a public proposal, ask yourself: does this feel like something we’d laugh about in ten years? Would my partner be excited or overwhelmed? Am I doing this for us, or because I want the reaction?
Most importantly, focus on the words. The “ask” should come from your heart. It doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be honest. A shaky voice and teary eyes are far more moving than a speech rehearsed for the show.
Public proposals can be magical. They can inspire, delight, and remind people that love still wins. But they don’t need to be big to be meaningful. Sometimes, the quietest asks echo the loudest in our memories.
When Nancy and I sat down after the proposal, after the cheers and the applause, after I handed her the necklace and read my words, I looked at her face and knew we’d just shared something unforgettable. Not because it was filmed or broadcast or reposted, but because we had come back to each other, full circle, after all those years. That moment belonged to us, even as the world watched.
So, if you’re planning to pop the question, make it yours. Whether it’s at a stadium or on your back porch, whether you’re in a suit or pajamas, make it about love. The kind that stays long after the crowd goes home.