You see, the plot revolves around the notion that her protagonist, Mel, is mostly alone in this world — to the extent that after a brush with death, she has no one to come pick her up from the hospital. Which might seem a bit more plausible if the Mel we actually see onscreen weren’t so self-evidently winsome, well-liked by coworkers and customers alike in her job ferrying passengers around New York’s JFK airport.

But then, that’s a bit like complaining that the bespectacled nerd in a rom-com is too gobsmackingly gorgeous to ever have gone unnoticed: valid, perhaps, but entirely beside the point. Like the best of those heroines, Mel is simultaneously relatable and aspirational. And like Mel, the Onyx Collective dramedy is nothing if not a great hang — warm, funny and occasionally even life-affirming.

By her own accounting, the Mel at the beginning of the series is nobody special. Venting to sympathetic coworker Terrance (KeiLyn Durrel Jones) in the premiere, she compares herself to Lizzo — they’re both 35, fat and Black, with the same number of hours in the day. Unlike Lizzo, though, “I’m broke. My family thinks I’m a lost cause. My love life is a joke. And the punchline is, I work in an airport, I’m afraid to fly.” It takes nearly losing her life — to a convoluted accident involving crab rangoon and flat-pack furniture — to finally jolt her out of her rut with a newfound determination to become a braver, bolder, better version of herself.

“Aimless New Yorker tries to get it together” is hardly an original premise, but Rothwell, also a creator, distinguishes her take in a few ways. While Mel fears that she’s been sitting on the sidelines of her own life, her series plants itself squarely in her perspective, to the point of occasional flights of fancy. A choreographed dance breaks out in a corridor to represent a Percocet high. A karaoke performance turns into a stroll through a city frozen in joyous celebration — and also gives Rothwell an excuse to show off her rich and resonant pipes.

While How to Die Alone isn’t really an ensemble comedy, it surrounds Mel with the makings of a good one, populated by colorful characters like Patti (Michelle McLeod), Mel’s Schrute-ian workplace nemesis, and Shaun (Arkie Kandola) and DeShawn (Chris “CP” Powell), goofball tarmac workers never short on inane but hilarious commentary. Should the show score a renewal, it’d do well to keep dipping into that supporting bench.

And the airport makes an interesting setting for workplace hijinks, since it’s at once familiar and not. Getting to see the terminal’s inner workings through Mel and her colleagues feels satisfyingly like being let in on a secret. I’m not saying actual TSA agents scoff that their real job isn’t to prevent terrorism but “to humiliate people and tell them to get new socks,” or that real customs agents make charcuterie plates out of all the gourmets meats and cheeses they’ve confiscated. But doesn’t it kind of feel like they would?

Despite all that, the first few half-hours make for a slightly uneven watch. In trying to balance broad comedy, slice-of-life observation and earnest sentiment, the series sometimes seems to jump between modes rather than braid them into a single consistent tone. But by the fifth episode, when Mel visits her disapproving big brother (Bashir Salahuddin’s Brian) and passive-aggressive mother (Ellen Cleghorne’s Beverly) for a contentious Thanksgiving, it’s found its footing well enough to mine both sincere pathos and belly laughs from a bitter argument that culminates with someone screaming, “The Lion King is a crown jewel of American animation!!”

Mel’s mission to level up extends to all areas of her life. She enrolls in a management training program at work. She reconsiders the boundaries of her friendship with Rory (Conrad Ricamora), the fun but flaky bestie who ditched her on her birthday, and extends her social circle with new pals. She even sets out to conquer her fear of flying by buying a plane ticket to Maui. But it’s when she turns her attention to her love life in the latter half of the season that the show soars into another gear.

That ticket just so happens to be for the destination wedding of her boss turned boyfriend turned ex turned friend, the sweet and sexy Alex (Jocko Sims). As the date looms closer, Mel’s lingering feelings for the one that got away reach a breaking point, just as her down-to-earth buddy Terrance starts to realize his own for her. The familiar rhythms of a rom-com give the final episodes a delicious momentum, and while the two guys aren’t necessarily both right for her, Rothwell has strong enough chemistry with both actors that either seems a wildly appealing option. (Though personally, my heart lies with Terrance — Jones has a way of gazing at his leading lady like she’s the only person in the whole world.)

Through it all, however, How to Die Alone remembers that the truest love story it’s telling is not the one between Mel and any of her suitors, or even any of her pals, but the one she’s rediscovered with herself. It’s an extremely familiar trope, even if this version of it is occasionally accented with heavy-handed bird metaphors from a kooky falconer played by H. Jon Benjamin. But clichés tend to become clichés because they ring true, and the best uses of them can make them feel fresh and comforting all at once. If the cliffhanger-y season finale is any indication, Mel’s still got plenty of growing to do. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to watch her keep doing it.