“Home is where the heart is,” they say, but what if your heart belongs to a windswept island with weather that swings between postcard-perfect and a scene from The Perfect Storm? For me, that place is Nantucket—a little spit of land off the coast of Massachusetts, famous for its cobblestone streets, gray-shingled cottages, and a whaling history so entrenched that half the roads here still bear the names of ship captains. But like any great relationship, my love for this place didn’t come easy—it’s been shaped by tides of separation, reunion, and the occasional bout of irrational frustration when the ferry gets canceled.
For anyone who has ever tried to reconcile their roots with where they want to go, let me tell you about Nantucket: the place that made me, the lessons it taught me about love (and maybe just a pinch about heartbreak), and why I’ll always come back for more.
The Art of Falling in Love (With a Place)
When you grow up on an island, you develop a knack for romanticizing things. Maybe it’s the isolation, or maybe it’s the way the lighthouse gleams just so as the sun dips below the horizon. As a boy, I would spend hours wandering Nantucket’s beaches, half-expecting (and half-hoping) to stumble upon a treasure chest or a message in a bottle. My imagination was fueled by whispered family lore about sailors who’d left and lovers who’d stayed, about ships lost at sea and the enduring pull of the salt air.
It all seemed so perfectly poetic.
But here’s the catch in loving something picturesque: it’s not always going to match the image in your head. Sure, the idea of Nantucket is full of windswept dunes and briny coasts, but the reality includes brutal winters, no movie theater, and an airport where the arrivals board is essentially a shrug emoji. It’s a bit like dating someone who looks flawless on Instagram but insists on eating hardboiled eggs in public—endearing, sure, but also maddening. And yet, for reasons I didn’t fully understand, I loved it anyway.
Lessons the Island Whispered (If You Listen Closely)
Living in a place like Nantucket teaches you many things about life and, oddly enough, relationships. Here’s the wisdom I’ve gathered from this tiny island that feels bigger than it is:
1. Seasons Matter in Any Relationship
Nantucket in the summer? Absolute magic. The hydrangeas bloom as if auditioning for Better Homes & Gardens, the ocean sparkles like it’s been filtered through Instagram, and every ice cream cone feels like a celebration of being alive. But winter? That’s a different beast. Everyone hunkers down, the streets are eerily quiet, and you realize how important it is to have people who can make their own fun. Relationships need to ebb and flow too—thriving in the highs but weathering the cold spells together. If you’re with someone who can’t stick it out when the ferry’s canceled and the wind’s howling, they’re probably not your lighthouse keeper.
2. The Most Interesting Stories Come From What’s Below the Surface
They say that Nantucket’s charm lies in what you don’t see right away—the secret cranberry bogs, the cobbles that date back to whaling days, the weathered shingles that have soaked up more storms than you can count. People are the same way. Attraction might start on the surface, but the good stuff is always buried deeper. Be curious enough to ask questions. Take it from an islander who spent years digging through musty diaries and dusty ship logs: If you’re not interested in the “why” behind the story, you’re only skimming the surface.
3. Distance Can Be Clarifying
There’s a particular heartache that comes from leaving home. When I first left Nantucket—boarding school at fifteen and, later, Boston for work—I couldn’t wait to stretch my sea legs on the mainland. But after a few years away, I began to understand what the old-timers meant when they said the salt gets in your veins. Letting go of anything you love, whether it’s a relationship or a place, reveals how much it truly means to you. You don’t learn the shape of something’s absence until you’ve tried to live without it.
Every Love Story Needs a Good Backdrop
If you’re looking for the perfect first-date scenario, let me pitch you this: Rent matching bikes and ride out to Madaket Beach at sunset. Park the bikes, find a quiet spot, and watch the sky stretch out like it was custom-painted just for you. If biking’s not your thing, there’s always Cisco Brewery—half-beer-garden, half-community event, where locals and visitors sip frosty drinks while swapping half-true tales. And for those bold enough to embrace Nantucket’s quirks, there’s the Sconset Bluff Walk—an unpaved path that winds through backyards and front-row views of the Atlantic. A little awkward? Absolutely. But isn’t love built on weird, out-of-the-box moments just like that?
Nantucket doesn’t do “generic.” It doesn’t believe in playing it cool. The same could be said for any great romance.
Coming Back, Again and Again
What surprises me most about living here now—after years in Boston and a revelatory stint in Edinburgh—is how much Nantucket still teaches me. Sure, there are days I roll my eyes at the “charming” cobblestones that are brutal on ankles, or the tourists milling around Main Street as though maps haven’t existed since the Age of Sail. But every time I leave for a weekend or a few weeks, the island draws me back like gravity.
And here’s the thing about a love story like this one: It’s a little messy. Relationships with places—just like people—can frustrate or exhaust you. But when the stakes are right, you stay. You learn to forgive what isn’t perfect and celebrate what is, all the while marveling at how the things that push you hardest are often what shape you best.
Nantucket made me, salty edges and all. I carry it with me in my writing and in conversations over coffee, when I can’t help but sneak in an island anecdote like someone slipping you a Polaroid from their wallet. In love, as in life, we all need somewhere—or someone—to be our anchor. For me, that’ll always be a little sliver of land thirty miles out to sea.
So, what’s your place? Your Nantucket? The one that shaped you, taught you, and gave you a reason to come back—again and again. Maybe it’s a small town, a bustling city, or even just the feeling of home when the right person holds your hand. Whatever and wherever it is, cherish it. Because whether it’s a place or a person, the things that make us who we are deserve to be celebrated, flaws and all.
