The Place That Made Me

A Whiff of Salt Air and Legacy

There’s a specific kind of breeze you’ll only find on Nantucket—a cold, briny inhale that seems to carry with it the ghosts of harpoon-wielding sailors and star-crossed, sand-dusted lovers. On this island that’s equal parts postcard-perfect and fiercely untamed, I learned something that shaped every corner of my life and, yes, my relationships: places aren’t just backdrops to our lives; they’re players in the story.

When you grow up on a 48-square-mile island, your dating pool isn’t exactly “infinite scroll.” It’s more like rummaging through the same deck of cards everyone else has been dealing for years. That’s not to say romance doesn’t exist here—just that it’s... intimate. You date someone’s cousin, then their best friend three years later, then casually stand next to their aunt in line at the Stop & Shop while trying not to make awkward eye contact. Sounds complicated, right? It is. But Nantucket taught me that relationships, like the island itself, require navigation skills. And sometimes, you sail through choppy waters before finding calm seas.

Lessons from an Innkeeper's Son

For all its charm, there’s nothing romantic about unclogging a guest’s shower drain as a teenager. My parents ran a small inn where rumpled tourists rolled in looking for a slice of the quiet life, and my job was to ensure things stayed idyllic—even if it meant making 10 beds before school or explaining to a New Yorker why we didn’t carry oat milk.

But in the midst of that hustle, there was something magical: conversations. You’d hear the honeymooners whispering about their future while polishing off a shared slice of pie or the seasoned couple laughing about their terrible kayaking attempt. These moments were small, but they spoke volumes.

I learned early on that relationships aren’t about grand gestures; they’re about shared experiences—spilled glasses of Chardonnay, board games that devolve into competitive chaos, or braving an ice-cold ocean swim together. In relationships (and life), it’s the details that make the story worth telling.

Navigating the Emotional Logbook

Being surrounded by the ocean, I’ll admit, turned me into a little bit of a philosopher. There’s something about being on an island, knowing there’s no avoiding the coming tides, that makes you reflective. Nantucket taught me to look inward—sometimes with a spyglass, sometimes with a kaleidoscope. That habit came in clutch when relationships didn’t go smoothly.

The first time my salty teen heart got broken, I fled onto the beach at low tide, fully prepared to star in my own angst-filled music video. But there, sitting cross-legged on the barnacled rocks, I realized something that never left me: Every tide ebbs and flows. Some relationships will turn into lifelong harbors, but others will drift out to sea, becoming glimmers on the horizon. It’s okay to let them go.

Nantucket, in all its cyclical, stormy glory, gently taught me that goodbyes don’t have to feel like shipwrecks. Sometimes, they’re just part of the journey.

Where the Ghosts of Whalers Meet Modern Love

Let me tell you something about Nantucket sunsets. They’re devastating. I mean it—pull-over-your-car, wake-up-the-kids kind of beautiful. And I bring this up because that’s precisely the type of energy new love feels like—a Nantucket sunset. You think it’ll stay like this forever, pastel-splashed and overwhelming, until it doesn’t.

It’s easy to expect the "sunset stage" of a relationship—where everything’s light and sparkly—to last forever. But Nantucket, in all its stubborn realness, doesn’t let you cling to illusions. There’s always a storm in the forecast, a rogue seagull aiming for your French fries, a nor’easter reminding you who’s in charge. That’s where the beauty lies, though: weathering life’s imperfections together.

It’s not that Nantucket is some metaphorical string quartet, endlessly serenading soulmates (spoiler: it’s not). But this quirky, unpredictable island taught me to embrace the process—with all its forehead-slapping moments and laughter-filled lulls—as the source of real connection.

What the Island Knew All Along

Over the years, I’ve left Nantucket and returned more times than I can count—ferry tickets becoming my personal bread trail through adulthood. Boarding school taught me how to hedge bets and time dormitory small talk to avoid the awkward kid who only spoke in math metaphors. College helped me make a case for why porridge history mattered in the grand scheme of things (hint: it doesn’t). Cities expanded my horizons, exposed me to new people, and reminded me that “soft-shell crab special” means something entirely different outside of New England.

But Nantucket? Nantucket taught me how to be me—and, as an extension, how to be with someone else. Relationships, much like my hometown, are about presence. About showing up. About doing the hard work when Instagram-worthy sunrises are nowhere in sight.

What the island knew all along—and was kind enough to teach me through a thousand sandy examples—is that love, much like a well-worn dock, is built plank by plank. And when the storms come, which they inevitably will, it’s what you’ve built together that holds everything in place.

Takeaways for the Journey

So, what does all this quaint island philosophizing mean for you, dear romantically adventurous reader? A few things:

  1. Pay Attention to the Mundane: Love isn’t all grand gestures and dramatic music montages. It’s in the afternoon chats, the unexpected kindnesses, and the moments too small to post about. Let the little things take up space.

  2. Ride Out the Ebbs and Flows: Nantucket taught me tides always come back in. If you and your love are in a low, don’t panic. Work together, and be patient. And if it’s time to let go? Respect the flow.

  3. Make Peace with Imperfections: Sure, I’d love to love someone with the problem-solving skills of MacGyver and the looks of a Hemsworth brother, but real connection isn’t about perfection. It’s about laughing with someone when the roof leaks at the height of a summer storm.

  4. Find Your Anchor: Just like I return to Nantucket, find your metaphorical safe harbor. Whether it’s a place, a group of friends, or a steel drum playlist that makes you feel alive—cling to what keeps you grounded. Relationships flourish when you’re rooted.

A Nantucket Conclusion (No Oat Milk Required)

If you’re anything like me, you’ve romanticized some version of your past—the place where you first fell in love (or on your face), or the one that taught you resilience. That nostalgic tug exists for a reason. It is part of you. It shaped you.

For me, Nantucket was that place. The cedar-scented sea air wove itself into my personal fabric, teaching me that life and love aren’t about perfection but persistence. Just like the dinghy that floats out of the harbor and inevitably finds its way back to shore, every step we take—every daring leap or cautious wade—leads us closer to connection.

So, keep showing up. Keep building. Keep riding your tides, welcoming your sunsets, and letting your ghosts go. And who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll find your person on a windswept dock—or in the oatmeal aisle at Stop & Shop. Life’s funny that way.