There are two truths I’ve come to know about myself: I will never pass up a steaming cup of good coffee, and I am the person who points out every bird I see like a doting parent showing off baby photos. A hawk perched high on a telephone pole? I’m that person whisper-shouting, “Look! A red-tailed hawk!” A scrappy sparrow hopping under a café table? Yes, I’m absolutely interrupting your story about your ex to marvel at its tiny, perfect feathers.

What started as a hobby has become something of a defining obsession, influencing not just my mornings with binoculars but also the way I show up in relationships. Birding (that’s bird-watching but cooler) has taught me unexpected lessons on love, patience, and even dating. Stay with me here—it makes sense, I promise.

The Art of Showing Up

If you want to see a bird doing its thing—whether it’s hunting for breakfast or flying around like it owns the sky—you’ve got to be there and be there fully. Early mornings, cold winds, and soggy trails are all part of the deal. Similarly, relationships—romantic or otherwise—are about showing up consistently, even when it’s inconvenient. It’s about learning to linger.

There was a time when I thought love required grand gestures. Bring the King of the Forest, a bald eagle, and then we’ll talk! But birding has taught me that most magic happens in small moments. The flash of a cardinal in the corner of your eye, the cheerful chirp of a robin—not everything beautiful needs to shout. In dating, that’s meant noticing and appreciating the little things: the way someone lights up talking about their passions, a thoughtful text in the middle of a rough day, or how their laugh shifts depending on whether they’re really losing it or just being polite.

Lesson? Be present. Love lives in the details.

Bird Call Basics (and Communication 101)

Birds have languages of their own—calls for danger, songs for courting, alarms when your binoculars are too close for comfort. Learning to ID birds by sound is half the fun, but it has also reminded me that communication exists in ways big and small, loud and subtle.

Think of how we "talk" in relationships: sometimes directly ("I need this from you") and sometimes in whispers ("I'm pulling away because I feel unappreciated”). I’ve learned the hard way that not all calls are obvious. Once, I thought a bird I was tracking was giving me all the signs it wanted a cozy nest in my backyard (translation: I thought my ex and I were on the same page about building a future together). Turns out, I’d been misinterpreting its signals.

The takeaway? Becoming fluent in someone's communication style—verbal or not—takes time and effort. And that’s okay. Whether you’re decoding a chickadee or a significant other, listening matters more than assuming.

Patience, Grasshopper Sparrow

Patience and dating feel like natural enemies. (Let’s be honest: we’re all tempted to text “what are we?” after three great dates.) But birding has schooled me in waiting with intention instead of anxiety.

Imagine holding perfectly still, staring into a tangle of brush, knowing there might be a rare warbler hiding in there—but it takes its own sweet time. Love works like that too. You can show up correctly, at the right moment, only to discover it’s not the season for what you’re looking for.

Once, I spent weeks getting to know someone who checked all the "right" boxes. But no amount of dating chemistry can make up for a “not right now.” Patience often means giving someone the time to figure themselves out—or, gently, giving yourself the permission to move on.

Love (and warbler season) rewards those who wait.

The Joy of Being a Little Weird

Here’s the thing about birding: it’s weird. Not full-on eating-hot-dogs-in-the-bathtub weird (Google that one, I’ll wait), but weird enough. It’s not every day you meet someone whose ideal Saturday involves identifying feathers stuck in a fence like Cinderella’s woodland creature consultant. But birding has taught me to own my quirks unapologetically.

We all have obsessions—running marathons, collecting miniature teapots, keeping succulents alive against all odds. The trick is finding someone who doesn’t just tolerate your quirks but finds them delightful. I’ve had dates laugh at me for pulling out binoculars on a hike, but I’ve also had someone confess that my enthusiasm made them see their backyard cardinals differently. That’s the energy I’m holding out for.

If someone doesn’t understand why waking up at 5 a.m. to catch the “golden hour” for bird-watching fills my soul, that’s cool. I’m not here for everyone. And neither are you. Embracing your passions—unapologetically, goose feathers and all—invites the right people to fall for the person you truly are.

Wing It, Beautiful Human

As a kid, I didn’t care all that much about birds. Growing up on the expansive Navajo Nation in Arizona, however, I couldn’t escape them. Every walk to the mesa or family gathering seemed to feature a hawk gliding overhead, ravens chattering in the distance like they had the juiciest gossip. They were a constant presence—a reminder of our connection to nature, to tradition, and to stories that came even before mine.

Now, birds have become something else entirely: a reflection of who I've grown into. A bird nerd, yes, but also a human who has learned to appreciate the quiet, fleeting beauty of things. A human who loves weirdly and fully, and who sometimes needs reminders to slow down and just show up.

Love is tricky. It's a little bit of warbler patience, a little bit of red-tailed hawk confidence, and the willingness to embrace your quirks like the unapologetic bird nerd you are.

So if you ever spot me, binoculars in hand, shouting something wildly specific about a kestrel on a date—I hope you see it for what it is: me showing up, with my unpolished heart, ready to fall in love all over again.