I used to think the hardest decision I’d make each morning was whether to hit the snooze button or slip out of bed to watch the sunrise spill over Lake Tahoe’s glassy surface. Turns out, career paths can be just as murky as deciding between an extra five minutes of sleep or nature’s alarm clock. Growing up in one of the most beautiful corners of the planet, I always felt a pull toward the natural world, but how that would translate into a living? That was another story.

To anyone surprised I went from studying trees to writing about relationships—same. But as it turns out, whether you’re navigating a forest trail or the twists and turns of human connection, the guiding principles aren’t as different as you might think. Let me explain.

Why Start in the Woods?

First, let’s rewind to my childhood. My parents ran a cozy, slightly creaky lodge tucked in the forest on the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe. The guests were an eclectic mix: solo adventurers searching for quiet solace, families armed with oversized coolers, and honeymooners practically dripping with PDA and bug spray. By the time I could ride a bike, I’d heard enough yarns about lost compass batteries and campfire pranks to fill a novel.

Looking back, I realize growing up there planted the seeds for the way I see the world today. Guests weren’t just sharing their stories; they were sharing pieces of themselves. Everything felt raw, real, stripped down to whatever mattered most in the moment. That’s kind of the magic of nature: it pushes you toward your most authentic self. (Also, there’s no good place to stash emotional baggage in an 8-person tent.)

So, I studied environmental science in college because I wanted to protect those moments for others. I spent years working in conservation, trudging through mountain passes with bear spray in one hand and trail maps in the other. It was meaningful work, without a doubt. But one day, I looked up from yet another clipboard choked with data and started asking, “What’s next? Is this it?”

Here’s the plot twist: You can love something deeply and still feel like there’s another calling waiting for you. Around the same time, I started moonlighting as a writer, sharing tales from the wilderness in small magazines. The essays got traction. They got me noticed. And they reminded me that, as much as I adored the natural world, what really got me out of bed in the morning were the connections—both human and environmental—that made life vibrant.

From the Trail to the Dating Game

You’re probably wondering, “Yeah, okay, but how does one go from the U.S. Forest Service to penning thoughts on modern relationships? Did you fall, hit your head, and land in your editor’s inbox?”

Not quite. Here’s the thing: Relationships and the natural world aren’t so different. Think about hiking. (I really want you to stay with me here.) Before you start any trail, you scan the map, check the weather, and make sure your water bottle’s not leaking all over your backpack. With dating—or deepening an existing connection—you’re doing the same prep work, whether you realize it or not. Am I ready for what’s ahead? Is this path going to challenge me in the best way? And—God forbid—am I hiking with someone who doesn’t think snacks are important?

I started writing about relationships because I saw the parallels. Just like you can’t conquer a summit without a good pair of boots and some mosquito spray, you can’t create meaningful partnerships without some upfront effort and self-awareness. Maybe that sounds a little cheesy, but sometimes the truth is.

Lessons From Lake Tahoe (That Apply to Love)

During those long summers at the lodge, I noticed patterns in the couples who came to stay—and I’m not just talking about fleece jackets and Tevas. I started piecing together what separated the mismatched duos from the ones who radiated that easygoing “we’ll survive anything, even kayaking tandem” vibe.

Here are a few lessons I carried with me, from the shoreline to the keyboard:

  • Don’t Fake It: Ever watch someone insist they’re fine when they’ve clearly just stepped in a fire ant colony? That vibe doesn’t work in dating, either. Pretending to enjoy activities, values, or plans that don’t light you up is a quick ticket to resentment. Authenticity always wins out—whether it’s admitting that stargazing makes you cold or that you’re not “an early morning person” (a stance I’ll never understand, but respect).

  • It’s About the Journey, Not the Destination: Are all trail metaphors obvious? Maybe, but they’re accurate. Whether you’re single or partnered up, focusing too much on the vague idea of “success” misses the whole point. The best connections come when you’re enjoying the now—not pinning all your hopes on the finish line.

  • Communicate Like You’re Starting a Campfire: Starting a fire is equal parts patience, precision, and consistency. So is building trust. You won’t spark anything meaningful if you’re too rushed or careless; nor will you get anywhere without a bit of tenacity. You’ve got to feed the flame, but not smother it. (Pro tip: Keep a proverbial marshmallow handy—humor does wonders when you’re fumbling through sensitive conversations.)

Trading Mountains for Meaningful Words

These days, I write about relationships from the cozy confines of my own cabin—the irony isn’t lost on me that this started with overheard love letters and honeymoon hiccups at the lodge. But here’s what I’ve learned about choosing your path: It’s rarely a straight line. It’s more like a winding forest trail, full of detours, unexpected lakes, and maybe a little too much poison oak. But every twist and turn brings you closer to the place you’re supposed to be.

My path took me far from the literal mountains, but not from the lessons I learned there. Because whether you’re piecing together the courage to ask someone out, nursing a bruise from a relationship that didn’t go the distance, or reveling in that magical stage where you finish each other’s sentences, there’s one truth I keep coming back to: The best connections—both with people and the planet—push us to become better versions of ourselves. Flawed, funny, fumbling people who keep trying.

So whether you're navigating a first date or that tricky seventh year of marriage, remember this: You’ve already got the tools you need. Lace up your proverbial boots, pack your emotional snack bag, and step forward. It might be messy, funny, or even ridiculous at times, but that’s where the magic lives. And trust me, the view when you get there is worth it.