We all have stories that begin with “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” but mine felt particularly cinematic—or at least that's how I like to justify it. Picture this: it’s late May, the sun is stretching its arms over Lake Coeur d’Alene, and I’ve got a foolproof plan to impress a guy who could best be described as a cross between Paul Bunyan and a Patagonia catalog. We’re talking flannel, beard, and a level of comfort with wild mushroom identification that gave him a certain outdoorsy mystique. My plan? To take him on what I ambitiously dubbed “a sunset canoe date.” Spoiler alert: the only thing that sunk faster than the canoe that night was my ego.

Let me walk you through my biggest misadventure—and the surprisingly valuable insights hidden between the splashes.

The Plot Thickens: How It All Went Awry

In theory, the evening should’ve been straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. I grew up paddling along the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene, so I had the expertise. I rented a canoe from an old family friend who assured me it was “perfectly sturdy,” and I packed a picnic featuring slightly overambitious charcuterie (because if you’re going for romance, you bring the brie). What could go wrong?

Oh, everything.

For starters, the wind had other plans. What began as a light breeze escalated into a full-on gust fest, transforming the glassy lake into something resembling a choppy water park ride. Undeterred, I convinced Paul Bunyan (not his real name, of course) to help me launch the canoe. This is where I learned that while flannel shirts may imply rugged capability, they are surprisingly misleading. To put it kindly, we were ill-prepared.

We hadn’t made it 20 yards from shore before disaster struck. He leaned too far to one side (likely reaching for the IPA I’d packed), I overcompensated, and within seconds, the canoe overturned. There we were, soaked to our socks, clinging to the capsized boat while our artisanal meats and cheeses floated on a kind of sad, makeshift charcuterie raft.

Lessons in Flexibility (and Why You Should Never Put Brie in a Ziploc)

Once we managed to drag the canoe back to shore, it became hilariously clear that my attempt to “wow” my date had achieved the opposite result. Surprisingly, though, the night wasn’t a total disaster—and that’s where the real discoveries began.

Here are the lifesaving lessons that emerged from my Titanic moment:

1. Preparation Is Attractive.
I thought spontaneity was key to creating romance, but improvisation isn’t nearly as impressive when it leaves you drenched like an extra in Cast Away. Having a backup plan (or at least towels!) shows foresight and adaptability, which are way more charming than a soggy charcuterie board.

Takeaway: Surprise grand gestures are great, but they shouldn’t come at the expense of practicality. Always think three steps ahead—especially when water is involved.

2. Laughter Is the Best Plan B.
The beauty of a dating disaster is that it can go one of two ways: you either laugh about it or resolve never to speak again. Thankfully, Paul Bunyan had a sense of humor. As we sat on the beach drying off, we recounted the chain of unfortunate events with so much laughter that we were practically crying. If someone can laugh through chaos with you, that’s a green flag.

Takeaway: Not everything can go perfectly, but how you recover speaks volumes. If your date can handle an overturned canoe, they might just handle life’s bigger storms, too.

3. Comfort Zones Don’t Have to Be Perfect.
I grew up on the water, so I thought a canoe date would feel natural and impressive—a literal representation of “my element.” But what I failed to realize is that dragging someone into your comfort zone doesn’t always make them comfortable. Paul Bunyan wasn’t a paddler; he was a hiker. If I’d suggested a trail walk instead, he probably wouldn’t have ended the night with waterlogged boots.

Takeaway: In relationships, finding shared comfort zones is key. When planning dates, focus on overlap—not just your own strengths.

4. Be Yourself—Even When It’s Awkward.
As much as I wanted to seem like the fearless outdoorswoman, there was no hiding my fumbling attempts to flip our canoe back over while muttering cuss words under my breath. But the more “exposed” (both emotionally and physically) I became, the more human I seemed—and the more connected we felt.

Halfway through the evening, I realized I didn’t need to impress this guy with my pseudo-survival skills. Turns out, he preferred honesty over heroics.

Takeaway: Being authentic is braver—and ultimately more attractive—than trying to curate the perfect image of yourself.

Love’s Best Stories Start with a Splash

If I had to sum up everything I learned that night, it’s this: connection thrives in imperfections. We spend so much time crafting idealized versions of ourselves—whether through the right outfit, date spot, or flawless execution of plans—that we forget how valuable it is to let someone see the messy, real version of us.

The canoe date may have been a logistical train wreck, but it started a conversation about flexibility, humor, and authenticity. Sometimes, the best connections aren’t built on shared interests but on shared catastrophes.

For anyone hoping to impress a new flame, here’s my advice (learned the hard way): Don’t aim for perfection—aim for presence. If you can roll with the punches, laugh off the blunders, and embrace the chaos together, you’re already lightyears ahead in the connection game.

And for the record, Paul Bunyan and I never made it to date two (turns out, we weren’t quite on the same wavelength about brie versus cheddar), but I’ll always be grateful to him for teaching me how to laugh at my floating failures. To this day, I double-check the wind forecast before attempting anything remotely romantic on the water.

So, pack your dates with humor, not just snacks, and always, always ziplock the cheese. Trust me on that.