The Moment I Fell for My Passion
There’s a very particular kind of magic that lives in Las Vegas. It’s the same kind that coats your shoes in glitter after a bachelorette party or makes sequins seem appropriate under fluorescent grocery store lights. It’s a blend of spectacle and grit, where dreams are either made or remade with each roll of the dice. And it’s where I found not just what I love—but how I wanted to live.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t always know writing was my passion. Actually, the discovery snuck up on me in a way not unlike falling for someone you “weren’t looking for right now.” But as in any great love story, it starts with a meet-cute—one unexpected moment that changes everything.
First Flirtations: How Theater Taught Me to See Stories Everywhere
Growing up, my family didn’t exactly live on The Strip, but its energy radiated into everything we did. My dad worked behind the scenes at theaters, overseeing sound systems and stage sets, and my mom designed costumes that transformed dancers into goddesses of sparkle under the Nevada sun. Our house probably had more rhinestones and rolls of fabric in it than groceries at any given time.
Even though my role as a kid was more “observer” than “participant,” I couldn’t help but pick up on how storytelling existed everywhere. Each act in a Vegas show told a tale—some grand and obvious, like a reenactment of Cleopatra ruling Egypt with flawless eyeliner; others subtle and unspoken, like the way a single spotlight could make an audience erupt in applause.
I performed my first bit of theater in high school, and while I wasn’t exactly a star (my crow “caw” in the ensemble of Peter Pan didn’t get a callback), I became obsessed with the scripts. The way a perfectly timed line could elicit a laugh or a throat-tightening silence fascinated me. I started writing scenes of my own, scrawled in the margins of my geometry notes, filling the spaces inside my hand-me-down backpack. Theater showed me the power of words—and how every story, like every love affair, starts with someone bold enough to tell it.
The Rekindling: Falling in Love with the Messy Middle
When the curtain closed on high school theater, I pivoted my creativity toward fiction. With literary heroes like Joan Didion whispering in my ear, I headed to UNLV, where I spent four years falling in love with the knots and tangles of storytelling. I can’t lie—there were moments as a Creative Writing major when telling stories felt less exciting and more like the romantic equivalent of waiting for a text back. I’d stare at an empty Word doc for hours, convinced my passion had wandered off to find someone with a better pull quote.
What saved me at the time was… you guessed it— Vegas. Somehow, this city always finds a way to nudge you back on track. On a whim, I started a short story inspired by one small detail no one else seemed to notice: the way couples get married in casino chapels on weekday afternoons. I imagined their stories (Were they high school sweethearts? Divorcées taking one last chance on love?) and wrote my way into a multigenerational family saga that brought me back to life creatively. These fictional characters were far messier than romantic comedies would lead you to believe—full of betrayal, forgiveness, bad habits, and stubborn hope. But that’s what made them real, and writing about their struggles helped me untangle my own.
It was then I realized storytelling, much like relationships, isn't about pristine perfection. It’s about holding hands with the mess and leaning into it. And once I learned to do that, the love for writing stopped feeling like work—it felt like falling.
Practical Lessons from My Passionate Affair with Writing
Every love story leaves you wiser—whether it’s the romance novels stacked under your bed or the date that brought you free wine and a lesson. Writing is no different. Here’s what this craft-turned-passion has taught me about passion itself:
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Go Where the Energy Is:
Just like in relationships, passion isn’t always waiting in the “logical” place. Sometimes it’s found in a passing thought, a quiet observation, or moments that feel mundane (like weekday weddings). Giving yourself the freedom to explore those sparks—even if they don’t seem promising at first—can lead to deep, soul-satisfying connections. -
Rejection Isn’t a Red Light:
If that sounds like the opposite of what we’re told, it’s because it is. I’ve had script drafts shredded, plotlines dismissed, and publication queries ghosted harder than a bad Hinge date. But sticking with my passion wasn’t about avoiding failure—it was about making those failures part of my learning curve. Spoiler: The same logic applies to love. -
Let Go of Perfect:
One of the quickest ways to kill a passion? Obsessing over perfection. I used to believe every piece of writing needed to sound like Fitzgerald or Didion on the first draft. I couldn’t have been more wrong (can you imagine texting someone The Great Gatsby as your opening line?). Whether it’s on paper or in life, imperfections spark authenticity—and that’s always where the heart is. -
Put in the Quiet Work:
Passion isn’t just fireworks and grand moments; it’s the day-to-day rhythm of showing up, even when it’s hard. Like spending hours rewriting a sentence that still doesn’t look quite right. Or, in relationships, sitting through the awkward silence after an argument so you can get to the resolution. The quiet work may not always feel glamorous, but that’s where growth happens.
Happily Ever After Isn’t the Goal—and That’s Okay
If there’s one thing Las Vegas has taught me about love (whether romantic or creative), it’s that the goal isn’t some perfect happily ever after. The work of building and finding meaning—that’s the point. Just like The Strip never stops changing and reinventing itself, passion is a relationship you’re constantly renegotiating and rediscovering.
Today, as I write this, I still think about that young girl watching her dad queue up lighting cues at a dusty soundboard, or her mom sitting in our laundry room hand-sewing the final rhinestones onto a costume. There’s glimmer in every part of the process if you let yourself see it. And what I’ve learned is this: Falling in love with your passion is a lot like falling in love with a person. Once you find it, it’s not a destination—it’s a journey, twists and all.
So here’s to chasing sequins, embracing the mess, and always leaving space for your passions (or people) to surprise you. Trust me—they will.
