It was a Tuesday morning, that innocuous time of the week when nothing extraordinary ever seems to happen. The world was gray with early spring drizzle, and I sat on the edge of my bed with a cup of coffee and a notebook full of half-baked story ideas. My little apartment—perched above the tiny café where I worked weekends—smelled faintly of cinnamon croissants and wood smoke from the old brick chimney next door. The phone rang. Loud. Jarring.

You know when your phone goes off and you just know something’s about to shift? That was this call. A plot twist waiting to happen. One I almost didn’t answer because I was right in the middle of writing a metaphor about moss-covered rocks. But I did, and trust me, that moment will forever be etched into my brain.

The Day the Universe Used AT&T

The voice on the other end sounded gruff, hurried, like someone who didn’t have time to sugarcoat their words. “Is this Avery Townsend?” they asked, pronouncing my last name with the clunky over-enunciation of someone reading it off a sticky note for the first time. I assumed it was a telemarketer, or maybe someone trying to convince me to switch car insurance even though I drove a forest-green Subaru that could barely make it up a hill, let alone benefit from a policy upgrade.

“This is Avery,” I replied, voice cautious. My internal dialogue swirled into its usual self-doubt monologue: Was I in trouble? Did I miss a bill? Was I about to be recruited into a cult that sells candles door-to-door?

“I just finished reading your novel,” the voice said. My world went from slow drip coffee to espresso shot in under five seconds. I recognized the name immediately: Annie Greer, an editor at a mid-sized publishing house in Portland. A publishing house I’d dreamed about working with ever since I started reading their books on dog-eared couches at the Coeur d’Alene library.

And then came the words that felt like the literary equivalent of being asked to prom:
“We love your voice. Raw, intimate, but not pretentious. Tell me, are you working on anything new?”

When a Call Shapes Your Life… and Your Dating Outlook

Sure, this wasn’t the typical “life-changing call” you hear about—you know, like the grand proposal or the tearful “we’re moving across the country for your dream job.” But let me tell you, navigating relationships (romantic or otherwise) started to feel eerily similar to that moment. If there’s one takeaway that day burned into my brain, it’s that the right connections will find you when you’re ready. But here’s the kicker: You’ve got to show up first.

Whether we’re talking about your career, your personal life, or that messy gray area in between, nothing meaningful can happen if you’re hiding behind excuses. That novel of mine? It had spent two cold winters in a desk drawer because I kept telling myself, “Eh, no one wants another lakeside coming-of-age story.” But then one foggy January, I hit send on an email to that publisher anyway, and months later, the phone rang.

Let’s translate that into dating terms, shall we? Because in many ways, sending that manuscript out felt as exposed and terrifying as texting first after a really great first date (Was I too bold? Too boring? Should I have kept it cooler?). Half the magic of connection lies in the audacity to take the shot, as messy and imperfect as it feels.

Lessons from a Lakeside Childhood

My parents always said running the resort was equal parts customer service and therapy. People walked in with a lot of baggage, both literal (because apparently, no one reads the “carry-on size only” suggestion) and emotional. Honeymooners argued over how to load the car for a mountain road trip. Kids cried over dropped ice cream cones as though it marked the end of civilization. So much of human interaction boils down to the same core principle: People just want what they want, and they're looking for signs of kindness to help them get there.

Being a good listener mattered more than anything in those summers. Watching my parents navigate guests’ meltdowns taught me that patience and curiosity go a long way in building trust.

This came back to me during that fateful conversation with Annie. I wanted to plow ahead with every exciting idea I’d ever had, but I stopped myself. Instead, I asked her why my work stood out—what had resonated? It’s eerily similar to dating, isn’t it? Oftentimes, the best thing we can do in a new connection isn’t to overcompensate with flashy stories but to simply listen, ask thoughtful questions, and genuinely engage.

Trust in Timing (While Keeping Snacks in the Backpack)

Look, no one likes waiting for the next big moment to change their life. Whether it’s the next “we need to talk” text, the job interview callback, or, in my case, an intimidating publishing proposal arriving on your doorstep, the in-between can feel like an emotional marathon. Here’s where the universe often defies rom-com logic: Big twists rarely show up exactly when you want them to.

I would’ve loved for Annie’s call to come a year earlier, back when I’d been settling into freelance life and wondering whether any of this writing dream was sustainable. Instead, I got it when I least expected it—when I wasn’t left refreshing my inbox and drowning in self-doubt. There’s a quiet metaphor here for relationships, too. Sometimes, the right people find you when you’re steady, grounded, and just distracted enough by your daily life that you don’t strangle the process with hope.

(Tip for dating and hiking alike: Pack snacks! If the metaphorical phone call doesn’t come, the trail is still just as beautiful.)

What This Call (and Life) Taught Me About Showing Up

To this day, nothing terrifies me more than the idea of missing an opportunity by hesitating too long. Listen, that doesn’t mean you need to parade your vulnerabilities around like a clunky suit of armor. But it does mean leaning into discomfort every now and then.

I think back to how much courage it took to submit that manuscript. The whole ordeal left me hyper-aware of how many times I’ve held back from connection in other arenas of my life—for fear of what-if.

So here’s my takeaway for you: answer the scary phone calls. Make the uncomfortable first moves. Press send on the audition tape, the risky text, or the clunky love letter you wrote at midnight in a haze of sudden clarity. Ship the thing. Bet on yourself.

Because for every missed moment, there’s a chance that what’s waiting on the other side isn’t just a career door cracking open—it’s trust, reciprocity, and an invitation to explore what comes next.

What I learned that day wasn’t just about writing. It was about showing up in my life with a readiness to connect, to be seen and heard. And maybe, just maybe, the same applies to you.

So answer the call. Even if it interrupts your coffee. Even if it pulls you out of a perfectly good metaphor about moss or rivers. Because who knows? Your life—it might just be on the other end.