If you’d told me ten years ago that one day I’d be writing about self-love, I would’ve laughed, adjusted my cowboy hat, and asked what kind of kale smoothie you’d been drinking. Loving myself wasn’t even on the radar back then. I was too busy worrying if I fit into someone else’s version of perfect—a model ranch kid, a stellar student, the guy who could charm a whole room but somehow couldn’t figure out what he wanted.

Turns out, the first real step toward falling in love with yourself is realizing you’re a bit of a stranger. And, much like a stranger you meet on a blind date, you might not like yourself much at first. But that’s okay. Self-love isn’t a lightning bolt moment; it’s a slow burn—like learning to play “Leaving on a Jet Plane” on guitar. It takes patience, plenty of sour notes, and the occasional existential meltdown.

Let me show you how I got there.


Giddy-Up, Perfectionism

Let’s start by addressing the horse in the room: Perfectionism, my relentless frenemy. Growing up, I thought my worth was tied to what I could accomplish—a straight-A report card, a flawless essay, or being the charismatic one at a campfire singalong. I wasn’t living so much as running a tightrope act, terrified of falling.

Eventually, I learned a truth that hit me like a run-in with the barn door: Perfectionism is just fear in a snazzy outfit. It’s the fear of failing… actually, no. It’s the fear of being seen completely as you are—imperfections and all.

The turning point? A rogue trail ride.

One summer while guiding a group of tourists through our family ranch, my horse decided (without consulting me, of course) to veer off-trail in a not-so-graceful trot. I tried to look cool while everyone stared, but I completely lost control and ended up tangled in a low-hanging tree branch. Everyone laughed, and honestly, I don’t blame them—I probably looked like a discount action-hero stunt gone wrong.

Later that night, instead of obsessing over how I embarrassed myself, I had an epiphany around the campfire: Who cares? Life is messy, and sometimes the horse makes decisions for you. Let it. When you loosen your grip on the reins of perfection, you make room for humor, growth, and yes, a little grace.


Finding Your Trail

Loving yourself requires adventuring off the beaten track. I had to learn to stop comparing my path to others’. That 30-something guy in Telluride who seemed to have it all figured out? Turns out he was three months behind on rent. The friend earning six figures in Denver? They missed living under bluebird skies.

It wasn’t easy, but I started honoring my own gut feelings. It’s not about where someone else’s trail leads; it’s about carving out your own, even if it’s winding and a little overgrown. I began inviting myself to explore new corners of my identity instead of sticking stubbornly to what I thought looked good on paper.

To put this in simpler terms: You are your own expedition. Learn to love the detours along the way—the hazy mornings, the detours that leave you with muddy boots, and even the moments you feel totally lost. Self-discovery isn’t linear; it’s a waltz with wrong turns.


Make Peace With the Cowpies

Here’s the thing nobody tells you about learning to love yourself: It gets messy. This might sound strange coming from a guy who has literally shoveled manure more times than he can count, but hear me out. All of those inner flaws you like to bury out of sight? You’ve got to deal with them, and not with a pitchfork of judgment.

For me, this meant owning up to my habit of people-pleasing. I always said yes—yes to additional work, yes to relationships that weren’t serving me, yes to the things I thought made me more “valuable” in other people’s eyes. Turns out, I was burning myself out on a pile of obligations I didn’t even want.

The solution? Embracing the radical, terrifying power of “no.” Saying no doesn’t make you less kind, thoughtful, or lovable—it makes you honest. Every “no” is an act of self-definition: You’re drawing boundaries that give you space to figure out who you are and what you need without someone else’s approval.

Once you learn to shovel through your hang-ups with humor and patience, you realize the muck is temporary. You’re building healthier soil for growth.


Two-Step With Your Inner Critic

Even now, I wouldn’t say my inner critic is silent, but we’ve learned to dance together. The trick is not trying to fight that voice in your head but giving it context. Anytime it starts picking me apart—"You’re not achieving enough,” “You’re too sensitive,” “Shouldn’t you be married by now?”—I answer back like it’s an old cowboy at the local watering hole: “Sit down, partner. I’m doing my best.”

After all, your inner critic is like that grumpy horse no one wants to ride—it might buck and complain, but sometimes it’s just misunderstood. Turn it into a partner instead of an enemy. Listen, challenge it, laugh at it when necessary. You’re in control of the reins.


Real Talk: Nature Doesn’t Hurry (And Neither Should You)

I learned a lot from writing about the west. Its landscapes shape you in maddening and magical ways. A mountain doesn’t grow taller overnight. Creeks carve canyons one drip at a time. It’s a slow, beautiful process, and you’re no different.

For years, I held on to this idea that self-love meant existing in a perpetual state of confidence. But that’s not the case—self-love is a practice, not a plateau. Some days, you’ll feel on top of the peak, gazing out at the endless skyline. Other times, you’re trudging up a rocky incline in the rain, cussing under your breath. Both are necessary, and both are part of the journey.


Saddle Up, Single or Not

The funny thing is, once you start the work of loving yourself, your relationships—romantic or otherwise—can’t help but improve. Real connections grow when you bring your whole self, not the self you think others want to see.

Here’s the truth: Whether you’re waking up next to someone who loves you or waking up solo with a busted alarm (and no coffee creamer left), you’re still waking up with yourself. That’s your life’s longest partnership. You might as well make it a good one.


The Ride Ahead

Self-love isn’t found at the end of a dusty wagon trail or delivered in a neatly wrapped Amazon box. It’s found in a hundred quiet choices: forgiving yourself when you mess up, throwing yourself a “just because” celebratory dinner, or rediscovering a hobby just for the joy of it—no productivity required.

At the center of it all is this simple, winding truth: You are already enough. Not your potential, not your carefully curated social media self, you. Right now. Spilled coffee, overgrown trails, cowpies, and all.

Hop in the saddle and take it one trail marker at a time. Trust me—the view is worth it.