When I tell people I’m a relationships writer for a living, I often get raised eyebrows. “Relationships? As in…romantic ones?” they’ll ask, either teasingly or cautiously. The implication, whether they intend it or not, is: “What qualifies you to write about love?” If I had to trace my journey back from my cozy writing desk to where it all began, the answer is both unremarkable and, I hope, delightfully human: it started like most love stories do—messy, unpolished, and full of false starts.
Finding Myself in the Chaos
I grew up in Vancouver, in a kaleidoscope of cultures, smells, and stories. My parents owned a small café tucked next to our neighborhood bookstore, and growing up, it doubled as my classroom for observing human connection. Coffee shop regulars became fixtures of my life—ambitious entrepreneurs tapping away on laptops, retirees settling chess matches, couples nervously deliberating over whether to split the last muffin. Each interaction painted a tiny portrait of intimacy: shared laughter, awkward silences, the subtle body language that says more than words ever could.
But watching connections doesn’t make you skilled at building them. In high school, I was the queen of overthinking—a turbocharged brain powered by romcoms and adolescent insecurities. I replayed conversations like Spotify jingles, searching for mixed signals in every emoji and awkward eye contact. Dating, back then, felt like navigating a labyrinth while blindfolded: thrilling, terrifying, and completely nonsensical. I awkwardly tangoed my way through crushes, over-complicated text messages, and one particularly disastrous prom proposal best left buried in history.
It wasn’t until university, where I swapped Kitsilano’s sea breeze for Melbourne’s hustle, that I started learning the true ropes of connection. Not only with potential partners, but with friends, colleagues, and—most importantly—myself. A one-year exchange taught me this: everyone’s stumbling through, trying to find their footing in a conversation, relationship, or community. The magic is in the trying.
Romantic Connection: A Crash Course in Humility
Let’s fast-forward to my first “adult” relationship. Never have I felt more painfully ordinary than in those early days of dating someone new. You’re suddenly a contestant on some high-stakes reality show where vulnerability wins the jackpot. On our second date, I accidentally called gnocchi “noh-key” in an attempt to sound cultured. On another, I spilled hot sauce so dramatically on myself that it looked like a horror movie stunt gone wrong.
“Perfection is boring,” I tried to tell myself. But honestly? I wanted to scream into my pillow each time I messed up or said the wrong thing. Over time, though, imperfection became the highlight reel. We laughed over my blunders, learning the steady rhythm of each other’s quirks and flaws. That relationship didn’t last forever, but the lessons did: (1) genuine connection isn’t built on polished moments and (2) nobody’s immune to spilling their metaphorical hot sauce.
Ordinary to Extraordinary: Why It Matters
People often believe successfully building relationships—platonic, romantic, or otherwise—is something you just inherently know how to do. But relationships aren’t microwaves you install and forget about. They’re like gardening (albeit with more Netflix breaks): a labor of love, consistency, and thoughtful tending.
So, here’s the thing. Most “normal” people think they don’t have what it takes to achieve something extraordinary in their relationships. But extraordinary isn’t reserved for those born with charisma dripping from their pores. It comes down to being open, intentional, and a little courageous. Here are a few guideposts that helped me recalibrate my own approach to connection:
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Drop the Script
Somewhere between first-grade playground crushes and adulthood, many of us pick up an invisible script for how we think relationships are “supposed” to go. Rip. It. Up. You don’t need to hit every milestone or say the “right” things at the “right” time. Your unique voice and approach are inherently interesting—lean into that. -
Turn the Volume Down on Perfect
Perfection is the stuff of Hollywood montages, not reality. My best memories of connection weren’t when I was my so-called “best self” but when I was my real self—nervous cracking jokes, weathering an awful haircut, or confessing my irrational fear of group selfies. Be human; it’s the best way to invite someone else to be human, too. -
Lean Into Curiosity
Remember when I said my parents’ café was a classroom? The lesson I learned there is that everyone carries a story. Instead of trying to impress someone or shape how they view you, focus on being curious about them. Ask: What lights them up? What calms them down? What’s their comfort meal when they’re sad, and why? You’ll be surprised at what surfaces when you swap judgment for inquiry. -
Build Up, Not Tear Down
Too often, we approach relationships—especially romantic ones—with an invisible scoreboard: Who texts first? Who’s more invested? Who’s better at planning anniversaries? Scrap the stats sheet. Approach connection as a chance to collaborate on something magical, focusing less on “keeping score” and more on building trust, fun, and kindness. -
Celebrate Ordinary Wins
Sometimes, extraordinary doesn’t look extraordinary on Instagram. It’s the quiet solidarity of helping each other sweep crumbs off a counter after dinner. It’s sharing a blanket during a power outage and joking that you should’ve been “preppers.” When captivating moments show up, celebrate them. But the smaller ones? Hold them close—they’re what everything else rests on.
Why Your Journey Is Worth Celebrating
When I look back at my beginnings—awkward teenage experiments with eye contact and spaghetti-stain-filled dates—it’s hard not to laugh. The progression from there to here feels less like a tidy montage and more like a blooper reel. But that’s the thing about growth: it doesn’t need to be seamless to be spectacular.
Whether you grew up surrounded by your family’s chaos or quiet, whether you’re fluent in love languages or still figuring them out, you’re never too ordinary to create something extraordinary. Like the tide shifting under Vancouver’s skyline, love has a way of transforming you in small, steady waves until one day, you turn around and see the first glimmer of something unexpected and wonderful.
Relax. Take a deep breath. Spill the hot sauce. You’ve got this.
