What do hummingbirds, the smell of old bookstores, and perfectly worn-in hiking boots have in common? They all hold real estate in the peculiar world of my obsessions—a glittery constellation of odd fixations dancing just above the semi-orderly chaos of my day-to-day existence. Maybe it’s the writer in me, weaving meaning out of the minutiae, but I’ve come to believe that these quirks, these little pockets of enthusiasm, are what make us … well, us. And as it turns out, these fascinations do more than fill our free time—they can quietly reveal who we are in relationships.

So, grab a mug of tea (bonus points if it’s steaming from a chipped, hand-thrown ceramic cup you discovered at a roadside art fair). Let’s unpack my obsessions, shall we? Along the way, you might just rediscover your own.

The Great Hummingbird Stakeout: A Lesson in Patience

Out my back window, beyond the peeling wooden deck and lavender bushes attempting a heroic comeback from last winter’s frost, hangs my hummingbird feeder. I’ve named the regulars—Chirpy, Zipper, and Ruth Bader Wingsburg (affectionately shortened to Ruthie). Watching them is a near-daily ritual that feels like part meditation, part soap opera. Trust me, nothing matches a hummingbird turf war for sheer pettiness and flair.

On the surface, you might think, “Cute, Avery has a thing for hummingbirds.” But beneath the sugar-water and flashy feathers lies a quiet obsession with staying still—something that doesn’t come naturally to me. You don’t observe hummingbirds by rushing or fidgeting (two things I excel at). It takes patience, calm, and a commitment to being present.

Much like relationships. In my wilder twenties, I spent a lot of time chasing heart-racing moments, swiping right on chaos wrapped in charisma. But like birdwatching, love rewards the patient. It’s in the slowed-down silences—those late-night conversations where words fumble and feelings settle into shared understanding—that bonds deepen. The frenetic buzz always fades, but the real magic is in the gentler, steadier rhythm that follows.

Bookstore Dust and the Romance of Curiosity

Do you know that slightly musty, impossibly comforting scent of old books? To me, it’s the fragrance of curiosity—and an obsession that’s been with me since my first Nancy Drew paperback. Whenever I have a free Saturday, you’ll find me wandering through secondhand bookstores, utterly convinced I’ll stumble upon some long-lost gem of literature, or at least a charmingly irrelevant self-help book from 1977.

This obsession isn’t just about books, though. It’s about the thrill of discovery and the joy of learning for the sake of learning. I bring that same energy into relationships—or at least, I try to. You ever notice how, at the start of dating someone, every fact about them seems endlessly fascinating? They like pineapple pizza? Cute. They taught themselves bass guitar? Sexy. But it’s easy to let that curiosity wane once you’re past infatuation and are down to squabbling over whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher.

That’s when I try to channel my inner bookstore explorer. Even in well-trodden paths, there’s always something new to discover about someone. Like that time I learned my partner secretly writes haikus about breakfast. Invest in curiosity, and your relationship becomes the kind of book you’ll never stop wanting to read.

The Gospel of Good Hiking Boots

If you’ve ever visited a town where people give directions like, “It’s past that one trailhead, a couple switchbacks down,” then you know the depths of my Pacific Northwest roots. But among my (numerous) outdoorsy obsessions, hiking boots reign supreme. Finding the perfect pair isn’t just about comfort—it’s about commitment. These aren’t shoes you wear to impress anyone; they’re built for mud, blisters, and the moments you wonder if you’re tough enough to reach the summit.

Here’s where dating advice and hiking boots merge into one surprisingly meaningful metaphor: Prioritize substance over flash. I’ve slipped on the proverbial stiletto relationships before—fantastic for a Short And Glamorous Time, and a guaranteed ankle-twister in the long run. But my hiking boots? Dependable. Sturdy. Made to last.

Relationships, like boots, grow to fit you over time. The more miles you trek together, the more comfortable they become. But first, you’ve got to make sure they’ve got good tread—and that they don’t pinch at the first sign of wear.

The Joy of Being Too Much

Here’s a true story: One summer as a kid, I got so fixated on frogs that I convinced my baffled parents to let me turn our lake dock into a frog observation station, complete with a notebook of (bad) sketches and jars full of pond water, which inevitably smelled awful. Frogs still make me smile, not because I’m about to start a backyard amphibian sanctuary but because that version of Avery—the one who didn’t care if her enthusiasms made her weird—is essentially who I’m always trying to be.

In relationships, it can be easy to ebb yourself into a smaller, easier-to-swallow version of your full self. Maybe it’s your earnest love of reality TV. Maybe it’s your niche trivia knowledge about Revolutionary War-era buttons (don’t knock it, history is fascinating). Whatever it is, the bravest thing you can do is bring it to the table.

Spoiler: The right person will love you not in spite of your quirks, but because of them. They might even grab a jar and help you catch a frog or two.

How to Find (and Embrace) Your Own Obsessions

Not sure what your equivalent of Ruthie the hummingbird or bookstore dust might be? Here are some practical ways to unpack—and celebrate—your quirks:

  • Reflect on what makes you lose track of time. Whether it’s baking sourdough bread to perfection or memorizing entire Broadway soundtracks, the hobbies that consume you when no one’s watching are a good clue to your true passions.

  • Remember that obsessions can be small. You don’t need to dive headfirst into beekeeping (though if that’s your thing, I fully support you). Sometimes it’s as simple as loving crossword puzzles or collecting mismatched vintage teacups.

  • Share them unapologetically. The more you lean into what makes you unique, the greater chance you’ll invite people into your world—and connect on a deeper level.

Here’s the thing: quirks are connective tissue in any relationship. They make you relatable, interesting, fun to love. I once told someone on a date that I genuinely enjoy the sound of pine trees creaking in the wind. They stared at me like I was describing a serial killer calling card. But then, years later, I met someone who casually said, “Wind in the pines? There’s nothing better.”

Guess which one lasted?

Our passions may be peculiar, our obsessions imperfect, but they’re ours—and they’re the breadcrumb trails that make us findable, lovable, and real. So, go ahead. Be the frog collector, the hummingbird watcher, the wonky-heart-first human you were lovingly built to be. Because those quirks? Those are your greatest gifts. Never, ever hide them.