I still remember the day my best friend in college turned to me over yet another Starbucks coffee run and said, “Kaylee, you’d make a great dating coach.” At the time, I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my chai latte all over her anthropology textbook. The idea of me—a girl who once confused a friend's attempt at flirting with a request to borrow my class notes—doling out dating advice seemed about as likely as Myrtle Beach getting a snow day. But here I am, writing about relationships, and realizing that maybe my friend, in all her caffeine-fueled wisdom, wasn’t as far off as I thought.

I didn’t land here because I’m an expert at love (spoiler alert: I'm not). I landed here because relationships—whether they’re messy or magical—fascinate me. They force us to confront our most vulnerable, awkward, and hilariously human selves. Growing up in the unpredictability of a tourist town, surrounded by quick connections and fleeting glances over boardwalk ice cream cones, I learned early on that love stories don’t always look like Nicholas Sparks novels. Sometimes, they’re more like a rom-com blooper reel—and I fell in love with all the messy, unscripted bits along the way.

Why I Chose Words Over Wi-Fi

My career started in social media, which is sort of like running the front desk at a busy hotel—you're juggling 5,000 tabs, smiling through internet chaos, and occasionally fending off a guest (er, commenter) who’s furious about the room (post) not meeting their expectations. But in the midst of crafting captions and curating sunset-perfect grid layouts, I found myself yearning for deeper stories.

It wasn’t just the keyboards and hashtags that felt superficial; it was the lack of humanity. I realized I didn’t want to help sell the idea of connection—the kind where you perfectly frame your cocktail against the ocean and call it a "moment." I wanted to write about the real stuff: the awkward silences after first-date jokes fall flat, the "should I text them first?" debates, the weird alchemy of balancing independence and intimacy.

The truth is, human connection has always fascinated me. Whether it was watching summer tourists fall into giddy, sandy-footed flings or listening to my parents banter while closing up our café, relationships were like my own small-town soap opera. And now, writing about them feels like a way to explore the universal in the personal.

The Grand Strand School of Love: What Myrtle Beach Taught Me

Let me tell you, growing up in a place like Myrtle Beach gives you a head start in people-watching (which, in my view, is a masterclass in understanding relationships). Every summer brought new vacationing faces—smiling honeymooners, worn-out parents chasing kids with sunscreen, and couples on what was clearly some sort of ill-fated “let’s save the relationship with a beach trip” mission.

What I learned from those boardwalk scenes sticks with me:
- Timing is everything. Trying to hold hands while carrying a funnel cake covered in powdered sugar is just bad logistics, no matter how much you might love someone. Relationships are the same; knowing when to give space and when to lean in can make all the difference.
- Laughter makes the best glue. I once heard a guy tell his date, “I put on sunscreen—I just missed… most of me.” Her laugh was the kind that echoed off the water and felt deeply genuine. You bet they walked away holding hands. Playfulness matters (and sunburns are avoidable).
- Not all fireworks are romantic. In tourist towns, sparks might fly during the flashy boardwalk fireworks shows, but lasting connections? Those are built on quieter moments—watching someone dribble mustard on their shirt and still thinking they're adorable.

Lessons from the Oceanside Tangled Web

Writing about relationships has also taught me this truth: they are messy by design. We like to think we’re straightforward, but let’s be honest—one person can have the emotional range of a fireworks display, complete with sudden booms and unexpected fizzles.

Take, for example, advice I’ve heard countless times: “Communicate better.” Sounds simple, right? Except communication isn’t just saying words—it’s using words the other person understands. It’s realizing that while you’re quoting song lyrics as a heartfelt sign of interest, the other person might just be wondering why you’re talking in riddles.

Through years of dating misadventures (and boy, could I absolutely write a full trilogy on missed connections and less-than-ideal date outfits), I’ve learned that what you say often matters less than how you show up. It’s like the ocean tide—you don’t need to scream your feelings at someone; you just need to be consistent enough that they know you’re there.

Why Love Stories Matter (And Why I Keep Writing Them)

Here’s the thing: we’re wired for connection, even though it takes us on some wild rides. Writing about dating and relationships feels less about being a guru and more about being a fellow passenger on this crazy metaphorical love train—a little bumpy, usually unpredictable, but always fascinating.

And even when we don’t have all the answers, there are small truths I’ve come to trust:
- Vulnerability might feel like handing someone the remote to your Netflix watchlist, but it’s also your best shot at finding genuine connection.
- Chemistry isn’t just instant sparks; it’s also the slow burn of someone who knows how you take your coffee.
- The right relationships feel more like steady ocean waves than waves from a hurricane—strong, dependable, and unlikely to flip you overboard.

If I’m being honest, I still have moments where I doubt myself (cue the same chai latte memory). But I write about this stuff because we learn from each other. Through shared experiences, flubbed dates, and random revelations like “you can actually say no to plans that feel forced,” we build better connections.

Choose the Ocean, Not the Riptide

Whenever I’m back in Myrtle Beach, standing with sand between my toes and feeling the breeze that carries hints of salt and sunscreen, I remember why I started writing in the first place. Relationships—like the ocean—are unpredictable, yes. They can be calm one moment, stormy the next. But they’re always better when you dive in with a heart that’s open, even if it means you’ll occasionally swallow some seawater along the way.

So, to those navigating the waters of connection, whether you’re wading into the waves of new romance or secure in your own sun-drenched self-love: just keep going. Learn the tides, laugh it off when you get flipped around, and be ready for the unexpected beauty that comes when you least expect it.