If you asked me to pinpoint the place that made me, I’d take you on a road trip to just beyond the glow of Santa Fe—the spot where the city hums quiet, the stars begin to riot across the sky, and the air smells like piñon smoke and possibility. I grew up just past the city limits, where adobe homes blend with sagebrush and the desert whispers stories older than my great-great-grandmother. And while this place shaped my soul, it also taught me some hard truths about relationships. Specifically, how messy, beautiful, and sometimes hilariously complicated they can be.

Out here, the landscape is dramatic and unrelenting—a good metaphor for love if I’ve ever known one. Let me tell you about how a sun-soaked corner of the Southwest became my greatest teacher and unexpected matchmaker.

Love Lessons from the Land of Enchantment

Back home, there’s a phrase locals toss around: “The land of enchantment—or entrapment.” It’s a cheeky reminder that the desert’s allure isn’t always gentle. The same could be said for love. Sometimes, it feels magical. Other times, it feels like you took a wrong turn near truth or consequences (that’s a real town, by the way).

What Santa Fe taught me was that love—like most things in life—is an ecosystem. Just like the desert depends on its delicate balance of rain, sun, and wind, relationships thrive when you care for the tiny, everyday things. Here are the big takeaways from growing up in a place where the landscape does not mess around.

1. Know Your Roots

The desert doesn’t apologize for what it is—it’s rugged, dry, and full of surprises. Love, too, works better when you plant yourself in solid ground and stay unapologetically you.

In college, I tried becoming someone I wasn’t for a relationship (you’re shocked, I know). This resulted in me pretending to love hiking—until a sunrise trek left me staring down a rattlesnake, clutching my soy latte like a talisman. What I learned? Fake hobbies won’t charm the desert—or anyone else. Authenticity, however, does. Like the ancient cottonwood trees in my backyard, be rooted in who you are. It’s the only way to grow.

2. Learn to Weather the Storms

Monsoon season in New Mexico is a sight to behold—thunder rumbling across the mesa, rain teasing the thirsty earth, storms gone as quickly as they arrived. And it’s not unlike the way arguments roll through a relationship: flashing, loud, and often unexpected. Growing up, storms taught me that survival comes down to adaptability.

The secret doesn’t lie in avoiding conflict but in weathering it. Can you laugh when the power goes out and you’re eating green chile out of a can (long story)? Relationships aren’t about dodging the rain; they’re about learning to share the umbrella.

3. Appreciate the Quiet

The desert is full of sound if you’re paying attention—cicadas buzzing, coyotes calling, wind brushing against canyon walls. It’s subtle, but it’s there, kind of like the way love shows itself in small actions: the text at lunch asking how your day’s going, the unspoken agreement to share the last churro, the way your partner knows your favorite mug better than you do.

Don’t overlook the quiet. I grew up watching my parents—two wildly independent (and sometimes stubborn) artists—find their rhythm in everyday silences. Between gallery showings and early morning coffee, their connection was loudest in the unspoken language of care. Look for love in the stillness; it’s where the real magic hides.

4. Embrace the Quirks

Santa Fe is a little bit weird—and I say that with love. You’ll find everything from people walking their goats in the plaza to eccentric sculptures made of things you shouldn’t ask about. That creative spark is part of its charm, and, similarly, every relationship thrives on learning to love each other’s quirks. (Yes, even the ones that make you question your sanity.)

Once, on a moonlit evening hike (an actual good date idea if you’re brave enough for bats), my then-partner confessed that they collected vintage lunch boxes. Did I think it was odd? Of course. Did I lean into it? You bet. Relationships flourish when we celebrate, rather than tolerate, the quirks that make us who we are.

5. Leave Room for Mystery

Every time I return to Santa Fe, the light hits the landscape differently, as if the mountains and mesas are shape-shifting before my eyes. The place feels infinite in its ability to reveal something new, and honestly, that’s what makes it so compelling. Relationships are like that too—the best ones leave some room for discovery.

This doesn’t mean you should withhold major life details (you should definitely tell someone if you’ve lived with 12 cats or if you host a weekly Nicolas Cage movie marathon). But it does mean keeping space for curiosity—for small surprises and evolving stories. People, like places, are always changing, and that’s where the excitement lives.

Returning Home (and to Yourself)

When my relationships have faltered, I’ve always returned to the desert for comfort. There’s something about its boundless sunsets and dusty trails that reminds me of continuity—that we’re built to fall apart and rebuild, over and over again. And that’s the ultimate lesson I’ve learned here: love isn’t about finishing; it’s about continuing. The work never really ends, and that’s kind of beautiful.

So wherever your “place” might be—be it a bustling city, a sleepy beach town, or a patch of highway you’ve yet to name—let it teach you what you need to know about yourself. Because the landscapes we carry inside us shape the way we love. And when it comes down to it, love is a journey best navigated by knowing your starting point.

And just so you know, if you ever find yourself in Santa Fe, I’ll be the one in the corner of the café, sipping a cappuccino and arguing with someone about the proper way to make green chile stew. Or maybe smiling. Because, at the end of the day, the place that made me also reminds me: love is worth the work. Always.