Some families have bloodlines steeped in royalty or revolutionary acts. Mine? We have seaweed. Specifically, a direct lineage of seaweed-obsessed storytellers who turned the art of embellishment into an Olympic sport. Growing up in a small coastal town like Bar Harbor, where the fog clings to every tale like damp moss, family stories weren’t just a pastime—they were the connective tissue that kept us together. And, as I’ve learned, they’ve also shaped how I navigate love, relationships, and the sometimes murky terrain of self-discovery.

I’m convinced that many of my relationship philosophies are traceable to the stories, traditions, and eccentric characters that shaped my worldview. So, let me take you on a little detour through my family lore and the lessons it taught me. Some might involve love advice inspired by lobsters—but stick with me.

Lesson 1: The Art of the Long Game

Let me introduce you to my great-uncle Harold, a retired lobsterman who insisted on teaching every family member the “right” way to trap. “It’s not about how many traps you set,” he’d say, spitting a sunflower seed shell into the wind, “it’s about where you set ’em.” This lesson, disguised as a lecture about crustaceans, might as well have been a TED Talk in patience and strategy.

Uncle Harold’s tales always revolved around perseverance—like the time he trailed another fisherman’s secret lobster spot for weeks, only to discover the guy was cheating by baiting his traps with bacon. “Never settle for shortcuts,” Harold said. “Build trust with your waters and, eventually, you’ll find your lobster.”

The metaphor practically writes itself. Relationships aren’t fast food; they’re artisanal seafood. Harold’s stubborn dedication taught me that the long game, whether in love or life, often holds the most satisfying rewards. It’s not about rushing into things but investing in what feels right—even if it means throwing a few traps back into the sea.

Lesson 2: Learn to Love a Little Weirdness

My mother, a bed-and-breakfast owner with the energy of a labrador retriever discovering snow, insists that every guest depart with a “Maine memory.” This involves whimsical traditions like post-breakfast riddle contests and impromptu hiking trivia. Once, she serenaded a honeymooning couple with her rendition of “Islands in the Stream” while serving blueberry pancakes. I thought it was mortifying—until I realized the couple’s laughter would probably outlast their tan lines.

This quirky generosity bled into every family tradition, from our annual clam chowder cook-off (judged by a rotating cast of confused tourists) to moonlit sandcastle competitions. The lesson here? People remember the unusual. Romantic dinners and roses are fine, but a late-night plankton hunt with flashlights is unforgettable.

When I overthink whether I’m “too much” for someone, I remember these moments. We all have quirks—our metaphoric “serenading during breakfast”—and the right people will love us not despite them but because of them. Embrace the weirdness. Weird is magnetic.

Lesson 3: What’s Gone Can Still Hold Meaning

Not all family lore is playful. Some, like my father’s account of nearly losing our home to a vicious nor’easter, tread deeper waters. The storm swept one of our favorite family hikes—my dad’s favorite lookout point near Acadia—straight into the ocean. Afterward, he spoke about it with reverence, not loss. “Even when something’s gone, it doesn’t mean it didn’t matter,” he’d said, looking at the sea. His voice was steady, like the tide itself.

Relationships, I’ve learned, work much the same way. When breakups feel like a lost cliffside, it’s tempting to erase them as pain-filled rubble. But the truth is, some relationships leave permanent impressions, shaping who you are and what you value. Not everything is meant to last, but that doesn’t diminish its significance.

Sometimes, things wash away, like Harold’s lobster traps or a favorite trail. And, honestly? That’s okay. What matters is keeping the memory and the lessons it taught you afloat.

Lesson 4: Know When to Fight the Tide—and When to Float With It

If there’s one thing coastal living will teach you, it’s how to adjust to the flow. You don’t fight rip currents, you ride them. You don’t run from the incoming tide—you plan around it. These were survival lessons my dad drilled into me during countless beach days, and they’ve somehow made their way into how I handle relationships, too.

Exhibit A: You can’t force someone to love you, just like you can’t force the Atlantic Ocean to calm down on a stormy day. I tried that once—dated someone who was about as emotionally available as a buoy—and quickly realized pushing against the tide of incompatibility leaves you bruised. On the other hand, leaning into a relationship that naturally works? That feels like riding a wave straight to shore.

The next time you’re navigating a budding romance—or even a rocky one—remember this: balance what’s worth fighting for and what needs to be left to the tides.

Lesson 5: Keep Your Compass Steady

No story shaped my approach to self-worth more than a simple one my mother told me about a lighthouse keeper who lived on a nearby island. After years of keeping his light on for lost sailors, he grew tired of not being seen himself. One day, he extinguished it, only to watch ships flounder and crew members cry out for guidance. “Give yourself credit for the light you provide,” my mom would say every time I doubted my own worth.

In dating, it’s easy to forget that. We dim our light to seem more agreeable, withholding opinions or passions that might scare someone off. But in doing so, we shortchange not only ourselves but the people looking for someone exactly like us.

So, this is your reminder: Be the lighthouse, not the foghorn. Speak up, shine brightly, and never apologize for being a steady source of light and strength. You’ll eventually draw in someone who doesn’t just admire your light but cherishes it.

The Takeaway

My family stories have taught me more about relationships than any “10 Ways to Find the One” list ever could. Whether it’s letting go of what’s been lost, leaning into quirky traditions, or trusting that the right lobster is out there waiting for my trap, these tales have become my compass. They remind me that love isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence, patience, and remembering to laugh when life throws a seagull at your picnic.

As you navigate your own journey, keep this in mind: sometimes, the best relationship advice doesn’t come from dating gurus but from the humbling lessons of tides, lobsters, or even a B&B breakfast serenade. You just have to be willing to listen.

And maybe, just maybe, keep a slice of blueberry pie handy for the journey.