Every family has its lore. Those tales of triumph or mishap, exaggerated over time, that define not only who your relatives are but, in some way, who you are. In my family, the stories were larger-than-life, passed around like a bottle of local Santa Barbara wine at one of my parents' fundraisers. They weren’t just anecdotes—they were lessons wrapped in humor, grounded in humanity, and, occasionally, teetering on the absurd.

And yet, those stories are where I learned how to understand people. My approach to relationships—romantic, platonic, or familial—is informed by these vivid narratives and the colorful cast of characters who starred in them. Looking back now, I see wisdom embedded in the punchlines. Let me introduce you to a few of my most treasured family stories and the quirks they imparted.

The Case of the Escaped Lobsters (Or, How to Embrace the Unexpected)

Picture this: It’s the late 1990s, the golden age of dial-up internet and baggy Levi's. My parents were hosting an elegant coastal dinner at our home, and my father, ever the ambitious entertainer, decided the pièce de résistance would be live-cooked Maine lobsters. This ensured maximum freshness, but what it didn’t ensure was maximum containment.

Somehow, one of these determined crustaceans Houdini-ed its way out of the cooler, scuttling across the kitchen floor and directly into the lap of my mom’s mortified (and possibly vegan) yoga instructor. Cue chaos. Aunt Jo screamed, the family dog barked hysterically, and my dad—God bless him—tried to reason with the lobster.

The lesson here wasn’t lost on me: Sometimes a situation unravels spectacularly, but all you can do is laugh and keep going. Growing up with parents who could defuse even a lobster-in-lap scenario taught me a mindset that has served me well every time a date has ghosted or a relationship has gone sideways. Life—and love—will always involve a little unpredictability. The key isn’t avoiding the mess; it’s finding the humor in it.

Uncle Pete’s Mismatched Shoes (Or, Why the Details Matter)

Uncle Pete, bless his heart, was one of those guys who could make you laugh by just existing. One Thanksgiving, he strode into my grandmother’s house confidently wearing one black loafer and one brown oxford, thoroughly convinced he was a style icon. “These are deliberate choices,” he announced when questioned. But no amount of charisma could extinguish the side-eye he got during dinner.

Pete’s accidental footwear faux-pas wasn’t just family comedy gold; it also became a strange compass for how I approached romantic relationships later on. Sure, we’re told to focus on big-picture compatibility—core values, shared dreams, mutual respect—but sometimes, the cracks are in the details. When you’re dating someone, you start noticing little things. How they tip the waiter. Whether they remember your friends' names. If they show up to your cousin’s wedding wearing literal Crocs. It adds up.

And Uncle Pete’s lesson wasn’t about perfection, mind you—it was about being deliberate. Whether you’re crafting a first date outfit or an opening line, pay attention. Details might not make or break everything, but they speak volumes about care, effort, and being present in the moment.

The Infinite Wisdom of Nana’s Love Letters

Nana Gloria wasn’t just family; she was a romantic force of nature. In her heyday, she had suitors lined up like surfers waiting for the perfect wave. And when she chose my grandfather, she saved every single letter they exchanged during their courtship, cataloged in neatly tied bundles. (This was Santa Barbara in the 1940s—no texting, just pure pen-and-paper grind.)

One rainy afternoon as a teenager, long before I understood love in any serious capacity, I found myself reading these letters at Nana’s bungalow. They were charming and grand, full of hand-drawn doodles and flirtatious jabs about my grandfather’s questionable handwriting. But they were also deeply vulnerable. “You bring color to my gray days,” she wrote in one—simple but sincere.

That moment stuck with me: the idea that romance is about unguarded honesty paired with a touch of playful audacity. So many of us get caught up in curating a perfect version of ourselves early on in relationships. We filter, refine, and endlessly second-guess. But the most magnetic connections—at least in my experience—are born when both people feel free to reveal their imperfections, their quirks, and even their most amateur attempts at love. Write that clumsy love note. Plan that silly date at the mini-golf course. Risk being a little uncool. Nana would approve.

The Cookout Karaoke Disaster (Or, Celebrate the Flaws)

My cousin, Jake, was never meant to sing in public. This is a universal truth we accepted as a family after a legendary July 4th barbecue where he attempted a passionate rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’” that flirted dangerously with a noise ordinance violation. The moment was too cringeworthy to describe yet too hilarious to ever forget.

But what struck me in the aftermath was how Jake owned it. He didn’t slink off in embarrassment; he leaned in. From then on, he introduced himself as “the family’s infamously bad Journey impersonator.” At weddings and parties, people begged him to repeat his performance—ironically at first, but then genuinely. Over time, his awfulness became kind of brilliant. There was joy in the imperfection, and Jake wore it like a badge.

In relationships, we can learn a lot from this. We put so much pressure on ourselves to be perfect—whether it’s making sure the first date flows seamlessly or agonizing over the biggest commitments later on. But there’s beauty in imperfection. Sometimes, the best icebreaker is sharing something hilariously human about yourself. It makes you relatable, and, honestly, it makes you unforgettable.

Final Thoughts: Carve Your Own Stories

Here's what the stories in my family ultimately taught me: No one has it perfectly figured out. Not in life, not in relationships, and certainly not when lobsters are on the loose. But the moments where it all goes sideways—those are the moments that shape us, connect us, and sometimes even guide us toward the kind of people we feel destined to share our lives with.

So the next time you’re at a family gathering and someone tells a wild story you’ve heard a thousand times, linger on it for a moment. There’s wisdom buried there, waiting to reveal itself. And if you can’t find it, well, at least it’ll give you something to laugh about over dinner.