There’s a moment I distinctly remember from the summer I turned thirteen. A tourist couple—midwestern accents as thick as the Idaho air in August—arrived at my family’s lakeside resort late at night, fresh off some disastrous road trip detour. They were hungry, tired, and bickering like only people who’ve been stuck in a car together for hours can. As my mom handed over their room key, I offered them extra snacks from behind the counter, and the woman, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, said, “If we survive this vacation, I’m calling it a win.”

I didn’t know it then, but that was my first real lesson in relationships: even love can get carsick.

Over the years, I’ve learned that the path to connection is rarely a freshly paved highway. It’s dirt roads, detours, breathtaking views, and blown-out tires. And for reasons both obvious and unconscious, that’s the kind of journey I’ve always been drawn to—offbeat, meaningful, messy at times, but worth the miles.

So why did I choose to write about dating and relationships for a living? Because, to me, love and connection aren’t just about other people—they’re about discovering the richest parts of yourself along the way.

Growing Up in the Landscape of Connection

I grew up in a small lakeside town where the concept of "community" wasn’t abstract—it was tangible. It looked like potluck dinners held beneath towering pines, couples dancing to live banjos on summer nights, and neighbors who jumped at the chance to help a lost tourist find their way. My parents’ resort was like a microcosm of human connection: strangers arrived stressed and uncertain, but over the course of a few days by the lake, you’d see them relax, reconnect, and even fall in love with life again.

Back then, I thought love stories were grand, sweeping things—full of proposals on mountaintops and poetic last words whispered under starry skies. But being steeped in the rhythms of resort life taught me something else. Love happens not just in the epic moments but in the tiny, almost invisible ones: sharing the last piece of pie, laughing at terrible canoe skills, or sitting quietly together watching the lake turn gold at sunset. That’s the backdrop I carry with me into every story I tell.

Finding My Own Path (And Any Kind of Stability)

Like many of us, my twenties were spent wrestling with questions about love, careers, and whether that other sock would magically show up in the dryer one day (spoiler: it didn’t). I majored in Environmental Studies, drawn to the idea of protecting wild places like the ones that shaped me. But while my professional path turned to conservation and advocacy, my personal life felt messier—like I’d lost the trail.

This was all unfolding in the early whirlwind days of online dating, where finding a connection often felt like trying to assemble Ikea furniture without instructions. You’d think that someone who grew up surrounded by happy couples would know how to navigate dating with finesse—but no. I sent accidental double text messages, Googled “how to decode ‘k’ as a response,” and once, out of sheer panic, pretended I loved rock climbing (I do not).

But for all its awkwardness and unpredictability, the seemingly endless trial and error of dating taught me something invaluable: the people we meet—whether they become a lasting partner or just a funny brunch story—are all part of a larger ecosystem we call life. Every experience contributes to the bigger picture of who you are.

Why I Write About Relationships

More than a decade later, I still think about those travelers at the resort—worn out from the road, likely trying their best with what they had in that moment. Turns out, that’s what most of us are doing too. Life throws storms, green lights, rainbows, and potholes onto our path. At the heart of all of it is the question we’re all trying to answer: How do I connect? With others, with myself, with the world.

Forging healthy, meaningful relationships doesn’t come with a one-size-fits-all roadmap. That’s part of the reason I started writing about love, dating, and connection—to help shed some light (and sneak in a little laughter) on what can often feel murky.

Here’s what I believe:

  1. Connection starts with self-awareness.
    Figuring out who you are and what you truly want is step one. It’s like packing for a camping trip—you need to know your essentials before you head into the wilderness of modern romance.

  2. It’s okay to mess up.
    Relationships—like a mismanaged campfire—can get messy. But you’ll learn from every mistake. Sure, I’ve accidentally “typed ha-ha too many times in a text” levels of awkward, but I’ve found that giving yourself grace is the secret to avoiding burnout in love (and in life).

  3. Every story matters.
    Whether it’s an embarrassing first date or a ten-minute conversation with a stranger, there’s value in exploring the connection. Relationships might not always last, but the lessons linger.

By leaning into these truths, I’ve come to view love and dating as an adventure not unlike hiking through the forests around my hometown: a little unpredictable, sometimes challenging, but always worthwhile.

Lessons from the Woods to the World

Somewhere between trying a dating app for two weeks and realizing it was not my scene, I also realized this: love, like the natural world, follows its own seasons. There are springlike phases of excitement and discovery, summer stretches of comfort and warmth, autumn moments of growth and transition, and, yes, winters of heartbreak that seem endless. Understanding that relationships ebb and flow has kept me grounded—and also convinced me that no one should make major life decisions in February.

Living in northern Idaho showed me that tending to a strong relationship isn’t so far off from maintaining a good trail in the wilderness. You clear the debris. You watch for signs of erosion. You plan for unpredictable weather. Some days are a slog, and others reward you with jaw-dropping beauty. It all comes down to showing up, day after day, with intention.

To the Reader Finding Their Way

If I could offer one takeaway, it’d be this: connection comes in surprising forms. Yes, in a soul-stirring kind of love, but also in small, fleeting moments—a kind word, a shared laugh, the quiet joy of just being with someone who gets you.

I chose this path because relationships aren’t just what make life bearable; they’re what make life extraordinary. They don’t require you to be perfect, only willing to try, to listen, to stumble, and, eventually, to find your own pace.

Whatever stage you’re in—flirting, serious, single, unsure—I hope you’ll give yourself the kindness you deserve as you navigate it all. After all, isn’t life just one big, breathtaking trail? And with the right company, even the scrappiest paths lead somewhere incredible.