If my life were a movie, let’s just say I probably wouldn’t be played by Ryan Gosling. Not that I have anything against Hollywood’s golden boy, but come on—this face has “quirky indie film protagonist” written all over it. Think more Walton Goggins than Chris Hemsworth, with just enough rugged charm to make my missteps endearing.
So, let’s press play. The story opens in the sweeping landscapes of Telluride, Colorado, where the childhood version of me is corralling ponies, writing bad poetry about cowboy boots, and trying to impress tourists with my knowledge of mining history. Spoiler alert: the horses outshone me every time. As the camera pans to adult life—complete with wild romantic detours, time spent grappling with life’s big questions, and scenic shots of mountain trails—it becomes clear this isn’t your typical romance or action flick.
It’s more of a coming-of-age dramedy that took its sweet time. The cast? Let me introduce you.
Act One: The Protagonist (Or at Least He’s Trying)
For better or worse, I’m leading the charge here in the starring role. The actor taking on my part would need to juggle a few dynamics: the bookish idealism of someone who majored in History and Literature, the outdoorsy practicality of a guy who spent years mending fences, and the “why did I think dating in my 20s would be easier than roping a runaway mule?” energy that dominated my early adult years.
Let’s go with Paul Dano. He’s got that everyman vibe, capable of delivering both awkward charm and moments of surprising wisdom. Plus, he looks like the kind of guy who’s fallen off a horse or two—an authenticity I’d demand in the role. Also, let’s face it, casting someone too cool for school just wouldn’t feel right for this narrative. Life wasn’t always smooth, but at least I kept it interesting.
Act Two: The Love Interests and Misadventures
Every good movie needs a supporting cast to highlight just how flawed, human, and occasionally clueless our hero is. For me, that cast is composed of the women I met along the way—each one teaching me something valuable about life, love, and how not to behave when your partner hates camping.
First, there’s “The High-School Sweetheart” (played by Maya Hawke, because she’s equal parts sweet and sharp with a dash of wistfulness). We were both wide-eyed mountain kids who thought we’d keep life simple: settle down, stay local, and never once acknowledge that feelings get messy. Of course, life happened. We grew up, grew apart, and left our promises behind. Maya would nail the bittersweet ending to that first act.
Then there’s “The Free Spirit” phase. Picture this: Boulder, Colorado, right after college. She’s vegan, a yoga instructor, and owns a unicycle. I am absolutely not vegan, cannot touch my toes, and ride a mountain bike everywhere. It was a recipe for hilarious differences—like the time I had to pretend to enjoy quinoa for dinner. While Zoë Kravitz can’t personally unicycle (as far as I know), her cool, no-nonsense energy feels perfect here. The breakup? A simple, “This feels too grounded for me,” as she flew off to Burning Man.
Later, there’s “The Serious Relationship” (played by Alison Brie). She’s smart, career-driven, and too logical for the starry-eyed cowpoke in me. We lasted longer than the others simply because she had patience—for a while. But we bumped up against fundamental differences: She wanted city life and endless sushi dinners; I wanted a porch swing and my boots by the door. Parting ways felt like shedding skin, but sometimes two people just aren’t meant to be side characters in each other’s storylines forever.
Each of these women brought their own flair, their own lessons, and occasionally, their own really bad Netflix recommendations. Relationships didn’t last, but their influences shaped my story. Cue the acoustic guitar montage.
Act Three: The Wise Mentors (Yes, They Both Have Cowboy Hats)
No hero’s journey is complete without a few sage figures to step in and dole out unsolicited but shockingly relevant wisdom. My parents are naturals for this role—not just because they’ve been married for over 30 years but because working side-by-side in their outfitter business has made them experts in compromise. Mom has the dry wit of Frances McDormand, while Dad is all Sam Elliott gruffness, complete with the occasional “You know, son…” moment.
One of my favorite real-life memories plays like something straight from a feel-good movie. My dad, watching me stare at ranch accounting ledgers I had no business trying to balance, just shrugged and said, “It all works out in the end—but only if you're honest.” At the time, I thought he was talking numbers. Later, I realized he meant honesty with myself, my relationships, and my choices.
Act Four: The Soundtrack of Dating Missteps
To encapsulate every joy, heartbreak, and awkward dinner date requires a killer soundtrack. For the early years filled with hopeful flirtations and hopeless try-hard energy, put on John Denver’s "Leaving on a Jet Plane"—an ode to the times I thought distance could be romantic and not, well, exhausting.
During my “I’ll be single forever” phase (we all have one), it’s Willie Nelson’s “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” Am I crying into my cowboy hat? Maybe. No one’s watching. Finally, when things start looking up again, Brandi Carlile’s “The Story” brings it all home: cracks and all, it’s the imperfections that make you whole.
Act Five: The Happy (and Realistic) Ending
If Hallmark made this movie, I’d end up taming wild horses with Reese Witherspoon. But real life is messier and, thankfully, more interesting. My actual ending—so far—is serene and decidedly un-Hollywood: teaching local community college classes, hiking whenever possible, and realizing that solitude can be a partner, too. I don’t need the perfect rom-com resolution to feel like my life has meaning.
Maybe that’s the takeaway. Human connections (dating or otherwise) don’t need to be epic or endless to matter. What counts isauthenticity—learning to be yourself without apology, stumbles and all, and choosing relationships that add to your story, not define it. If Paul Dano can pull that off on screen, maybe one day I’ll buy the popcorn... and blush in the last row.
