I was halfway up a hiking trail in Big Sur, clutching a water bottle like it was a lifeline, when it hit me: I didn’t sign up for this. Well, the literal hike, yes. My best friend had insisted that reconnecting with nature would cure my post-breakup blues. But the broader “life hike” I seemed to be on? No, thank you. I wasn’t in the mood for some existential epiphany brought on by a view of foggy redwoods. And yet, that’s exactly what happened.

It started innocently enough—a chance encounter with a couple arguing over trail mix—but that moment set off a chain reaction I didn’t see coming. By the time I came down from that mountain, I wasn’t just a person with muddy boots and sore calves. I was someone determined to tell stories that explored how human connection mirrors nature. Sometimes messy, sometimes breathtaking, sometimes just really hard work, but always meaningful. And here I am, years later, writing about love, life, and relationships—as surprised as anyone. Here's the story of how I accidentally discovered my purpose.

The Trail Mix Debacle: Or, How I Learned Love is in the Details

If you’ve ever been on one of those “easy” hikes that suddenly turns into an endurance test, you know how small irritations can become epic. Somewhere between mile two and three, I spotted a couple sitting on a boulder, mid-argument. She wanted to eat the peanut M&M’s from the trail mix separately (obviously the best part—let’s not debate this), while he insisted it “ruined the balance.” For five minutes, it played out like prime-time melodrama. There were hand gestures. There were exasperated sighs. Clumps of granola were sacrificed to the forest floor as collateral damage.

But then something shifted. He reached out, handed her the bag with a sheepish grin, and said, “Take them, then.” They laughed. Suddenly, the air lightened, and they looked at each other with that unspoken understanding only years together can bring: Sometimes you fight over peanuts because it’s not really about the peanuts. It’s about compromise—meeting your person in the middle of the mess, even if it’s on a mountain trail. And in that moment, I started asking myself questions I didn’t have answers to yet.

Why do some people figure it out while others lose their way? Is it fate? Compatibility? Or, more likely, just the willingness to humble yourself in front of the person you love, even when it’s about something as ridiculous as candy-coated chocolate?

Breakup Hikes and Unexpected Connections

Let’s backtrack for context. The hike wasn’t just a random Sunday activity. It was a post-breakup intervention, orchestrated by a friend determined to distract me from the spiral of overthinking. My relationship of three years had just ended, and I was smack in the middle of the “Was it me? Was it them? Is everyone doomed to wind up alone watching bad reality TV?” phase. Nature, my friend decided, was the perfect solution. “You’re from Santa Barbara! You belong outside!” she argued. (As if proximity to stunning coastal views makes me Joan of the Wilderness.)

I agreed to go, largely because being left alone with my thoughts sounded worse than crawling up a dirt path. But I wasn’t expecting to run into that couple—or to have their small, silly argument lodge itself in my brain like a catchy song.

By the time we reached the summit, I was replaying my own history of disagreements. The fights over dishwasher placement (spoiler: bowls go in the top rack), text tone misinterpretations, and countless other adorable disasters that now seemed oddly important in hindsight. Maybe what I had dismissed as trivial during the relationship wasn’t trivial at all. Maybe the peanuts and the M&M’s mattered.

What Nature Knows About Love (That I Didn’t)

When you grow up in a place like Santa Barbara, it’s easy to romanticize nature: sunsets that look like oil paintings, waves that hum like white noise machines. But growing up near the beach didn’t prepare me for what being in the wild felt like. Out here, nature wasn’t just “pretty.” It was gritty, chaotic, and beautifully indifferent. Every tree and rock had survived something—storms, fires, erosion. And yet, here they were, holding steady against time.

I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to relationships. The couple I had seen had clearly weathered their fair share of storms, but their bond seemed stronger for it. Maybe relationships, like ecosystems, thrive not because they’re perfect, but because they learn to adapt. They respond to change instead of resisting it. And that understanding started to bloom in me—slow and subtle, like spring wildflowers after the rain.

The Takeaway: Finding Purpose in Peanut M&M’s

I wish I could tell you that I came down from the mountain with all of life’s answers. I didn’t. (I did, however, develop a blinding craving for peanut M&M’s.) But that day planted a seed. For the first time, I started thinking about love and connection as something active, dynamic—like a trail you have to navigate together. And over time, that idea grew into something bigger.

What if I could write about those intersections? Where heartbreak and humor meet, where nature and human experience collide. Relationships weren’t just something messy and personal—they were universal, reflective of the worlds we build around us, the climates we create for ourselves and others. And just like the trees and the trails, they’re worth preserving.

Practical Advice for Your Own Purpose-Discovering Hike

If you’re stuck, lost, or questioning everything, here are a few lessons I gleaned from this unexpected journey:

  1. Go Outside (Yes, Really): You don’t have to backpack across Patagonia, but changing your surroundings—even for an afternoon—can shift your perspective. Plus, there’s something about sweating up a hill that makes existential crises feel oddly manageable.

  2. Embrace the Small Stuff: Whether it’s trail mix or text etiquette, the little things in relationships are often stand-ins for bigger themes. Take time to notice and address them.

  3. Be Open to Accidents: Not knowing where you’re heading can be terrifying, but some of the best discoveries happen when you stop trying to force a plan. Let the unexpected moments surprise you.

  4. Learn From What’s Around You: Nature has survived millennia of catastrophes. Your drama over whether it's time to have the “define the relationship” talk? Manageable by comparison.

Coming Down the Mountain: A Life Lesson in Patience

Since that hike, I’ve pieced together the purpose I stumbled upon. My writing is my way of hiking the terrain of relationships, personal growth, and connection. It’s messy and imperfect, full of sharp rocks and shaky footing, but worth every step.

So, whether you’re in the middle of heartbreak or simply wondering what’s next, know this: The path isn’t always clear. But with enough peanut M&M’s (or whatever comforts you), a little patience, and some willingness to do the hard work, you can find the view you’ve been searching for.

And trust me, it’s a good one.