Introduction: A Love Letter to My Quirks

Some people collect stamps, others obsess over fantasy football leagues, and then there’s me—hyper-fixated on the mating rituals of puffins and the precise art of folding a map so it aligns perfectly with its creases. They say you should never apologize for your obsessions, but try explaining to a first date why you approximate tide tables to decide your hiking routes, and you might start feeling the need to. Here's the thing: our quirks are what make us us, and if I've learned anything from both nature and relationships, it’s that uniqueness is often the secret ingredient to connection.

Yet, for years, I tried to sand my edges down, make myself more “dateable.” I told myself it’d be better to swap out puffin lore for polite conversation about “TV shows everyone else is watching.” But those watered-down attempts? They never landed. So, I stopped hiding. And honestly? I’ve been more successful and less stressed ever since. Let’s unpack this together—with a few puffin facts, obviously.

Obsessions We Don’t Choose... Or Do We?

My fascination with puffins (and, okay, seabirds in general) started when I was a kid and spotted one along the rocky Maine shoreline. Their awkwardness as they launch into flight? All of us trying to text back thoughtfully without sounding too eager. Their brightly-colored beaks, made only for the short summer months? A seasonal wardrobe change that puts even the chicest Parisian to shame.

Here’s the rub: we often don't consciously choose our obsessions. They sneak up on us the way a surprise crush does. One day, you’re casually walking the beach, and the next, you’re knee-deep in an online forum debating puffin conservation tactics with an ornithologist in Iceland. (Or maybe that's just me.)

The trick isn’t taming these obsessions—it’s owning them. Let’s not forget Steve Harrington taught us that carrying a little hair spray and a touch of confidence can go a long way (especially if your friends are battling flesh-eating Demogorgons). Your quirks deserve a spotlight. When you let them lead, the right people will follow.

Why Sharing Your Obsessions is a Power Move

When I first started dating, I made the classic mistake of approaching every conversation like it was an audition. How palatable could I make myself? Was I laughing at the right jokes? Did my interests sound spontaneous but not too weird? Knowing I’d be doomed the moment I let slip that I could identify at least 20 moss species growing in my backyard, I became an Olympic-level deflector of my own personality.

But here’s the thing I’ve discovered after plenty of trial, error, and one very memorable date involving a sunrise hike: when you hold back your passions, you’re not just shortchanging yourself—you’re depriving someone else of the chance to find them fascinating. Every time I talk about using tide charts to predict when tide pools will be teeming with life, someone’s ears perk up. (It’s always the same response: “Wait, you can do that?”) Little obsessions make you magnetic. They show that you’re curious, dedicated, and maybe a little unconventional—three cornerstones of true connection.

Quirks That Quietly Double as Green Flags

Not all obsessions come with how-to manuals, but the more I’ve embraced mine, the more I’ve realized just how many of them double as hidden relationship green flags. Let me show my work:

  • Map Folding Expertise (aka Extreme Attention to Detail): If I can fold a weathered trail map with surgical precision, you can bet I won’t forget your birthday or your complicated coffee order.
  • Tidal Fascination (aka Planning Ability): Should society crumble tomorrow, I’ll have us floating out to safety—because I’ve read the currents. Practicality can be romantic, people.
  • Puffin Enthusiasm (aka Undying Loyalty): Did you know puffins choose one mate for life? Exhibit A. (Be right back, swearing off all flightless birds forever.)

If someone raises an eyebrow at your quirks, it probably says more about their closed-mindedness than it does your perceived eccentricity. The right person won’t just tolerate your obsessions—they’ll ask to borrow a pair of binoculars so you can look for puffins together.

How Your Obsessions Teach You About Love

Here’s one of the most surprising lessons I’ve learned after years of fawning over seabirds and solving trail puzzles: our hobbies teach us more about connection than every rom-com combined. (Not that we don’t love you, When Harry Met Sally.)

Take puffins again. They return to the exact same cliffside burrows every year, swimming hundreds of miles to reconnect with their partners. The dedication! The trust! They’re basically out here showing us what it takes to thrive—teamwork and a little humor when you’re waddling over rocks.

Or maps, my underrated second love. They’ve taught me how to navigate not just terrain but relationships. You must mark the waypoints, plan for detours, and sometimes, yes, sit on a rock trail-side and admit you’ve gone slightly off course. The good news? All routes eventually lead home.

The point is this: our quirks aren’t random. They’re the breadcrumbs leading us toward the connections we’re meant to make, whether that’s with people, pursuits, or places that resonate on some deeper level.

Conclusion: Fly Your Freak Flag (or Puffin Feathers)

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from a lifetime of chasing what I love—whether it’s the smell of salt spray on pine trees or the sound of a puffin colony settling in for the night—it’s that the quirks we think hold us back are often the very things that make us irresistible.

So embrace your love of Dungeons & Dragons campaigns, niche playlists with overly specific themes, or your carefully documented hunt for the best local donut. Because true connection doesn’t come from being “normal.” It comes from being the person who, like the puffin, leans into their peculiarities with pride.

After all, wouldn’t you rather spend your time with someone who gets it—someone who shows up with a pair of binoculars, ready to spot puffins by your side?

Let’s make a pact: no hiding. No apologizing. And absolutely no folding ourselves up to fit shapes we don’t belong in.