Home is where the heart is—or in my case, where the beer foams, the foothills roll, and the ghosts of teenage crushes on skateboards still haunt the streets of downtown Boise. I didn’t just grow up here; I was thoroughly marinated in every quirk and charm this place had to offer. As I now piecemeal my way through freelance adulthood, I’m reminded daily that Boise shaped not only who I am but also how I love. Let me explain.

First Base: Foothills and First Crushes

Boise’s North End is one of those neighborhoods where every street corner feels like a scrapbook. It’s where I first learned that the right setting makes all the difference in matters of the heart. My teenage crush, Trevor—long hair, Doc Martens, and that one CD of The Smashing Pumpkins he absolutely wouldn’t shut up about—taught me this on a hike in the foothills. Sweaty, gasping, and surrounded by sagebrush taller than our self-esteem, he blurted, “You’re cool, I guess.” I’ve since learned this isn’t the baseline for romance.

But those foothills? Oh, they were the perfect stage for fledgling connections, their trails a metaphor for a young romance—never quite sure where they’ll lead, occasionally rocky, and somehow only fun in retrospect when your lungs aren’t on fire. Even now, when life gets messy or Tinder gets redundant (sorry—no apps, I know, I know), I lace up my boots, hike those trails, and remember the beauty of keeping it simple.

The Downtown Stage: Love in the Age of Craft Beer

You can’t be raised in a family-run brewery without learning a thing or two about chemistry. Brewing beer is a delicate dance of the right ingredients, the right timing, and, honestly, a solid dose of patience. Love’s a lot like that, too—or at least that’s what my dad always joked as he poured pale ales for those flirty couples who sat closer than necessary at the bar.

Barstools turned out to be a magical setting for my early twenties. Whether it was the thrill of a Denver craft beer conference post-college or navigating a fateful trivia night where I “accidentally” joined the winning team because one guy had a laugh like Jon Stewart, the brewery world gave me a crash course in social dynamics. People reveal themselves, the good and the awkward, after a few drinks. And no, not every connection is a masterpiece batch—but if you don’t try new things, you miss out. (Much like the time I skipped a seasonal Huckleberry IPA—rookie mistake.)

Chicago Blues and My Own Groove

Moving to Chicago for my journalism fellowship was like dating someone completely wrong for you but also inexplicably thrilling. The city had skyscrapers taller than my dreams and people who walked so quickly they made my foothill trekking habits look amateur. Chicago isn’t shy—it’ll take you to a loud dinner at a deep-dish joint and make you share your seat on the El with someone’s damp gym bag. And yet, it grows on you.

Like all true loves—places or people—it wasn’t Chicago that had to change, but me. It’s where I learned a critical relationship skill: showing up as my authentic self. I wore my Idaho roots proudly in the newsroom, broadcasting potato-based dad jokes and listening to indie rock no one had heard of yet. I stood out, sure, but I also landed my first big byline by doing just that. Chicago gave me grit (and about five pounds of Giordano’s pizza weight).

Lessons from the Boise River

As I flowed back into Boise life, the Boise River became my ultimate metaphor for relationships. It’s not just a tangly stream that cuts through the city; it’s the kind of place where lazy summer afternoons make you question whether anything beyond floating really matters.

Relationships are like river floats. You have to navigate obstacles (hello, relationship fights = snags submerged underwater), accept there will be detours (kayak guy, you’re cute, but commuting daily from Nampa is a dealbreaker), and sometimes just trust the current. That was a hard lesson to embrace after my own messy mid-twenties breakup, but sitting on the riverbank one evening, journal clutched like it was a lifeline, I let Boise’s water remind me what I always knew: keep moving forward. You’ll find your rhythm again.

The Takeaway: Build Roots, But Keep Growing

Home isn’t just where you’re from—it’s the place that shaped how you love, how you connect, and how you approach both life and relationships. Boise gave me storytelling flair, endless metaphors about potatoes, and the clarity to recognize that real love, like a good craft beer or a well-worn hiking trail, takes time and intention.

Too often, we look outward for answers about who we should be in relationships: dating coaches popping up all over social media, romcom fantasies about meet-cutes on trains, or advice columns that tell us to reinvent ourselves on Instagram to draw attention. But the truth is more permanent: your place, your history, and your quirks are your greatest assets. They’re what make you you, and no love worth its weight in huckleberries will ask you to leave those behind.

So the next time you’re in the thick of figuring out what’s next—whether it’s love, life, or just deciding which trails to hit on Sunday—ask yourself what your hometown would tell you. Its lessons, like its landmarks, don’t disappear; they stick with you, showing up when you need them most.

And hey, if you ever find yourself in Boise, let me buy you a beer.