I’ve got three big obsessions in life: sagebrush, old boots, and the mysterious ways people fall in love. They might not seem like the most natural trio, but stick with me here—each speaks to a truth about life and relationships that’s universal (and, let’s be honest, wildly entertaining). So come along as I unpack these quirks and show you how they’ve shaped the way I navigate this rollercoaster we call the human connection.

The Sagebrush Philosophy: Why Complicated Things Are Worth It

Growing up in Wyoming, I learned pretty fast that sagebrush is everywhere. It’s not showy—it doesn’t bloom like wildflowers or tower like the Douglas fir, but it’s fiercely reliable. Its resilience is unmatched; this stuff thrives in rocky dirt, relentless sun, and bone-dry seasons. And yeah, sometimes it smells like a mix of earth and miracles after the rain.

Dating, I’ve learned, has its own kind of “sagebrush moments.” It’s not always glamorous. The initial spark—the wildflower, if you will—is great for a second, but real love? That’s sagebrush. It’s steady, adaptable, and underrated for how strong it has to be. When I meet people who insist that love has to look a certain way—sweeping gestures, endless perfection—I want to tell them about sagebrush.

Sagebrush love might mean working through difficult conversations or showing up when it’s easier to ghost. It’s learning that depth and beauty live in places you can only see if you stick around long enough. Sure, it might not smell sweet all the time, but there’s poetry in its survival.

Try this: Next time something about dating feels messy or complicated, ask yourself, “Am I just expecting wildflowers? Or is this a sagebrush moment, the kind that grows into something worth tending?”

Old Boots, New Lessons: Embracing Your Weird

Confession: I still wear the same pair of boots I bought my sophomore year of college. That’s right—long after their prime, these boots are still here, hobbling along in my life. Are they beat up? Sure. Are the soles wearing thin? Definitely. But they’ve molded to my quirks—my slightly uneven stride, my tendency to push in the backs instead of untying the laces like a reasonable human being.

To me, the boots are a symbol of something that I think works wonders in relationships: embracing your quirks and letting other people embrace theirs. We all wear scars, we all have baggage, and honestly, we all have that messed-up “boot” version of ourselves that isn’t perfect but tells a better story than anything new ever could.

I once dated someone who could not wrap their head around me sketching wildlife at 5 a.m. on days off. They’d groan when my alarm went off and say, “Who does this on vacation?” Well, I do. And here’s the kicker: I would have dropped that hobby for them (red flag, by the way, Jax of the past) if a friend hadn’t given me a wake-up call. He said something like, “Why would you trade in your boots for a cheap pair that don’t fit?” Walked away from that relationship soon after.

Lesson learned: Being lovable doesn’t mean being a perfectly polished version of yourself. The right person won’t see your quirks as things to fix—they’ll love them for the stories they tell.

The Great Courtship Migration: Studying Love, Jackson Style

Did I mention I studied wildlife biology? Watching animals in the wild gave me a new respect for courtship rituals. There are birds that build singing perches, frogs that croak all night, or bison bulls that literally fight to win a female’s attention. Turns out, humans aren’t all that different when you think about it. We’ve just replaced antler battles with awkward first dates and overthought text messages.

Here’s the fun part: every species has their thing. But they all prioritize what works for them, and you have to learn to do the same. My own style of “courtship” is a bit niche. Romantic gestures in my repertoire include things like making campfire coffee before sunrise, handwriting letters on recycled paper, and memorizing exactly how someone takes their pancakes on mornings when the air smells like frost and pine needles. But for someone else, it might be sending thoughtful memes or keeping their favorite seltzer stocked in the fridge.

The point is, we’re all just doing the best with what we’ve got. The secret isn’t to fake some elaborate peacock display; it’s to own your version and let someone show up for it—or not. And when someone tries to make you fit their mold instead of appreciating the weird ways you court your connections? That’s the social equivalent of a mountain lion strolling into a bison fight—completely mismatched.

Life Advice from a Moose

Let me leave you with a story. One foggy spring morning, I was pulling together some equipment for a trail survey, and I stumbled upon a moose calf struggling to cross an overflowing river. Now, if you know anything about moose, you know they’re not afraid of water—but this calf was hesitant, pacing the bank while its mother called from the other side. Eventually, she waded partway back, making just enough of a splash to coax her little one through the current.

Watching that, I was reminded that we all have “currents” we hesitate to cross—especially in relationships. Fear, past heartbreak, or just plain awkwardness can hold us on the bank. But when someone makes the leap first? It’s a nudge we sometimes need to take the plunge ourselves.

Takeaway time: Relationships aren’t solo journeys across calm ponds. They’re rivers with swift currents, slippery rocks, and moments when you lose your footing. But if you and your partner are both willing to get your boots wet, that effort creates something as sturdy as sagebrush, as forgiving as broken-in leather, and as wild as any love story worth telling.

And if that’s not an obsession worth unpacking, I don’t know what is.