An Avalanche, a Cabin, and a Lesson in Love
There’s a phrase in life, and occasionally on bumper stickers: “Sometimes the thing you’re looking for finds you first.” I didn’t give it much weight—thought it sounded like a thing you embroider on a throw pillow—until the Spring of 2018, when I spent three unexpected days snowbound in a cabin. Alone. With a book on Stoic philosophy.
Let me back up a bit.
I had headed into the Rockies for a solo trip, the winter air cold enough to stiffen the leather reins on my saddle as I rode closer to the tree line. It was supposed to be a quick weekend to clear my head and tune out the world. But Mother Nature, unpredictable and dramatic as that one ex who never quite learned boundaries, had other plans. Overnight, an avalanche buried the main trail, leaving me stuck in a creaky log cabin borrowed from a friend. No phone signal, no way out—just me, a wood stove, and a goodwill paperback titled Meditations by Marcus Aurelius I’d stuffed into my bag "just in case." (The fact that I brought philosophy along on what was supposed to be a cowboy weekend should already tell you things were going sideways.)
This wasn’t just a weather mishap. This was a metaphor hurtling face-first into my life—and, as it turned out, my relationships.
Why Stoicism and Dating Are Weirdly Connected
If you’ve ever been ghosted, had the Situation-ship Speech™, or found yourself deciphering an emoji like it’s ancient hieroglyphics, you know relationships often feel like traversing a Colorado trail after the first snow: slippery, confusing, and borderline dangerous. And like the mountains, they don’t usually play by the rules you’d prefer.
Anyway, over those few days of being snowbound, I started reading Marcus Aurelius. His words hit harder than I expected. One passage, in particular, got me thinking: “You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”
Honestly? At first, I rolled my eyes. On the surface, it feels like something a guy says after your texts start turning one-sided: “Sorry you feel that way.” But as I reread it—more out of boredom than enlightenment—it clicked. This isn’t dispassionate or cold advice; it’s… freeing. The only thing you can really control in love—or life—is how you choose to respond.
Think about how many fights or heartbreaks are fueled by unmet expectations. I’ve definitely ruminated over the way someone “should” act or “should” feel. But maybe relationships would feel less like a battlefield if we stopped treating our partners—or potential partners—like puzzle pieces we’re determined to shove into an image we imagined before they even arrived.
Flirting Without Strings and Actually Paying Attention
Once the storm cleared, I couldn’t stop seeing connections between my romantic life and what I'd read by that fire. Back in Telluride, with fresh eyes (and a fresh appreciation for dry socks), I tried a little experiment the next time I met someone intriguing—a barista at a latte art competition, believe it or not. Instead of banishing “How do I steer this toward a date?” alarms in my head, I just… decided to let myself be curious. No deadline. No internal PowerPoint slide about where this might lead.
At one point, I asked her—partly because I’d read a lot of trailside graffiti over the years—“What’s something unexpected you’ve written down and kept?” She laughed and shared that she once scrawled an entire grocery list on the back of her bank statement because “genius strikes when you least expect it.” Silly? Maybe. Memorable? Definitely. She ended up teaching me how to steam milk without scorching it the following week over coffee.
Be honest: when was the last time you flirted without secretly drafting contingencies for how things could go wrong—or making a timeline for that banter to turn into brunch? Marcus’s voice still echoed in my head, externally guiding horseback tours but internally reminding me, Power over my mind, not theirs.
Dating like this was weird, but good weird. And maybe you don’t need to survive an avalanche to discover that taking the pressure off feels as refreshing as that first summer run through mountain streams.
My Avalanche Epiphany in Action
Applying Stoic wisdom to dating—a sentence I never thought I’d type when I lived in Wranglers—isn’t about resigning yourself to loneliness or being cold-hearted. It’s about training yourself for the emotional rugged terrain we’ll all encounter when building or deepening connections.
Here’s what my avalanche epiphany taught me—simple but radical enough to stick:
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Train Your Expectations Like You Train Your Horse
Keep them well-handled, realistic, and ready to adapt. Did you picture a rom-com-worthy meet-cute, only to find your “date” asked to split the check before appetizers arrived? Cool. It’s not a loss—it’s just intel. Collect it, and move forward. -
Learn to Pack an Emotional Toolkit
Remember the essentials: empathy, curiosity, and a healthy dose of humor. Think of it as your compass and ski goggles in white-out love situations. If nothing else, these will keep you steady and help you hear someone better—even when you’re just barely getting to know the terrain they call home. -
Control What You Can—But Let Go of the Rest
Do you know what holds up terribly in a snowstorm? A perfect plan. Same for an opening line or date-night formula. Focus instead on showing up ready to listen well and be present. No guarantees—only honesty. -
Be Prepared to Laugh at the Chaos of It All
Whether you're dodging dumb dating advice (just be chill and mysterious) or waiting for someone to decode your own cryptic signals, lean into the absurdity. We all overthink and overanalyze—relationships are humbling, sometimes hilarious experiments, not math problems.
The Howling Answer to Love's Big Questions
When your generator’s out in the middle of the Rockies, storm winds howling louder than a John Denver ballad, it’s easy to feel helpless. In that moment, I could’ve kicked myself for underestimating the storm, maybe even panicked. Instead, I threw another log on the fire, cracked open an old book, and realized we don’t get to write life’s storms—all we really control is what we choose to focus on when one thunders through.
Sure, romance might never fit neatly into rails or rules—it’s messy and unpredictable. But if you treat it like an alpine adventure, not a laser-scored chem lab needing perfect components or pre-outcomes, you’ll find there’s beauty to be gained even when an avalanche temporarily knocks you off the path.
