My obsessions have this way of creeping up on me quietly—like that mysterious spare sock in your dryer—and suddenly taking over my life in the most delightful way. One day, you’re casually Googling “1910s knife sharpening techniques” during lunch, and the next, you’re explaining to your bewildered friends why a whetstone collection is an essential part of your survivalist fantasy life. (Spoiler alert: It is. And no, I’m not prepared to discuss it further.)

The thing about obsessions is that they often reveal the weird, wonderful threads that weave us together as people. They’re quirky, occasionally inexplicable snapshots of our interests, histories, even identities. For better or worse, mine have played an outsized role in my relationships—platonic, romantic, and professional. So, let me invite you into my brain for a little tour. Buckle up. It’s… a lot.

The Notebook Hoarder Chronicles

It started innocently enough, with a middle-school spiral-bound journal covered in Lisa Frank dolphins. Now, at slightly more than middle-school age, this innocent habit has evolved into a full-blown stationery situation. Let me sum it up: if you walk into my apartment, there is a solid chance you’ll trip over a stack of unused notebooks and land face-first into a pile of fancy pens. I’ve got one for journaling, one for travel notes, one for “important ideas” (half of which are just half-baked potato recipes), and one I bought just because it smelled good.

Why does this matter? Because anyone who’s been in a relationship with me knows there will come a point where they catch me rushing to scribble down a moment we shared while muttering, “This is so going in the memoir.” Don’t worry—your secrets are safe. Probably.

And much like first dates that fizzle, new notebooks often come with so much hope and potential… only to end up abandoned after three pages filled with illegible musings about the perfect IPA. Still, they remind me of something: every idea deserves a little love before it’s set free (or unceremoniously filed into the “nope” pile).

The Tomato Cultivator Phase

I was 22 and fresh off my stint in Chicago when I decided to reconnect with my Idaho roots. No, I didn’t buy a potato farm—that would’ve been a little too on the nose. I turned my attention to tomatoes instead. Heirlooms, to be specific. There’s something oddly romantic about nurturing a living thing, and I believed that if I could keep a Cherokee Purple or Brandywine variety alive, surely I could handle the wild unpredictability of adult relationships.

Spoiler: I could not.

But here’s the thing about growing tomatoes (and, let’s be real, dating): it’s all about patience. Do you know how many times I had to coax my boyfriend at the time into pretending to care that my Sun Golds hadn’t ripened yet? Too many. It turned out that “nurturing” isn’t always a two-way street—but my little tomato corner? It was a steady, simple joy during one of those complicated periods of life. Tomatoes don’t ghost you, after all.

Fly-Fishing My Way Through Heartbreak

Fly-fishing hits differently when you grow up in a mountain-river town like Boise. For me, it started as a post-breakup, teeth-gritted kind of exercise—a way to channel all that “Why doesn’t he text me back?” energy into something productive. Wading into the swirling Boise River currents, rod in hand, balanced me in ways that even the cheesiest self-help book couldn’t. Plus, nothing says “healing journey” like accidentally hooking yourself in the sleeve while crying into your waders.

This obsession taught me more about relationships than I’d care to admit. Casting a line isn’t about brute force; it’s all about finesse, timing, and trusting in something bigger. You don’t reel in every fish, and that’s not the point. The ones that fight too hard to stay in the water? Maybe it’s better to just let them go.

Baking My Way Through Love

If you haven’t yet attempted to bake bread from scratch with a significant other, let me be your cautionary tale. It sounds romantic—the flour-dusted counters, wine glasses clinking, promises of a perfectly crusty loaf. But three hours in, when your arm is about to fall off from kneading, and your partner insists, “I told you to fold, not stir that dough,” you’ll quickly realize that the real test of compatibility lies in the kitchen.

I’ve made sourdough starters with boyfriends, cinnamon rolls with friends, and once, a questionable attempt at rainbow macarons with my niece. Relationships, much like baking projects, are equal parts science and jazz—a mix of predictable steps and chaotic improvisation. (And if your partner doesn’t laugh when your banana bread collapses into a pudding-like mess, they were never the right one anyway.)

Also, pro tip: shared baked goods can smooth over just about anything—yes, even when you whisper, “This tastes weirdly sour, right?” mid-bite.

Lessons From Obsession

Over time, I’ve come to accept that these quirky passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re lifelines. They’ve saved me from spiraling into existential despair on lonesome Saturday nights and given me an excuse to forge connections with people I never would’ve crossed paths with otherwise. They’ve steered me toward deeper self-awareness and out of more than one bad mood.

Here’s what I’ve learned through obsessing over the weird, delightful corners of life:

  • Pay attention to what lights you up. Obsessions are often a mirror reflecting what you secretly crave—growth? Connection? Novelty? Find out, and lean in unapologetically.
  • Let them evolve. My tomato phase eventually petered out, replaced by my love of local hiking trails. That’s okay. Life’s about flow, not rigidity.
  • Share them (selectively). If someone really vibes with your penchant for vintage stationery or sourdough fails, they’re probably your people. But if they don’t? That’s fine. The things that make you, you, don’t need universal approval.
  • Appreciate the missteps. Whether it’s overdoing the salt in your focaccia or accidentally killing an unripe bonsai stick (don’t ask…), your quirks aren’t about perfection—they’re about progression.

Ultimately, obsessions are vehicles for joy, connection, and learning. Whether they lead you to a lifelong hobby or serve as a reminder of your quirky beautiful self, they’re worth embracing in all their over-the-top, impractical glory.

So next time you hear someone giggling over a new hobby—whether it’s macramé or competitive pumpkin carving—don’t dismiss it. Celebrate it. After all, one person’s charming quirk is another person’s reason for lighting up a little brighter.