Unpacking My Obsessions

You know that Oprah quote about how “your home should rise up to meet you”? I’ve always loved that sentiment. But in my case, it’s more like: my quirks loom large, take a seat on the couch, and prop their feet up on the coffee table. My obsessions? They’re front and center in everything I do—the threads of a chaotic, cozy quilt that somehow defines me.

Look, I didn’t grow up with flashy hobbies. There wasn’t a swing-dancing community near the lake, and skiing was less a sport and more a survival tactic when heading to the market in February. But as I’ve clawed my way to adulthood—and through some truly baffling relationships—I’ve realized my peculiar passions aren’t just entertaining icebreakers. They’re windows into who I am and why I love the way I do.

So, sit back, maybe grab a cup of something warm, and let me take you through the strange hallways of my fascinations.

The Power of Pack Rat Pages: My Notebook Addiction

It started innocently enough: a small, leather-bound journal sold at the lodge store when I was ten. My parents, wise in their knowledge of my restless energy, said I could write notes about my “adventures on the trails” if I promised not to wander too far. What began as sketches of squirrels somehow snowballed into a notebook hoarding situation so intense that Marie Kondo would consider quietly excusing herself from the room.

I don’t write in all of them (come on, the really pretty ones stay pristine and untouched). But journals—whether I’m actually jotting thoughts in their smooth pages or stacking them like Tetris bricks on my nightstand—have become my portable therapy. They’re my way of processing not just life by the lake, but relationships, too.

Think of it as analog emotional archaeology. I have scribbled notebooks devoted to heartbreaks fled, crushes nursed, and the ex who ghosted me moments after I tried making a camping-date playlist heavy on Bon Iver. (Why did I think “Holocene” was the soundtrack to flirtation? Why?)

What I’ve learned?
- Writing about someone—romantically or platonically—forces you to get clear on your feelings.
- Sometimes, rereading an entry years later reveals patterns. Am I drawn to people who have the emotional availability of a locked shed in winter? Maybe.
- Always leave yourself room for messy contradictions. People—and the feelings they evoke—are rarely tidy.

If you date me, you’ll probably end up in a notebook. I’ll also probably forget that anyone else is weirded out by me comparing love to dendrology (trees, folks—it’s all about growth rings).

Rocks Aren’t Just for Skipping

If my notebooks are an emotional vault, rocks are my grounding force. It happens when you’re raised in a place where boulders the size of SUVs sit casually along the water’s edge, as if Mother Nature was just tossing out decor ideas. I started collecting them young—slippery, speckled river stones, glittery quartz chunks from the hiking paths, and one smooth black pebble I swear has been my good luck charm since I found it at age twelve.

When I travel—whether that’s across the lake or deep into the Pacific Northwest for kicks—I pick up rocks. Not fancy, meet-me-on-Geology-Twitter rocks. Just whatever catches my eye. Sometimes it’s a marker for a memory ("This one came from the riverbank where I fell on my face in front of the attractive park ranger"). Other times, the rock is... well, just a rock!

What I’ve learned?
- Just as no two rocks are alike, no two connections are identical. (Cue me making this metaphor sound profound while my friends gently tell me to go touch some grass.)
- Dating and collecting rocks are strikingly similar: you have to pick them up, examine the details, and decide whether to bring them along for the journey.

Would I ever give someone a rock as a token of affection? I have. Twice. One person thought it was sweet, and the second didn’t meet my appreciation levels. You can imagine which one is now immortalized as a journal entry labeled “The Pebble Problem.”

Cooking with Chaos (and Love)

Ah, food. Ever since my parents shuffled miles of spaghetti into buffet warmers for weary hikers, I’ve found intrigue in cooking as an act of care. But here’s the difference between my childhood culinary roots and my “adult” approach: I now lean heavily into experimentation. My current meals are part laboratory, part actual cuisine.

When someone cares about me enough to enter my kitchen (and not immediately escape), it’s always noteworthy. First dates might involve coffee or hiking boots, but real intimacy? That happens over a bowl of soup full of ingredients I’m vaguely certain aren’t supposed to mix.

One ex called my kitchen style “part chef, part disaster movie.” Case study: the time I made sourdough French toast with rosemary and... candied almonds? Neither of us knew whether to call the fire department or nominate me for Chopped.

What I’ve learned?
1. Cooking is about trust. Trust that when you combine something sweet, something savory, and a little creative chaos, you won’t burn everything down—figuratively or literally.
2. Patience is key. Food (like love) shouldn’t be rushed. Also, skip the popcorn shrimp idea if you don’t actually own popcorn. Don’t ask.
3. A meal shared is a bond deepened.

Dating someone who can hold their own in my beautifully weird kitchen is basically my love language. Bonus points if they don’t bat an eye when I spend fifteen minutes arguing whether fresh basil makes something taste like artistry or toothpaste.

Where Hobbies Meet Connection

If I’ve come to any conclusions while unpacking my obsessions, it’s that they aren’t hobbies just for the sake of staying busy. They’re deeply tied to curiosity, to storytelling, to love in its wonderfully human messiness. Writing, collecting, cooking—they all reflect how I move through the world.

We tend to dismiss quirks as filler in the chapters of who we are. But I’d argue the weird stuff—our obsessions, our ridiculous passions—are what make us lovable.

What You Should Take Away

  • If someone scoffs at your hobbies, let ’em go. A person worth your time will find them equal parts charming and fascinating—whether you’re collecting leaves or memorizing obscure 80s movie quotes.
  • Sharing small obsessions with your partner can create moments that feel alive with possibility—even if you’re just sitting on the floor sorting through random rocks together.
  • And, hey, don’t underestimate your own weirdness. Lean into it. Your quirks might just be the thing that leaves someone entirely and undeniably hooked.

As for me? If you ever spot a guy scribbling in a notebook, carrying a suspiciously large stone, and debating how to best caramelize a carrot, say hi. Chances are, those aren’t just obsessions—they’re my version of love stories waiting to happen.