Growing up, I believed in a myth so steadfast it felt like it had been chiseled into the granite peaks surrounding our ranch. It wasn’t something I questioned, because questioning it would have been like asking if the horizon was real. This myth was simple yet omnipresent: “Love is work, plain and simple.”

Did it sound wise? Sure. Did it come wrapped in the homespun logic my family specialized in? Of course. But was it the whole truth? That’s where things get interesting—and a bit messy. It took years of dating attempts, a few broken hearts (including my own), and some hard-earned perspective to unravel the tangled threads of this family lore. And surprise: I learned that not everything handed down across generations is meant to be gospel.

Let’s dig into the muck, shall we? Lace up your boots. This one’s got some trail miles ahead.

Part I: The Myth in Action

Picture this: I’m nine years old, eavesdropping like an undercover wildlife biologist on my parents’ conversation as they sip black coffee before sunrise. My mom is saying my dad’s love of tinkering on old farm equipment is bound to drive her nuts, while my dad jokes she buys more baskets than any woman could possibly need. Both laugh, a little tired but mostly amused. Then, as sure as the sun cresting the Tetons, my mom sighs and says, “Love’s not supposed to be easy. It’s ranch work—hard, but worth it.”

I absorbed that sentiment the way dry pines absorb a lightning strike. It was repeated so often in my house it should’ve been embroidered on a throw pillow. Ranch ethos ran deep in my family, and everything—everything—was framed as work. Raising three kids? Work. Surviving drought? Work. Trying to get my grandmother to update her hearing aid? Definitely work. So, naturally, love couldn’t just be something you felt. It had to be a chore you shouldered, like stacking hay bales or mending fences before the cattle wandered off.

This belief shaped how I approached relationships. High school girlfriend upset I didn’t attend her track meet? Work harder. College sweetheart annoyed I’d spent the weekend journaling instead of calling? Work harder. Dating someone who had absolutely no interest in long-term plans? Well, hey, if love’s work, maybe my problem was I wasn’t putting in enough overtime. Add a little determination, and surely she’d come around, right?

Spoiler alert: She didn’t.

Part II: What I Got Wrong

Here’s the part nobody explained to me at nine. Yes, love involves effort—but effort and compatibility aren’t the same thing. Trying to force compatibility by sheer grit is like trying to saddle a grizzly bear. You’re not winning points for resilience. You’re just exhausting yourself in a futile effort to control something that was never truly yours to begin with.

But I didn’t know that. Instead, I doubled down on the idea that any emotional snag could be solved with the ranch-raised tenacity I’d nurtured since childhood. And wow, did that backfire. Relationships ran aground not because I lacked love or effort, but because we lacked shared values, goals, or the kind of connection that feels, well, natural. Turns out, you can’t sweat your way into compatibility. It’s either there or it’s not.

A turning point came during my time working as a park ranger. One summer, I found myself paired with a colleague who loved birds as much as I loved mammals (we were like the Hatfields and McCoys of biology). We clicked instantly—not romantically, but as coworkers who just got each other. Conversations flowed without strain. Disagreements felt like puzzles to solve rather than battles to win. For the first time, I saw what it really meant to vibe with someone. No cardinal-level effort required.

That’s when the cracks in the "love is work" myth started to show. Because maybe, just maybe, the best relationships weren’t about endless toil. Maybe they were about finding someone whose rhythm complemented your own, so effort felt more like a dance and less like hacking at weeds.

Part III: What Love Actually Takes

So, what’s the truth about love if it’s not all mule-labor and grit?

Here’s what I’ve pieced together so far:

  1. Effort is Seasonal, Not Constant
    Think about the cycles of nature. There’s a time to plant and a time to harvest, but even the earth gets winters to rest. Love is no different. There are seasons when you shoulder the load for your partner, sure—but those moments should ebb and flow. If love constantly feels like trudging uphill through snowdrifts, that’s a red flag, not a badge of honor.

  2. Compatibility Is King
    Some things shouldn’t need constant fixing, like shared sense of humor, values, or basic respect. If you’re constantly “working” just to get the basics right, then you’re forcing something that maybe isn’t meant to be. You can’t retrofit someone’s core personality into a blueprint that works for you. Believe me, I’ve tried.

  3. Effort Feels Better When It’s Mutual
    I once dated someone who said, “Thanks for always running after me—I’m just not a chaser.” That was the moment I realized I was doing all the emotional legwork, and it wasn’t sustainable. Effort’s gotta come from both sides, like a pair of oxen pulling the load together. Lopsided work leads to resentment—and you’ll feel the weight in your bones.

  4. Fun Matters, Too
    Here’s the thing about hard work: It’s way easier to handle when there’s joy mixed in. The couples I admire most still laugh with one another, even in tough times. They roast each other’s bad dance moves, watch cheesy movies, and find ways to stay playful. If your whole relationship is one long weather report of storms ahead, you’ve gotta ask yourself what you’re sticking around for.

Part IV: Ditching the Myth

Letting go of old ideas can feel about as natural as unlearning how to walk. But when I stopped treating love as a non-stop grind, I found myself connecting with people who actually fit into my life. The strain in my shoulders eased. Conflicts didn’t come with silent calculations of whether I could “fight through” yet another battle. And suddenly, everything felt a little...lighter.

These days, I still savor the grit my family instilled in me—but I don’t aim it at relationships that feel like an eternal uphill climb. I save it for things like mending fences in my backyard or hiking the Gros Ventre trails before the first snow. Love? Love should feel like sitting by a campfire with someone who knows just how you like your marshmallow toasted—not perfect, but warm, comfortable, and deeply satisfying.

Part V: Bringing It Home

If you’ve got your own family myth rattling around in your head, it’s worth stepping back to ask whether it still belongs. Maybe it gave your ancestors the perspective they needed, but if it feels like carrying a century-old suitcase in an airport full of wheelie bags, it’s time to reevaluate.

You don’t have to rewrite your whole belief system in one go. Start with the small stuff. Notice what feels intuitive versus what feels forced. Be brave enough to unlearn the lessons you’ve outgrown. My parents’ myth wasn’t inherently wrong; it just wasn’t the whole story. Love takes work, sure—but it also takes wisdom in knowing which “work” is worth doing.

As for me? I’ll always treasure those early-morning coffee talks where I first learned to see love as both grit and grace. But I’ve also learned this truth along the way: sometimes, love feels less like ranch work and more like the wild, effortless flight of a canyon hawk. And that, my friends, is the kind of love worth chasing.