Sometimes, love sneaks up on you, doesn’t it? One minute, you’re minding your business, sipping a too-sweet iced tea under an Alabama sun, and the next, you’re hooked. That’s how I fell for my one true, enduring love: storytelling.

Now, I’m not talking about the kind of storytelling you find in flicks where the protagonist rises against all odds in two hours flat. I mean the messy, layered, heart-pumping kind of stories—the ones we carry in our bones. The stories that make us sit up, listen hard, and feel seen. These stories called me in, sat me down, and offered me a lemonade (sweetened just right). They became my passion before I even knew to call them that.

Storytelling isn’t just something I do. It’s how I’ve learned to navigate life, fall in (and out of) relationships, and find those rare, deep connections that stay with you. Here’s how it all began and why it drives everything I do today.

The Meet-Cute: Growing Up with Stories

Looking back, I guess you could say my love story started in the humid summers of Montgomery, Alabama. My parents were both educators—the kind who almost seemed to breathe in facts and exhale truths—and they had this uncanny ability to weave tales out of courtroom transcripts or letters found in a dusty attic.

For them, history was alive. It wasn’t just names and dates; it was people, flawed and hopeful, doing their best to leave their marks in some surprising, spectacular ways. My mom would sit on our creaky porch after dinner, telling me about women who fought for their beliefs until their voices finally rang louder than the harshest critics. My dad would read excerpts from old speeches as if they were gospel, letting the words hum through the Alabama heat.

My parents were basically the Southern version of Lorelai and Rory Gilmore, swapping local lore and big ideas over coffee mugs and encyclopedias. Some families pass down heirlooms; mine passed down stories, tucked into casual conversations over plates of fried green tomatoes.

Hearing these tales, I fell head over heels for the power they held. People long gone or sitting across from you could come alive just by sharing their truth. And as a kid who’d sometimes rather write letters to imaginary friends than play freeze tag, I started to realize stories weren’t just entertaining. They were connection. They were love.

The First Date: Falling Further in College

It wasn’t until college, though, that storytelling really got its hooks into me. My parents’ love of the past rubbed off, so I majored in Southern Studies at Auburn University. If you’re imagining libraries filled with towering stacks of old photographs and crackling newspapers, bingo. That was my playground.

I’d get lost in faded letters and oral histories, each one like a puzzle begging to be solved. There were stories of heartbreak told in three barely legible sentences. Stories of defiance in faded ink signed with nothing but an X. And stories of love, joy, and belonging that hit you like the final scene of a rom-com when they finally kiss under the rain. It was impossible not to fall deeper in love.

Studying Southern identity was like dating someone incredibly layered—the kind of person who surprises you just when you think you’ve got them all figured out. I learned that identities, like relationships, aren’t one size fits all. They’re messy and complicated. And honestly? That’s part of the charm.

The Commitment: How Passion Fuels My Life Today

Even after grad school, when I went into archival work, storytelling refused to take a backseat. If anything, it became the steady heartbeat driving everything else I did. I’d spend hours poring over tiny details, searching for connections that might bring someone’s forgotten life into sharper focus. It’s weird to say, but those details—the faded postcards, the photographs with grainy edges—felt like love letters left for me to discover.

But I didn’t officially ‘marry’ storytelling until I started writing. First came short pieces for Southern journals, then the big plunge into historical fiction. Writing wasn't just cathartic; it was foundational. It taught me to accept the flaws in every story—mine included. To find grace in the gaps and give room for unexpected twists of fate. It’s what brought me to this publication, in fact, where I get to weave together love, truth, and humor the way my parents always did around the dinner table.

And here’s the kicker: storytelling has even shaped how I navigate relationships. You know how every couple has “the talk”—the one where you decide how much to share, how deep to go, and how real to be? It’s essentially storytelling. You’re offering someone your messy, complex narrative, hoping they’ll listen fully and maybe even stick around for the sequels. And when I see it that way, opening up doesn’t feel so scary. It feels worth it.

Rekindling the Flame: How You Can Find (or Refind) Your Passion

Now, not everyone’s passion is storytelling, but everyone has one. And if you’re staring at this thinking, “Well, great, Carrie, but I don’t know what mine is,” let me tell you: it’s never too late to figure it out. Here’s what worked for me (and might just work for you):

  1. Go Where the Curiosity Is
    Ask yourself: When was the last time you felt a deep “Aha!” moment? Was it while cooking a complicated recipe? Building something with your hands? Or maybe teaching someone else something new? Your passions often leave breadcrumbs—follow them.

  2. Be Okay with the Mess
    Passions, like relationships, aren’t perfect. Start small, make mistakes, and give yourself grace as you figure it out. Maybe your love for painting doesn’t lead to a gallery opening, but it leads to Saturday afternoons full of joy. That’s more than enough.

  3. Share It with Others
    Passions thrive in community. Tell a friend about the thing lighting you up. Join a group of people who love it, too. Sharing your excitement out loud can reignite it in ways you didn’t know you needed.

The Ever After: Why Passion Matters

Here’s the thing about passions: they don’t just fill your time. They teach you something about yourself. They reflect your values and give you a tiny window into what matters most—those moments when connections and clarity collide.

For me, storytelling began as a connection between myself and the people who came before me. Now, it’s also the bridge between me and the people sitting in front of me—whether that’s my readers, my loved ones, or sometimes even myself. And that, I think, is the most vital connection of all.

So, the next time you’re sipping your iced tea and thinking about what really makes your heart hum, consider this: It may take some time to define your passion. But when you find it—or when it comes sneaking up on you—you’ll know. And trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.