Lessons I Wish I Knew Earlier

Pull up a chair, friend. Let me save you a few stumbles I’ve already tripped over—and believe me, they were as graceful as a colt learning to stand. Life has a funny way of teaching you things the hard way, but if I can spare you from face-planting into a metaphorical pile of manure, let’s call my experience well-earned.

Here’s the thing: building relationships—whether romantic, platonic, or with yourself—is kind of like driving down a winding Montana backroad. You’ll get lost, hit potholes, and find yourself muttering at the horizon...but every now and then, the road opens up, the sky feels infinite, and you swear you’d do it all over again.

Let’s dig into the lessons worth strapping tightly into your saddlebags.

1. You Won’t Charm Everybody (And That’s the Point)

Growing up on a ranch, I learned early that not every horse wants to be saddled, no matter how sweet your words or sugar cubes. The same applies to people. I wasted too many years trying to appeal to everyone around me, especially in dating.

Let me paint the picture: Picture me, a college junior, filling up on self-help books about how to "be the perfect girlfriend." I treated myself like a project, sanding down every edge, bending my likes and dislikes to match someone else’s preferences—country music one week, indie films the next. It turns out people can sense inauthenticity a mile away, just like a horse knows when you’re nervous before you climb into the saddle.

What I wish I’d known? Compatibility isn’t about being liked by everyone. It’s about being unapologetically yourself and drawing in people who value that. Some folks prefer the wide skies and slow pace of Montana. Others need fast cities and neon lights. And that’s okay. Release the reins on your need for universal approval. Find the humans who feel like home.

2. The Power of the Pause

There’s a saying ranchers use: “Don’t chase a cow, let it come to you.” Turns out that applies to conversations, too. One of the best tools I’ve learned is the power of the pause—letting silence be a thread between words instead of panicking and rushing to fill it.

When you give people space to speak, magic happens. They share insights they might not have otherwise. They open up. This goes doubly for the quiet moments in relationships where you think a "fix" is required when really, the thing that’s needed most is your presence.

I’ll admit: as someone raised to be a helper (if you’ve ever been sent outside in January to catch a runaway rooster, you know what I mean), sitting still while someone else works through their emotions hasn’t been easy. But sometimes, the best help you can offer is silence, a listening ear, and maybe a cup of tea—or a stiff whiskey—after the storm.

3. Don’t Romanticize Red Flags

Oh, how I wish I could leap into a time machine, grab 22-year-old me by the shoulders, and shout, “Not all passion is a good thing!” Like the time I dated a guy who thought it was romantic to show up unannounced at my place but couldn’t muster the same energy to remember my birthday. Or the ex who told me my love of nature was “quirky” in a way that made me feel small.

I let early warning signs slide like a rookie rancher ignoring the sound of broken fencing. Later, I’d be chasing emotional stray cattle all over the metaphorical prairie. These days, I’ve learned to spot red flags without my rose-colored glasses on:
- Inconsistent behavior: They text nonstop one day and ghost the next? That’s not intrigue; that’s unreliability.
- Belittling your passions: Your interests are what make you, you. If they’re dismissive now, imagine a decade of half-smirks about your hobby.
- Boundary-breaking as “romance”: No, storming into your life like a wildfire isn’t passion. Real care feels like steady, thoughtful attention.

Trust this: healthy connection might not look like a grand Hollywood gesture. It looks like someone showing up—day after day—because they want to.

4. Adventures Are Fun, But Stability Is Sexy

There’s nothing wrong with craving adventure—spontaneous road trips or passion that feels electric—but here’s the kicker: stability is the real prize.

In my early twenties, I pictured my ideal relationship like a wild horse galloping through wind-whipped fields. But after living that reality (and okay, sometimes feeling saddle-bucked in the process), I realized love doesn’t have to be chaotic to be exciting. It doesn’t have to leave you guessing or gasping for air.

Stability isn’t boring; it’s courageous. It’s someone texting you goodnight even when they’re tired. It’s standing shoulder-to-shoulder in life’s high winds. It’s grocery lists and shared goals and someone who celebrates the mundane as much as the extraordinary. Let’s be clear: dependable doesn’t mean dull. Think of it as the shared rhythm that allows you both the freedom to dream bigger, aim higher, and always—always—come home.

5. Take Notes from Nature

Living out here in the Rockies has taught me how much relationships mirror the seasons. There are moments of big bloom—first kisses, hand-holding on dusky summer evenings—that make you want to write poems by candlelight. But there are also winters of discontent, times when connection feels hidden under tough layers, as hard to find as the faint tracks of an animal in snow.

Whenever I’ve felt stuck in a rut, I remind myself to move closer to nature. Here’s what it’ll teach you, too:

  • You can’t rush cycles. Spring follows winter in its own sweet time, and forcing it doesn’t make crocuses bloom any faster. Whether you’re healing from heartbreak or waiting for a deeper connection, let the seasons unfold.
  • Be adaptable. A relationship that thrives in sunshine will wilt without care during the hard days. What matters is tending to it—and knowing when to let go of the dead growth that isn’t serving you.
  • Trust the storms. Some rain is necessary. It cleanses, clears the dust, and lets new life grow. That doesn’t make it easy to endure, but it does prepare you for stronger, greener seasons ahead.

6. You Gotta Love Yourself First (No, Really)

If self-love sounds like fake wisdom stitched onto a throw pillow, I hear you. But spend enough nights questioning your worth after a breakup, and you’ll see why this matters. You can’t show up for someone else—truly, wholly—if you’re abandoning yourself in the process.

A few small ways to nurture your own pasture:
- Check in with yourself daily. Ask: What do I need today? Rest? Play? A bowl of soup and a long nap? Get good at answering, and then delivering.
- Say no like you mean it. Whether it’s to a date that doesn’t feel right or a friend who oversteps, honoring your boundaries isn’t selfish—it’s sacred.
- Be patient with the long game. Self-discovery is messy and wonderful, like painting a fence after a rainstorm. You’ll get there.

7. Connection Isn’t a Checklist; It’s a Feeling

Lastly, and maybe most importantly, you can’t intellectualize your way into love. I’ve lived this firsthand, charting out what "should" matter on paper: shared interests, similar goals, complementary personalities. And while those things certainly help, connection tends to bloom in the quieter, unexpected spaces.

It happened to me one chilly October, when I met someone who showed up for a casual trail ride and ended up staying for pie at the kitchen table. They didn’t fit my list, but they fit me—completely, wildly, perfectly imperfectly. That’s the power of leaving yourself open: love might surprise you and take you places you never thought you’d go.

Final Thoughts: Saddle Up, Take the Journey

When it comes down to it, there’s no shortcut to learning the lessons relationships—and life—will throw at you. There’s beauty in every bump of the trail, every wrong turn, every surprise sunset vista you stumble across on the way.

So saddle up, take the journey, and know that even when it’s messy or hard, you’re becoming the kind of person who will give and receive love more fully. And if you remember just one thing, let it be this: the best relationships—romantic or otherwise—begin with you showing up as your unbridled, imperfectly perfect, Montana-big-sky self.

Go on, partner. You’ve got this.