Have you ever found yourself sitting 30 feet off the ground, on the crumbling ledge of a water tower, gazing out at the Alabama horizon and wondering how in the world you got there? No? Just me? Okay, let me back up.
It was the spring after I turned 25, and I was smack in the middle of a quarter-life crisis—a special kind of chaos where you keep hoping that figuring out your Netflix password counts as “adulting.” I was teaching part-time, writing on-and-off, and mastering the art of making instant oatmeal while complaining I didn’t have time to cook. My college roommate, Mallory, decided the cure to my funk was spontaneity (her cure for everything, naturally). That’s how I ended up atop one of the rickety water towers in Union Springs, Alabama, clutching a lukewarm wine cooler like it was my last link to sanity. But let’s rewind to explain how I got wrapped up in this questionable scenario—and what it taught me about navigating relationships in the weirdest of places.
Step 1: Say Yes (Even When You’re Skeptical)
“Carrie, you NEED to meet Wesley,” Mallory insisted over coffee one Saturday morning. “He’s artistic and interesting—and, okay, maybe a little broody, but he’s a farm boy who does ceramics, so it balances out.”
To me, that sounded like a Mad Libs character and not an actual person, but Mal was persistent. Before I knew it, I’d agreed to join her and her boyfriend, Nick, for what she called “a friendly hangout” that happened to include Wesley. And if you’ve ever been the fourth wheel on someone else’s double date, you know the landmines that lie ahead. Awkward silences, forced inside jokes, and over-the-top public displays of affection—I was bracing for the full trifecta.
Turns out, Wesley was… refreshingly normal. He was tall and lanky with tousled hair that screamed “I regularly forget to comb this,” and he had a quiet air of confidence that wasn’t the least bit rehearsed. We bonded over a shared disdain for the humidity (classic Southern icebreaker) and a love for old gospel records. But just as I was starting to think, “Hey, maybe this isn’t a mistake,” the topic shifted.
“Have y’all been up the old water tower outside town?” Wesley asked casually, as though that was the sort of normal weekend activity people discussed.
“Absolutely not,” I said, drinking my coffee like a woman trying to telegraph her deep sanity.
“Perfect,” Mallory chimed in, clapping her hands. “We’re going.”
Step 2: Go Outside Your Comfort Zone (Even When It's Terrifying)
Here’s the thing: The water tower wasn’t the kind of place that screamed “romantic rendezvous.” It screamed “possible tetanus shot,” but that didn’t stop the group consensus. Before I knew it, we were driving down backroads in Nick’s beat-up truck, heading toward what Wesley romantically referred to as “a really cool view.”
Now, let me paint the scene for you in vivid detail. The water tower stood in an overgrown field on the outskirts of town, draped in a patchwork of wild vines and rust. It was the kind of structure a horror movie director would love—half-abandoned, wobbly by design, and probably haunted by possums. Wesley, with his easy Alabama drawl, assured me the ladder was “totally safe,” like he was suddenly Union Springs’ premier expert on structural engineering. For reasons still unclear to my fully formed, responsible adult brain, I climbed it anyway.
About halfway up, I started bargaining with God. “Lord, if you get me down from here alive, I swear I’ll stop ignoring my student loan emails.” (Spoiler: I didn’t, but we’ll circle back to that.) When I finally hoisted myself onto the ledge, though, the view hit me like a gospel choir soaring through the final hymn. Fields and forests stretched for miles, kissed by the softest light of the setting sun. It was breathtaking, not just because I’d spent ten minutes clinging to my own mortality.
Step 3: Be Present (Even in the Messiest Moments)
It’s funny how fear peels away layers you didn’t even know you were hiding behind. The four of us sat on that rickety ledge, balancing takeout boxes of fried chicken and passing around a wine cooler like we were teenagers sneaking out after curfew. The vibe wasn’t romantic, exactly—it was something better. It was real.
Wesley and I fell into an easy rhythm. He teased me about wringing my hands the whole climb, and I countered with a story about the time I accidentally locked myself in a department store dressing room for an hour (true story, sadly). At one point, we got into a heated debate about whether “Sweet Home Alabama” is overplayed (yes, obviously—fight me). For all its absurdity, I couldn’t stop smiling.
There’s something oddly bonding about sharing an experience that’s half ridiculous and half awe-inspiring. Like that time you and your friends stayed up all night playing Monopoly, or when you showed up at someone’s house to help them move and ended up assembling flat-pack furniture for nine hours. That night on the water tower, the stakes weren’t high. There wasn’t a grand romantic gesture or a sweeping revelation. It was just people being people—messy, lighthearted, unpredictable. And that’s what made it so meaningful.
Step 4: Find Meaning in the Unexpected
As the sun dipped below the horizon and we climbed (very carefully) back down to solid ground, I realized something: I’d been waiting on life to hand me a perfectly curated storyline, but it’s the crooked, wild, weirdly wonderful moments that stick with you.
Wesley? We saw each other a handful of times after that. There was no grand romance, no dramatic heartbreak—just a handful of coffee dates and a mutual respect that faded into other priorities. And you know what? That was perfectly fine.
Sometimes, relationships (and dating in general) aren’t about “the one.” Sometimes, they’re about letting go of your own expectations long enough to just be in the moment. They’re about saying yes to something silly or scary or out of your wheelhouse. They’re about learning that not every connection needs a neat, tidy ending to have value.
Step 5: Claim the Story—Tetanus and All
Here’s the moral of this very Southern tale: If someone you barely know invites you to scale a questionable water tower, you don’t have to say yes (seriously, safety first). But maybe, just maybe, the craziest places we find ourselves—literal or metaphorical—are where the best stories happen. Dating is messy. Life is messy. But those messes? They’re also where the juice is.
Would I ever climb another water tower? Probably not. But would I trade the adrenaline, the laughter, and the tiny flecks of rust lodged in my jeans that night? Absolutely never. Some things are worth keeping—not for what they lead to, but simply for what they are.
