Sometimes the best paths are the ones you stumble onto, like finding a perfect seashell when all you wanted was to dip your toes in the tide. Growing up in La Jolla, surrounded by the kind of coastal beauty that makes people speak in Instagram captions, I thought marine biology was my calling. It felt natural—even obvious. My mom studied ocean life for a living, so I spent much of my childhood cataloging hermit crabs in tidepools or sitting next to her as she analyzed water samples. But, as I learned, the heart doesn’t always follow the “obvious” path.

Fast-forward to my first year at UC San Diego, and I was rechecking my degree requirements in a lecture on phytoplankton species (thrilling stuff, truly). I remember doodling in the corner of my notebook—waves, gulls, a random kayak—and realizing I couldn’t focus. The lecture wasn’t boring; the problem was me. As much as I loved the ocean, I didn’t want to study it in dissertations or peer-reviewed charts. My passion wasn’t the science. It was the story. What I wanted, I realized during one of many “should I drop out?” panic walks on the beach, was to understand people and how we connect to the world around us. And honestly? That realization hit me harder than stepping on a wayward jellyfish.

The Tangled Currents That Brought Me Here

I didn’t wake up one day and declare, “I will write about relationships!” because, let’s face it, who does that? Instead, it started with stories—the snatches of conversation I overheard at coffee shops, the way my friends would spill their hearts during bonfires, or the little dance of vulnerability I’d watch strangers enact at beach bars. I found myself captivated by the push and pull of connection, of how people reveal (or protect) their most authentic selves. It reminded me of tidepools—how creatures would shift or close up when you got too close, but when approached with care, you’d see an entire world open up.

I started to dabble in writing about emotions, relationships, and all those awkward feelings we pretend not to have. My first piece was about a couple I met on a hiking trail in Big Sur (yes, I was that person who interrupts strangers for “inspiration”). They’d been together for ten years and seemed unshakable until I, naive and curious, asked how they met. Without skipping a beat, the husband said, “I told her she had something in her teeth during our first date.” Other people might have brushed that off (pun intended), but I saw it for what it was: a relationship founded on honesty—even if it came with cilantro moments. That’s when I knew I wanted to dig into what makes relationships work, what tears us apart, and how we find our way back to ourselves.

Why Relationships Are Like Ocean Ecosystems

Stick with me here because I swear this metaphor works. Relationships, much like a healthy reef, require balance. Too many “predators” (read: ego-trippers, gaslighters, emotionally unavailable types), and the whole ecosystem collapses. Too little effort? Suddenly, you’ve got coral bleaching—fading, stagnant relationships that lack the vibrancy they need to thrive. And let’s not forget the symbiotic relationships you see everywhere underwater. Clownfish need anemones; some shrimp “clean house” for bigger fish. It’s a give-and-take that, when done right, benefits everyone involved.

That’s why I’ve become so passionate about writing these pieces. I know relationships need maintenance, balance, and the occasional “reef check” to see if what you have aligns with who you are and who you’re becoming. I also know it’s okay to swim away from harmful dynamics, even if it feels scary to dive into the unknown.

What Writing About Relationships Taught Me

Beyond the fun of dissecting why someone ghosted you (newsflash: most times, it’s more about them than you), writing about relationships has taught me a few truths that might speak to you, too:

  1. Authenticity Is Magnetic.
    People are drawn to what feels real, so put away the masks (unless it’s Halloween or a bougie skincare night) and let them see your quirks. Own the fact that you cry at pet adoption ads or that you double space after periods because you’re rebelliously stuck in 1995.

  2. It’s Never About the Perfect Script.
    Just like I learned nothing from perfectly outlining my first breakup speech, relationships are messy. They stumble. You’ll miscommunicate. What matters is whether both parties are willing to fumble their way towards understanding.

  3. Boundaries Are Sexy AF.
    Knowing when to say “no” or “this doesn’t serve me” isn’t selfish; it’s self-care. Think of it as a filter in your life’s aquarium. Without boundaries, everything gets murky, and you’re left trying to breathe in stagnant water.

  4. Lighten Up!
    Yes, love and dating can feel serious, but that doesn’t mean you need to calculate every move like it’s chess. (Unless you’re dating Bobby Fischer, in which case...good luck?) Playful curiosity and a willingness to laugh through awkward moments make relationships more fun and less performative.

  5. Solitude Is Beautiful, Too.
    Before I started writing about love, I thought being “alone” was something to fix. But much like the stillness of a glassy ocean morning, solitude has its own kind of magic. Your relationship with yourself is the foundation for all the others, so treat it with love.

Why I Keep Writing

Some days, I miss the tidepools. I miss walking barefoot across sun-warmed rocks, peering into tiny universes brimming with life. But then I think about the other kinds of universes I get to explore now—the tangled, beautiful mess of human connections. Sure, studying jellyfish had its appeal (and a much lower risk of receiving emotional texts at 2 a.m.), but the pull of describing love, heartbreak, joy, and healing in ways that resonate with people? That’s an ocean I’ll happily dive into every day.

So here I am, writing about all the feels—and loving it. For me, understanding relationships feels less like mastering how a reef works and more like riding a wave: unpredictable, exhilarating, and full of moments where you just paddle out and hope for the best.

If you’re still figuring out your own journey, take heart. Sometimes, our paths aren’t straight lines but gorgeous, meandering coastlines. And no matter where they lead, there’s adventure to be found if you’re willing to look closely.