Why I Chose This Path

Before I knew what “fields” or “careers” were, I lived in a world where “what you do” wasn’t a job title but the sum of your contributions to your community. On the Navajo Nation reservation where I grew up, everyone had a role to play: my grandmother weaving rugs so intricate they looked like star maps, my uncle telling stories around the fire that made the old feel young and made the young feel wise. Contribution wasn’t about ambition; it was about connection. Ironically, it’s that connection—and all the complexities wrapped within it—that eventually led me to this unexpected and wildly rewarding path: writing about love, dating, and relationships.

Trust me, it’s not a straight line from oral traditions to Zoom meetings about headline SEO, but the values I grew up with—values of storytelling, empathy, and building bridges—are stitched into everything I do. And maybe you’ll laugh to hear this, but my journey to writing about relationships is rooted in my deep belief that everyone’s love life deserves the warmth of a kitchen fire and the wisdom of a good story.

A Matchmaker Even as a Kid

Looking back, I think I was matchmaker-adjacent from the start. My aunt loves to remind me of the time, at age seven, I told her she’d never meet anyone if she didn’t stop rolling her eyes so much. (She denies this but is conveniently married now. You’re welcome, Auntie.) My younger self believed that relationships lived in small gestures: teasing someone in just the right way or bringing them the last slice of fry bread. And even though I lacked the vocabulary for it, I knew intuitively that everyone carries two stories—the one they tell the world and the one they whisper to themselves. Connection happens when we gently coax those two narratives to meet.

As I got older, I realized how tricky this is. After all, putting love into words can feel like trying to explain the taste of water. You know it when you feel it, but as soon as you pin it down, part of its magic evaporates. But magic or not, I’ve always believed in the value of that effort, in naming the thing that keeps us up at night, the thing that makes us flirt shamelessly over grocery store avocados, or write vulnerable text messages we immediately regret.

Why Culture (and a Few Awkward First Dates) Brought Me Here

In college, studying Cultural Anthropology, I spent long nights with textbooks sprawled over a tiny desk in a Vermont dorm room. I was learning about rituals, kinship systems, and the invisible threads that connect us all. How could I not fall in love with love itself?

Cultural anthropology revealed an endless variety of ways people express affection and form bonds. In some communities, love blooms through grand gestures like elaborate dances. In others, it grows quietly over time, like moss on a stone. But while the details differ, the heart of the matter is universal: we all need connection. It’s the “why” at the center of our rituals, the reason we swipe right, show up for coffee dates, and hope that maybe—just maybe—this time, it could be something real.

Admittedly, my own journey through romance wasn’t always a sweeping narrative of cosmic connection. Much like anyone else, my dating history has sprawled into an awkward map of blind dates that fell flatter than stale soda and heartbreaks I wore like heavy clouds for far too long. I once went on a date where we accidentally ordered the same meal; he called it “twin telepathy,” but I think we both just liked tacos. A second date did not happen, but the realization dawned that maybe love wasn’t necessarily about meeting Mr. Perfect—it was about uncovering who I was with every encounter, heartbreak, or awkward moment.

Building Bridges with My Words

When I started as a cultural liaison, I was tasked with translating more than just words. I had to communicate meaning, history, and intention between people of vastly different worlds. It was an act of empathy, walking in someone else’s shoes long enough to see their perspective—and hopefully help others see it too. Little did I realize, this skill would eventually lend itself beautifully to writing about dating and relationships. If cultural anthropology taught me that our differences create richness, writing about love has taught me that our similarities create resilience.

We’re all walking onto the same dance floor, even if our steps differ. Whether you grew up swapping love lyrics to pop songs or, like me, listening to my aunties and uncles’ broad teasing about clandestine courtships that took an entire family to orchestrate, it comes down to the same thing: storytelling. And relationships, at their core, are like oral histories. They need to be nurtured, shared, and retold with care. With every article, I aim to not just give advice but hand you the tools to listen to your story and shape your connections with greater intention.

Lessons from Love, Resilience, and Buffy Sainte-Marie

The truth is, writing about love can be both heartwarming and heartbreaking. When you talk to people about their relationships or reflect on your own, it’s impossible not to see the whole spectrum: stubborn beginnings, awkward middles, and even painful endings. But that’s what makes the enterprise meaningful. There’s resilience in putting your heart out there in the world, no matter how many bad first dates or misfires you endure.

If I could name my North Star in all this, it would be another storyteller: Buffy Sainte-Marie. In her music, she captures something extraordinary about the human experience: longing, renewal, and hope, all braided together with truth. Similarly, I hope my writing holds space for both the tender and the tough. Love is rarely simple, but then, neither are we. And that’s exactly why it’s worth it.

What I’ve Learned So Far

Writing about relationships has taught me a few truths that I carry with me. Maybe they’ll resonate with you, too:

  • Love Doesn’t Need a Script. Sometimes we get so bogged down by what dating “should” look like that we forget to pay attention to what it feels like. Your love story doesn’t need a grand Act One with fireworks to be worthwhile. Some of the best connections are the ones that unfold slowly, layer by layer.

  • Vulnerability Is Scary but Necessary. Whether it’s confessing feelings, going on a second date despite skepticism, or writing an article where I admit I once sent a “fishing for attention” text, there’s strength in showing up authentically.

  • Connection Is Your Birthright. Regardless of where you’re from, your upbringing, or your past heartbreaks, you are not “too much” or “too little.” You’re just someone seeking connection—and there’s bravery in that.

Full Circle

When I write about relationships now, I often think of my grandmother’s loom—the way she’d patiently weave segments of wool into patterns so intricate they felt inevitable, like they’d always existed. Love is like that, too. It’s a story you write one thread at a time: through stolen glances, awkward first dates, deep conversations, and the risks you take in being yourself.

For me, this path is my way of connecting, of honoring my upbringing and weaving together the values of where I’m from with the stories of where I’m going. Because at the end of the day, we’re here to tell stories, to share warmth, and to remember that every connection—no matter how fleeting or lasting—is a piece of something larger.

So here’s to all of us, out there in the unknown, trying to make something beautiful with the threads we’ve been given.