“Think of Myrtle Beach, and you might picture mini-golf empires, funnel cakes dusted with powdered sugar, and families trekking across hot pavement in sandals they definitely regret buying. All of this is accurate—but it’s also just the surface of a place that helped shape who I am. For better or beachier (sorry, couldn’t resist), this town woke up my love for storytelling, showed me the magic of connection, and even handed me a crash course in what it means to navigate relationships—romantic and otherwise. Let me take you back to the place that made me.”

The Eternal Summer of My Childhood

Growing up in Myrtle Beach was like living inside a permanent postcard. Tourists arrived in droves, chasing their perfect vacation montage of saltwater hair and golden sunsets, but for locals like me, the magic came in quieter moments. Each summer, my parents rented out our inn’s spare rooms to travelers while running the bustling beachfront café next door. Busy hands stirred sweet tea, flipped pancakes, and offered smiles to customers curious about the best boardwalk spots to take first-date Polaroids (back when that was still a thing).

For me, though, everything was an adventure. I spent countless mornings diving into books under café umbrellas, the smell of sea spray mingling with fresh waffles. There, I found my muses—characters and worlds that blossomed in the margins of borrowed notebooks. The stories I scribbled—complete with betrayal at pier dances and sun-kissed reconciliations at lifeguard stands—helped me understand this: people are complex, both in fiction and reality. That realization, tucked in between pages of exaggerated teen drama, became my first lesson in understanding relationships.

Myrtle Beach may have been where couples held hands under neon lights or made grand declarations by the tide, but it also showed me how human connections can break down under the weight of overpacked expectations. I saw it in vacation flings that fizzled faster than an August storm, in the silences between long-married couples watching their kids ride Ferris wheels. And yet, I also saw loyalty—the kind that keeps you anchored when life pulls you in every direction.

Break the Shell, or Stay at the Surface

As an awkward preteen with braces and an overabundance of daydreams, Myrtle wasn’t the easiest place for me to figure out the social nuances of dating—let’s just say my idea of flirting was shyly offering someone an extra mozzarella stick. But the ocean, always present in the background, had lessons to share. Out there, you had two choices: stay ankle-deep where it felt safe, or wade further, embracing the push and pull of waves.

When it came to dating and relationships, eventually I picked the latter. By senior year of high school, I had one foot firmly planted in the sand and the other testing waters of crushes, Prom drama, and late-night drives around the strip. Those early stumbles turned into some of the most valuable lessons for building connection: listen curiously, speak honestly, and embrace the awkward because it’s often where the best stories live.

Looking back, the boardwalks were never about romance as much as they were about self-discovery. Even the kitschy photobooth strips taught me something—like how to show your “real” self after the first serious photo inevitably flops. (Pro tip: Always lean into the ridiculous. A surprise ‘80s rock star pose goes a long way.)

Lessons from Tourists and Tide Pools

Fast forward to my 20s, when I studied English Lit in Charleston and returned home for summers. By then, my perspective on love had shifted through heartbreaks, hopeful reunions, and a precocious attempt at a long-distance thing (he lived two hours away—it felt epic at the time). Spending those summers back in Myrtle Beach as a young adult reframed everything. In the rush of towel-carrying crowds and slow boardwalk nights, I began noticing the parallels between fleeting vacation romance and real-life relationships.

Tourism, like dating, teaches you to set expectations wisely—or risk hot dogs that cost $9 and heartbreak that lingers longer than a bad sunburn. Here’s what my beach town taught me and might just resonate with you too:

  • Give Space for Discovery. Just like every wave is slightly different, every person comes with unique rhythms. Relationships aren’t about scripting a perfect outcome; they’re about exploring what happens when curiosity does its thing.
  • Sunscreen Saves You. This is both literal and metaphorical. Protect what matters—your heart, your time, and your boundaries. It’ll prevent you from peeling later (again, literally and metaphorically).
  • Plan Light, Adapt Freely. Much like Myrtle’s pop-up storms, relationships will surprise you. The unexpected isn’t the enemy—it’s the adventure. Keep spare clothes in the car and an open mind.

I started applying these lessons not only to dating but to every connection in my life. Friendships grew richer. Family bonds strengthened. I learned to embrace the joy of imperfection in myself and others. Turns out, there’s a calming kind of freedom in trusting that the tide will take care of you if you let it.

Where It All Comes Full Circle

Even now, writing this beside a salt lamp and sipping chai on a blustery fall evening, Myrtle Beach feels as close as the smell of coastal breezes lingering on my favorite sweater. The place that made me taught me how to live and love in the most authentic way possible—by being honest about who I am, uncertain edges and all.

I share this story because even if you’ve never set foot near Myrtle’s shores, there’s bound to be a place inside your heart that’s helped shape your sense of self. Maybe it’s a living room you danced around in at 3 a.m. after a first kiss—or the park bench where you learned endings could still feel beautiful. Wherever that place is, I hope you’ll lean into the lessons it left behind.

And if you need to borrow one of mine? Just remember this: connection starts where expectation ends, and like the best beach days, it often starts with a little leap beyond where your feet can touch.