# Trading Solo Hikes for a Shared Trail: Finally Finding Real Connection

I was scraping dried mud off my hiking boots last Tuesday, staring at the empty chair on my balcony, when it hit me. I love the silence of the mountains, but I was getting really tired of the silence in my kitchen. For years, I’ve been that “independent adventurer,” the one who books solo trips to the Dolomites or spends weekends kayaking without needing anyone’s permission. But deep down, the novelty of total independence was wearing off. I wanted a co-pilot.

I tried the usual swiping apps, but it felt like trying to navigate a dense forest without a compass. Everyone was just “hanging out” or “seeing where things go.” I’m a planner. I look at maps. I want to know the destination. That exhaustion led me to try something different. I signed up for https://amourmeet.com/ specifically because the vibe there seemed less about quick flings and more about genuine intention. I needed to find someone who wasn’t afraid of the word “commitment.”

### The Exhaustion of the "Chill" Phase

If you are outdoorsy, you know the drill. You meet someone, you suggest a hike, and they agree. But when the day comes, they bail because it’s “too early” or they didn’t realize it involved actual walking. I went on so many dates where the other person treated a relationship like a casual stroll in the park—something to do only if the weather is perfect and it requires zero effort.

It was draining. I felt like I had to dim my enthusiasm. I stopped suggesting the big trips because I was afraid of scaring them off. I needed someone who had their own emotional backpack packed and was ready for a long haul, not just a loop around the block.

### A Coffee Date with Actual Substance

That’s when I matched with Mark on the site. His profile didn’t have a shirtless gym selfie; it had a photo of him struggling to set up a tent in the wind. I laughed out loud. I messaged him, and he replied in full sentences. It sounds like a low bar, but in the modern dating world, that’s rare.

We met for coffee before planning a trek. I was nervous. I actually tripped over the cafe doormat walking in—classic me—and spilled a bit of my Americano on my sleeve. Instead of looking awkward, he just handed me a napkin and said, “Better here than on a cliff edge.”

We didn’t do the small talk dance. We didn’t play games about who texts whom first. We sat there and talked about what we were actually looking for. He admitted he was tired of guessing games too. He wanted a partner, not a pen pal. Hearing that was like taking off a heavy pack after a ten-mile incline. The relief was physical. I felt my shoulders drop.

### Planning the Next Route

We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. It isn’t a fairytale movie. We disagree on which trail snacks are superior (he likes jerky; I’m a dried mango person), and he snores a little bit when we camp. But the foundation is solid.

There is a profound comfort in knowing that we are both reading from the same map. When we make plans, he shows up. When I talk about the future, he doesn’t flinch. Finding someone who is also looking for a real, grounded relationship changes everything. It doesn’t mean the trail is always easy, but at least I know I’m not walking it alone anymore.