This Is How We Date Now

iStockphoto/ MmeEmil

We don’t commit now. We don’t envision the phase. They’ve always said there are so many fish in the high seas, but never before has that sea of fish been right at our fingertips on OkCupid, Tinder, Grindr, Dattch, take your select. We can order up a human being in the same space we can order up pad thai on Seamless. We think intimacy lies in a perfectly-executed string of emoji. We feel exertion is a “good morning” text. We say romance is dead, because maybe it is, but maybe we are only need to reinvent it. Maybe romance in our modern age is putting the phone down long enough to look in each other’s eyes at dinner. Perhaps intrigue is deleting Tinder off your phone after an incredible first date with person. Maybe romance is still there, we are only don’t know what it looks like now.

When we choose–if we commit–we are still one eye wander at the options. We crave the beautiful slouse of filet mignon, but we’re too busy eyeing the mediocre buffet, because selection. Because select. Our selects are killing us. We remember option means something. We believe possibility is good. We feel the more lucks we have, the better. But, it builds everything watered-down. Never mind actually feeling satisfied, we don’t even understand what happiness consider this to be, sounds like, feels like. We’re one foot out the door, because outside that door is more, more, more. We don’t understand who’s right in front of our eyes asking to be loved, because no one is asking to be loved. We long for something that we still want to believe prevails. Yet, we are looking for the next thrill, the next jolt of excitement, the next instant gratification.

We soothe ourselves and confuse ourselves and, if we can’t even face the demons inside our own psyche, how is impossible to “re supposed to” lodge something out, to enjoy someone even when it’s not easy to desire them? We bail. We leave. We insure a limitless world-wide in a way that no generation before us has appreciated. We can open up a brand-new tab, look at photographs of Portugal, draw out a Visa, and journal an aircraft ticket. We don’t do this, but we can. The level is that we know we can, even if we don’t have the resources to do so. There are always other tantalizing alternatives. Open up Instagram and consider the lives of others, “peoples lives” we could have. Check the places we’re not traveling to. Visualize “peoples lives” we’re not living. Envision the peoples of the territories we’re not dating. We bombard ourselves with stimuli, input, input, input, and we wonder why we’re miserable. We wonder why we’re dissatisfied. We wonder why nothing last-places and everything feelings a little hopeless. Because, we have no theory how to see our lives for what they are, instead of what they aren’t.

And, even if we find it. Say we find that person we enjoy who loves us. Commitment. Intimacy. “I love you.” We do it. We find it. Then, rapidly, we live it for others. We tell people we’re in a relationship on Facebook. We hurl our depicts up on Instagram. We become a “we.” We make it seem shiny and perfect because what we chose to share is the highlighting reel. We don’t share the 3am opposes, the reddened eyes, the tear-stained bedsheets. We don’t write status updates about how their adoration for us glistens a light on where we don’t desire ourselves. We don’t tweet 140 personas of sadness when we’re having the kinds of conversations that can build or violate the future of our enjoy. This is not what we share. Shiny word-painting. Happy pair. Adore is perfect.

Then, we meet these other happy, shiny pairs and we compare. We are The Emoji Generation. Choice Culture. The Comparison Generation. Measuring up. Good enough. The best. Never before have we had such an incredible cornucopia of markers for what it looks like to live the Best Life Possible. We input, input, input and soon find ourselves in despair. We’ll never be good enough, because what we’re trying to measure up to just does not fucking exist. These lives do not exist. These relations do not prevail. Yet, we can’t believe it. We see it with our own eyes. And, we want it. And, we will shape ourselves miserable until we get it.

So, we break up. We break up because we’re not good enough, our lives aren’t good enough, our relations isn’t good enough. We swipe, swipe, swipe, simply a bit more on Tinder. We order someone up to our door just like a pizza. And, the cycle starts again. Emoji. “Good morning” text. Intimacy. Put down the phone. Couple selfie. Shiny, happy couple. Compare. Compare. Compare. The inevitable creeping in of latent, subtle displeasure. The opposes. “Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.” “This isn’t working.” “I need something more.” And, we break up. Another adore lost. Another graveyard of shiny, happy pair selfies.

On to the next. Searching for the elusive more. The next stick. The next gratification. The next quick strike. Living our lives in 140 personas, 5 second cracks, frozen filtered images, four time movies, attention here, attention there. More as an illusion. We worry about determining, all the while constructing ourselves suffer thinking that anything less than the shiny, happy filtered life we’ve been accustomed to is deciding. What is settling? We don’t know, but we fucking don’t want it. If it’s not perfect, it’s reconcile. If it’s not glittery filtered love, deciding. If it’s not Pinterest-worthy, settling.

We realize that this more we want is a lie. We want telephone call. We want to see a look we desire absent-minded of the blue dim of a phone screen. We crave slowness. We crave simplicity. We crave their own lives that does not requirement the validation of likes, favorites, remarks, upvotes. We may not know yet that we want this, but we do. We crave connect, true-life associate. We want a adore that builds , not a adore that gets disposed for the next reach. We want to come home to people. We want to lay down our brains at the end of our lives and know we lived well, we lived the fuck out of “peoples lives”. This is what we want even if we don’t know it yet.

Yet, this is not how we date now. This is not how we adore now.

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