We don’t commit. We don’t see the point any more. They’ve always said there are so many fish in the sea, but never before has that sea been right at our fingertips; a simple left or right swipe away. Bumble, Tinder, Hinge; Facebook, IG; take your pick. We can order up a human being in the same way we can order up Pizza. Social media has ruined the idea of relationships for an entire generation; where “great” is replaceable and perfect is a must. We think intimacy lies in a perfectly-executed string of emojis. We think effort is a “good morning” text. We say romance is dead, because maybe it is. Maybe romance now is putting the phone down long enough to look in each other’s eyes at dinner. Maybe romance is deleting Tinder off your phone after an incredible first date with someone. Maybe romance is still there, we just don’t know what it looks like now.
When we choose—if we commit—we are still one eye wandering at the options. We want the beautiful cut of filet mignon, but we’re too busy eyeing the mediocre buffet, because of choice. Our choices are killing us. We think choice treat happiness as a destination, not a journey.
We soothe ourselves and distract ourselves and, if we can’t even face the demons inside our own brain, how can we be expected to stick something out, to love someone even when it’s not easy to love them? We bail. We leave. We see a limitless world in a way that no generation before us has seen. We can open up a new tab, look at pictures of Ibiza, pull out a credit card, and book a plane ticket. We don’t do this, but we can. The point is that we know we can, even if we don’t have the resources to do so. There are always other tantalizing options. Open up Instagram and see the lives of others, the life we could have. See the places we’re not traveling to. See the lives we’re not living. See the people 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 lasts and everything feels a little hopeless. Because, we have no idea how to see our lives for what they are, instead of what they aren’t. Not because we mean something. We think opportunity is good. We think the more chances we have, the better. But, it makes everything watered-down. Never mind actually feeling satisfied, we don’t even understand what satisfaction looks like, sounds like, feels like. We’re one foot out the door, because outside that door is more, more, more. We don’t see who’s right in front of our eyes asking to be loved. We long for something that we still want to believe exists. Yet, we are looking for the next thrill, the next jolt of excitement, the next instant gratification. We keep running on a treadmill for purpose and fulfillment, but these terms are merely carrots-on-a-stick we will never catch.
So true Guys.
Interesting take on instagratification, and hesitancy to commit to a longterm relationship because of too many uhh, distracting options.
However, wasn’t this also the case in the 70s era of free love or the 80s disco & drugs era of trading up? The 90s and Y2K briefly seemed to be a turning point of sorts for making a conscious decision to commit to being committed.
And then rather abruptly, we became totally unhinged, bumbling our way thru tindergarten, on an urgent quest for primal fire. At your place, or MySpace.
When the lines blurred between a genuine friendship versus one with benefits, there went the dangling carat.
We stopped caring about getting burned out or burnt down, no thanks to the adrenaline rush after casually discarding complicated personalities, ghosting unsuitable lovers, and recycling mediocre mates like clockwork.
I’d agree technology is a conundrum for many people who haven’t seen their parents, or other role models, in a healthy relationship. Or those who simply can’t (won’t) evolve past their juvenile ego to do the hard work of being loyal, monogamous, and trustworthy when a relationship (or friendship) becomes trying, as it almost inevitably does.
Frankly, everyone comes with some kind of inherent hazard label, whether it’s a juicy, salacious past, current health problems or exclusive plans for a future that were made before… you.
Personally, I hate dating. That awful awkwardness of small talk. Or finding two degrees of separation in a cesspool of throwbacks, and throwaways.
Wait, was that harsh?! My apologies. Except #sorrynotsorry – we all know what reality is, and what its bitemarks look like.
Perfectly imperfect who makes an effort will win my heart over the overly polished production who doesn’t even know (or care) what color my eyes are.
I’m tired of being single. But swiping through fake people pretending that they’re as good as I’m going to get? It utterly repulses me.
Romance isn’t dead. So while I’m patiently awaiting a chivalrous gent to woo me into wedlock, I’ll keep working diligently to be the best version of myself, for that one special person who’ll be forever, not just for now.