The Economics of Modern Dating

In case you'd desire to listen along to the soundtrack that carried my words as I typed, I've added hyperlinks of the songs that played during different portions of my writing process. 

When did we start to talk about the once elusive force of love with such stern, market-driven, borderline corporate connotations? More importantly, WHY?

It's impossible for me not to ponder, dumbfoundedly wonder, where the ethereal nature of love went south, and fell into the hands of investment bankers, stock analysts, and other less poetic communicators. Is it no longer hip to be a fool in love? Is it no longer deemed profitable to fall head over heels, not minding the bruises that might appear on our limbs after the potential of sustaining a harsh come down? 

I've always been transparent about having my heart on my sleeve, hell, I've been obnoxiously loud about it at times, but I believe I owe it to our budding relationship as writer-readers, to truly delve into the logistics and gears that propel my thinking/acting/writing in a time when a "like" on a story or a post, is the closest we seem to get to giving our hearts to somebody.

 

Has the price we once paid for bearing our soul to someone, get too high to pay?

Have we all become just a bite in other people's tasting platters, as they go about searching for the next best thing since sliced bread?

I'd like to think not. No, I wholeheartedly hope not.

I've observed how with an increasing frequency, the language surrounding the intersection of relationships-romance-love, has begun to mimic that of folks whose professions are the backbone of modern day economics––which, no offense, but, let's be honest: are a wreck...(shit show might be a more honest descriptor, perhaps?). The truth is, there is always a logical component to be discussed when deciding what we will do with the rest of our lives, namely what our careers are, where we want to live, how we want to live, do we want to form a family, do we want a destination wedding, will your funeral be open-casket or do you prefer to be cremated? 

But, love, I think, should have never been added to the already lengthy list of "subjects to discuss with your feet firmly planted on the ground".

After all, we ARE sentient, human beings––not stocks, not merchandise, not fads to be tried on and put aside, when we no longer deem each other fit to fill the desired position we're hiring for. 

This does not set aside what it means to have standards and expectations for what we know will fulfill our needs, the basic and the more fantastical of their kind; I simply find it earth-shattering how the new format of dating has decided for us that mouthing the words "i love you" whilst having one foot out the door, is allowed, and what's more, prevalent. 

What is the point in "getting to know" somebody with the mindset that, if it doesn't work out, there will always be "other fish in the sea"? Seems a bit redundant to state the volume of other people at our disposition, and frankly, available at our fingertips, as if that's supposed to make one feel better? If anything, I think of it as a degrading act toward your current "prospect", when instead our internal commentary should be: "there's THAT many fish in the sea, and I only had to go through this few, to find mine?! How did I ever get this lucky?!". 

Now, the cornerstone of our big eyes, (that we seemingly developed over the course of a few decades––despite evolutionary scientists not having made a big note of it ,*scoff*)–– which have us feasting on stranger's appearances as we waltz hand in hand with our lovers, keeping us always dreaming of the grass being greener on the other side––must be a direct effect of the immense fear that is now associated with being vulnerable. And I don't mean bearing your ass to the world (cough, cough), or confessing that you, a fitness guru, once struggled with REALLY being into chocolate chip cookies. 

The kind of vulnerability I refer to, is that of allowing another being to see the good, the bad, the ugly, and the HIDEOUS you––not just fractions, glimpses. Is it not true, that we react almost as though we've been burned when someone we're getting to know DARES to give some constructive criticism? And, you KNOW that this constructive criticism was handed to you, walking on eggshells because we've all grown so reactive and sensitive to the wrong things, so, picture a respectfully delivered piece of advice from your significant other. How do you react? Do you flinch at their attempt to mend your unlicked wounds?

Because, how do we expect to be loved as a whole, when we barely let people in on an eighth of what makes us, us?

And why do we walk on the very same eggshells to ask each other what it is that we want to develop from the interactions that we share? 

It used to be so simple, you'd be 7 years old and would skip up to a kid on the playground, a proposition set in mind––5 minutes later the words "do you want to be my friend?" would escape your mouths almost simultaneously––and despite often being short lived connections, there was no shame in asking for clarity. You were already playing tag, chasing each other, swinging on the playset, so, the question was technically being answered by the fact that out of all the kids in the playground, you'd chosen each other to share a giggle with––and still, we would ask for confirmation that the connection we felt within, was shared. 

When did we become so jaded, so timid, so petrified of showing that we care about being on the same page, instead of just "going with the flow"? How does a 7 year old wake up one morning, and decide that they can no longer bear the weight of the responsibility and commitment involved with getting things straight, when a relationship of any given nature is budding? 

It used to be so simple.

Now we hesitate to say that we are dating somebody, and rather exchanged the words for "getting to know"––news flash, that's what dating means! And, honestly, it... sucks. How do you claim to be getting to know someone, how do you intend to get into a relationship, if you cannot fathom stepping up, and straight out asking them: are you looking for a relationship?

The defining question didn't seem to pose such a threat on that playground, all those years ago, but now it looms over our heads as we hide our tail between our legs, and timidly bite our tongues––afraid to be seen as someone who doesn't go with the flow, afraid to be seen as someone who feels things. 

I was talking about this with a friend of mine, Mr. @tercus.kuhnsis, who happens to be living the absolute wet-dream that is a healthy, committed, loving, relationship; the conclusion we came to, in regards to why we reject the possibility of being the first to bring up the nature of our relationship with whomever we are "getting to know" (ahem, dating), is that in an utterly twisted way, we have decided that to reduce the uncertainty by asking these big and scary questions, is to destroy the magic associated with the not knowing. 

That's the conclusion he came to, not for himself, but in an attempt to interpret the insanity he's gotten to experience as both an insider, and now a bystander––because, the truth is that, he (and me, and potentially you) KNOWS that magic doesn't come from nescience (or ignorance, unfamiliarity). Because he KNOWS that magic comes from the spontaneity and sensibility we each hold, WITHIN the tenderness in recognizing each other, knowing that you are in a safe place, knowing you have someone to call home. 

Sounds incredibly counter productive to prefer to gamble away your relationships, as a mechanism in order to avoid harm, and yet we try to masquerade it as a calculated risk; we stare down our opponents, and fold at the slightest tilt of a brow; we hold back on asking the important questions, in order to preserve the chances of coming out victorious. But isn't victory something to be celebrated together? Isn't victory supposed to be the result of a climb, a chase?

In actuality, what comes from ignorance, what comes from the unknown, is risk. 

Which can only mean that we've bred generations of adrenaline junkies, as many (MANY) folks relish on the uncertainty that is now associated with modern dating. 

Call us (Tercus & I) old school, but we no longer have a taste for bungee jumping from a lover to another.

How do we not realize that the very fear we carry around in regards to showing we care, could be resolved by... showing we care!

I understand that as kids, we don't know harm, we aren't covered in scars from distant lovers, we are unable to recognize danger until we face it eye to eye, surely that helps us act on impulse and less quizzingly, once we grow older we also tend to grow colder,

but why do we always assume the worst? 

Why do we choose to let our past experiences influence us through such a doom and gloom view 

of the vast field of possibilities before us?

Have we only left room to grow more cynical, forgetting to invite love to come in through the door?

How do we return to the unflinching ways in which we partnered up as a means of survival and not a way to kill time? Or, since procreating to keep the human race alive, is no longer the motivator for us to come together, have we eliminated the urgency and deep-rooted necessity for relying on each other?

Is companionship only just that? Sitting beside each other until we no longer feel alone, and then picking the next partner once you're low on that fix of close proximity?

Of course I could've delved into the obvious harm perpetrated by having access to THAT many people via any form of online communication (whether it be social media, or dating apps), but I'd like to think that despite being gullible and programmable, above all, we remain human. Therefore meaning, that we can gain control over the conditions of our environment, and we are able to make conscious choices that are not influenced by whatever the marketing heads of the most influential corporations have decided is our fate. Plus, it's true that it is human nature to desire that which we cannot have, but, is it so deluded to believe that we should start by desiring that which we already have? 

So, what brings apart those who blindly follow the hype, those who appeared to be perpetually destined to listen to what Oprah said on weeknights, those who listen to the lies that tell them not to open their hearts to the world

––from those of us who dare to fall head first, and dare to wonder if this is all there is, or if we can devour the world in its entirety from how much our love of exploration consumes us? 

Surely a sense of comfort prevails in both groups, but, what urges some of us to get back up again after what seems like the last straw in the battle of modern day dating? 

Maybe I am asking the wrong questions, maybe all that's left to do is simply to hope...

You must be confused by how I begun bashing the fact that the language surrounding love has become so analytical, which I then followed by delivering an analysis on the phenomenon, but, if I ever dreamt of you reading through, I had to deliver my thoughts in a way that you'd find more familiar, digestible. That being said, here's my conclusion, no marketplace lingo nor economical strategies involved: 

I only hope for you to wake up that 7 year old kid within yourself and fall in love, deeply and without remorse. 

I hope you meet somebody that not only drives you crazy with their looks, but with the way you feel when they look at you, and maybe sometimes with their annoying little bad habits, but ultimately your love for each other is stronger than the desire to throw the towel, and the love you share pushes you to work through your differences as you continue to grow–instead of hoping that if you love them strong enough, they will magically morph into your ideal version of them. Better allow them to show you their ideal version of themselves. 

I hope you ask out that person you've been crushing on for a while now, putting your nonchalance aside, and I hope they accept your invitation; if they don't, however, I hope you don't take it as a sign of defeat, but rather as a sign of your strength, your persistence, and your humanity resisting the numbness being perpetrated around you. 

A sign of life. Of hope.

I hope for you to stop being afraid of asking for clarity, I hope that you ask for the love that you give and I hope in return, that you get your needs met and your dreams fulfilled. I hope you rid yourself of the shame associated with not wanting to leap into the unknown head first, naked and alone, and replace it with the excitement that is to entwine your fingers with your lover's and jump together into the ether. 

I hope you scratch the idea that to hope, is inherently to be foolish. 

I hope, you too, hope.

Much, much, hope––and even more love,

Cassandra a.k.a Eureka!

fisherman's blues

thaw.
savour the melting of the thick
walls of ice 
engulfing your once
frozen heart.
quite refreshing, ain't it?
not to be at the mercy of
an ancient calling to
forfeit from those who venture
near the mouth of the river that
flows through our veins and 
leads to our soul...

 ––an orchid strapped to a stone, dragged across a field covered in slush familiarity.

Extract meaning from my mindless ramble, if you will.

desire paths & crosswalks

 To coincide, is living proof of fate at work––faith reworked.

Prove me right!

Uncork the desire 

that pours from our uncouth mouths, 

wrapped in silk cloth 

and the thrill of

a gentle hand caressing mine

in the most delicate graze––

you'd surely drive anyone crazy.

Catch a glimpse of me, as I picture you... Dream lover, when you sit beside me I feel like there's no other.

Am I perpetually bound to long for you? Or will you touch me, and set us free?

the lover's bench.

 I find myself
sitting on the lover's bench–
loveless, but hopeful,
foolish?
Goosebumps, jet fuel, a jackhammer's echo beside me.

Everything seems brighter, despite the chills that creep down the skin on my arm.
I am engulfed by a new sense of warmth.
To the beat of my off-beat antics–I hope.

Anticipation is wishful thinking's trusted companion, and the rational mind's Friday night cocktail.

Some things just stick to you, whether you want them to or not. Much like stray hairs and lipgloss...

Must we always speak in tongues?

Do we recognize the ideal lies to tell ourselves, and idealize merely ordinary folks?                                     

I sure refuse to believe so, mostly upon the faulty principle of "ordinary folks"–sure, some possess a brighter sparkle in their eye–but isn't it miraculous enough for a sentient soul to walk this earth?

Some questions I've got, just wondering.

reflection: faith, fate–an intersection?

 What is faith to a non-believer?

Surely the word must translate, perhaps with a meaning transcended–yet not so far removed from the blind leap, stomach-churning, teary-eye invoking force.

I often wonder, what's there left to ponder–did the greats ask all the questions there were to be asked?

Maybe I just worry too much, but, I can't seem to help myself. There's always an interrogation itching to be matched with answers within me.

Prophetic dreams, premonitory thoughts, reflections of desires fulfilled by the mere push of chance, an unassuming question asked: "what if?". 

It's such a fitting word–reflection. I find myself considering, turning thoughts on their every side, biting my lip in deep concentration as I stare at the way the light kisses the ripples on the water before me.

Maybe faith is in the knowing no matter where you are, there'll always be light reflected on the surface.

stranded standards - estranged expectations / kiss and tell

I am constantly left feeling like the saboteur of my own happiness.

Undermining my very own joie de vivre for the sake of "not lowering my standards".

I'm well aware of the fact that said standards have saved me from a slew of endeavors that I'm certain I would've deeply regretted, whether it be the morning after, or 4 months and an empty feeling in my chest later. 

Sometimes I wish I would simply succumb to the ubiquitous hookup culture, the mindless slam of another body onto yours, no inhibitions or hesitation, no overthinking--in fact, no thinking whatsoever/at all.

And then my logical mind comes out to play, a gentle tug at my slightly tickled curiosity, telling it to sit down and hold its composure. I thank it, shake off the feeling and invite the thought to step aside and not come back. The thought waves yet another goodbye, promising me it will be the last time it will come around, but winking knowingly--its fingers crossed behind its back.

The truth is that I was never one for kissing unknown boys in unknown places, I wanted to go with the flow but needed to know a time and place three business days in advance, spontaneity is not a warmly welcomed guest in this home-- I've got my father to thank for it, his clear cut limitations around the four walls of my room certainly set the pace for the way I'd handle myself in the face of the world's extended hands creeping from the dark corners of dimly lit places with unfamiliar faces. 

I have always been one for irony, though. Not only irony, but also absurdity bordering on the edge of cynicism masqueraded as satire. Plenty of "do it as a joke" feats would happen. A first kiss is not something that should fall under that umbrella though. I knew better than that, but perhaps peer pressure prodded past my logical thinking brain, and dug its claws into my shoulder, rushing me to "grow up", resulting in yet another anticlimactic experience. What should have been fireworks, or at least a sweetly awkward exchange, once again turned out to present itself as an embarrassment, a shame-inducing, guilt ridden exploration with a side of anxiety provoking head rush, and a lot of sweat, not to mention mosquito bites. I didn't love him, nor did I have a legitimate interest in what could possibly drive his existence, I didn't think we would fall in love (still I longed to be proved wrong) nor did I feel a connection growing as a pit in my belly. 

So, why is it that I still fell to my knees, on the streets of Paris, upon learning that my first kiss was the talk of the town? I saw no intimacy in the moment we shared, felt no spark at the crashing of our lips, had no desire to form a relationship with this... boy who happened to be a vulture, masqueraded as a conventionally attractive yet over confident bordering on cocky jerk, who for one reason or another deemed me fit to become the next victim to his perfectly plotted crime. 

To be completely frank, the kiss that followed and the boy attached to the lips that partook in it felt like karma for having missed the mark on my first go around; a kiss so fatal that it flipped my life upside down, left me open mouthed with my head hanging from a bed unmade, it was the catalyst of a wooden balcony's breakage. The kiss, it was earth shattering, in that we were playing real life Romeo and Juliet, and everyone knew that our innocent friendship had crossed bounds before either of us realized it. This kiss began and ended with belly laughter, was preceded by tears and followed by more kisses, and empty promises laced with peaches only that the pits were the last remnants left behind for me to cut my tongue with–bleeding and raw, is the state I found myself in, following that kiss.