Even now, and back then, too, I feel like my ideal world is one in which we communicate with pillow-talks and truth circles all the time. It’s my favorite thing, actually, to be in larger social settings where we’re playing some game where there’s no winning, it’s just about being vulnerable and feeling safe. And having that tension be palpable in the room. It’s electrifying when those experiences happen.
This makes me think of the phenomena of ghosting. I wish we could just say, “Look, I’ve enjoyed our first few dates together, you are great for XYZ, but I don’t think it’s a fit,” and then go separate ways. But we don’t have that ability to be honest with each other and vulnerable in that way. It strikes me as a real failure of understanding and compassion in our culture.
I just met someone in London a couple weeks ago. It was after a screening. I went out with a group of people, and I ended up going home with someone. And we hooked up, and then the next morning we shared an intimate breakfast. And we just really vibed. But as I was going to the airport the next day, we were What’s App-ing, and she was like, “It would be great if we could reconnect, and go skate and travel, and make something together.” And I was like, “Oh my god, will you marry me? Kidding, not kidding.” And then she’s like, “Yeah, kidding, but not kidding.” And then a couple days later, she was like, “What if we decide to get married? What if, conceptually, we decide to get married?”
All of a sudden, it shifts the framework. Because the modern “game” of dating is about priorities. In dating and intimacy, if you prioritize the relationship first and foremost, then you’re going to do what it takes to make a relationship work, to keep a relationship from falling apart. But if your priority shifts to trying to decide if this one single specific person is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, it’s a very different set of actions and thoughts that you have. All of a sudden it goes from, “I want to tell this person this, but I’m scared it might not make the relationship work,” to, “I want to tell this person who I am, and my insecurities, and what I think works between us.” Because I’m gonna enter a lifelong partnership with this person, and I don’t want to be dishonest. I don’t want to not be vulnerable.
Why do you think it is that we’re so afraid of being vulnerable?
It’s about our self worth, and avoiding emotional pain. I think if we prioritize relationships, we put a lot of self worth in whether the relationship works or not. A failure of the relationship is a failure and a rejection of us, as people. You’re not worthy of a relationship. But with this experiment, it’s like, “Oh, if this doesn’t work, it’s a rejection of you by this person,” which isn’t necessarily a rejection of you being not worthy in general. It’s like, “Oh no, I’m just not compatible with this person.” Even if this doesn’t work out, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to date the same way again.
How is it working out?
Most days, it doesn’t detract from your insecurities and how difficult it is to talk about it—that’s still there. But the framework makes it more okay. There’s an incentive to talk about it in a way that’s safer. You can’t do it with everybody, you have to really be on the same level, and both want the same thing. I’ve been developing this documentary about millennial love, and everything just gelled, and the timing was right to do this.
Source : Clay Skipper Link