"Long-term, open to short"

We’ve mistaken abundance for intimacy, and in the glow of too many sparks, the warmth of one enduring flame feels rare.

Everyone says it sucks to date in New York, and it dwindles down to two reasons: quantity over quality and commitment issues. Doesn’t that sound synonymous with the implications of dating apps in our culture that now transcends from geography into our virtual world?

dating apps fighting as people are in the background swiping

Let's face it, the meaning behind long-term open to short is synonymous with “I want a long-term relationship, but I don’t want to seem like I need one.”

Short-term open to long sounds like “I didn’t mean to break your heart while I pretend we are in a relationship. I just got out of a really long one— anyone I date will face the aftermath of my commitment issues.”

In both options, there is an air of detachment, where love isn’t found in eagerness or necessity. They say, “You will find your person when you least expect it.”

And sure, there’s a sense of comfort in that serendipitous moment of locking eyes with someone who feels it too, all at once. The deeper connection comes from realizing we don’t need to mold ourselves to their needs or become someone we’re not to be loved. Yet this realization reflects a broader cultural norm of individualism—one that encourages us to focus on our own lives, pursue personal interests, and stay open to the unexpected. It keeps us from looking desperate or anxious, shopping while we are hungry verses while we have our proverbial glass full.

Dating apps have widened the stage for all this prancing— behind all of it, we’re still the same: wanting to be seen and accepted for exactly who we are. Now that we have more access to people than ever, it feels like a real romantic connection, the kind where it stays past the honeymoon phase seems like a rare interaction.
When every swipe triggers a dopamine hit, the psychologists call it a variable-ratio reinforcement schedule, meaning rewards come unpredictably. The brain becomes addicted not to finding love but to seeking it.

Gamified and unsexy until you hear about your friend who’s getting married to a guy or girl they met on Hinge. OK…Maybe it's worth a try? Until you see that each profile is a résumé of people looking for genuine human connection on a not so genuine platform.

Dating apps obliterate the opportunity cost of approaching someone in person, or "Dropping the handkerchief,” an idiom describing a woman subtly initiating attraction or interest in a man, a concept popularized by relationship expert Matthew Hussey.

I’ve dropped some handkerchiefs in my life. The easiest way would be to tell their close friend, and if that friend was a good one, word would eventually get back to them. (This only applies to women. Women love men who can take charge, so don’t let this fool you.) I always wondered why none of them stayed, so it’s not a tip for longevity.

Once I started having a crush on someone, I began filling in the gaps with who I wanted them to be. Dopamine—the ‘feel-good’ neurotransmitter—had a chokehold on me. Maybe, before dating apps, this was a survival mechanism. In a world of shorter lifespans and fewer options, attachment had to happen faster. Now, we’ve given it a name: limerence.

Now I’ve caught on to the lesson and cushioned the fall with

“It’s okay to feel excited. But I release the fantasy so I can see them clearly.”

But there is intimacy in the arm’s-length detachment, where you can pause and ask if they align with more than just attractiveness but a passion for longevity and commitment.

Is it so bad to want a love that resembles a furnace, not a spark? We all know this as puppy love, intense, thrilling, short-lived. Dating apps keep igniting sparks, yet in the glow of so many, none burn bright.

“To love is to be vulnerable. To love someone fiercely, to believe in something with your whole heart, to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, to be all in—this is vulnerability. To be vulnerable is to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.” — Brené Brown

I don’t want a spark anymore. Nor do I want to be rushed into one. Maybe they lacked longevity because I wasn’t vulnerable about what I truly wanted beyond the résumé. It’s the vulnerability, after all, that transforms fleeting sparks and dying embers into a steady, enduring furnace.

I want to be engulfed by a steady, enduring flame that is a source of safety, warmth, and training. A furnace is only possible when two people risk being seen, staying present even when it’s uncomfortable.

Marked by tenderness in a culture that wants love’s benefits without love’s surrender. Where we can surrender to our honesty, so contempt doesn’t explode all at once, as its small little prayers to the celebration of our commitment.

I want to be seen, as if every word and silence mattered. I want someone to notice my sadness on a heavy day as I would theirs.

Even when our hands are full, I want the kind of love that stays.
Not performative.
Not perfect.

Freely, I want to be loved—in a world where connection feels gamified.