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Today, we’re evolving socially much faster than we are physiologically. In my opinion. The information age is inundating us with people, products, resources, tools, access. Maybe it’s conditioning us to place less value on a real connection. Because our accelerated connectivity reassures us, there’s always going to be someone or something else, at some point. So if we’re afraid, or not ready, we tend to reach for the hall pass. Sweep things under the rug. Call it a minor casualty and keep moving. 

Yet deep down, all we’re really searching for is that connection we keep throwing away. Because we are perfectionists and something better is sure to come along. We’re hopelessly unable to commit to something. We’re all just lost amongst ourselves. It’s a sad irony. And sometimes, those who fear life without a connection cling so desperately to the one they’ve got that they lose sight of themselves entirely. 

To find a real love in New York has to be one of the most difficult happenings on the planet. Excuse my Carrie Bradshaw, but it begs the question, is love something that we find? That just happens to us? Or is it something we commit to? Something we have to be open to. 

You certainly have to love yourself before you can wholeheartedly love someone else. Maybe we in New York just hate ourselves. Because we’re constantly in this competitive, socioeconomically defined culture that is telling us that we just aren’t good enough. We don’t qualify, we don’t compare, we don’t have what they have, we can’t do what they do. We don’t have a reservation. We’re not on the list. We can’t afford it. We don’t measure up. We don’t meet the necessary qualifications. But there’s only one of each of us. How do we manage to measure ourselves by the same standards?

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