We live in a generation of almosts.
Almost committed, but not quite enough, so that when the time comes to leave, we can at the drop of a hat and no one can technically say anything, as you were only an almost.
We give ourselves no strings attached commitments, like “friends with benefits” or “fuck buddies.”
We “see” each other, we “date”, but we don’t label it that. We don’t want to tie each other down.
We want to keep that revolving door moving.
We travel so we can’t make roots, can’t make the commitment, don’t make the plan.
We need to have that freedom to be ourselves, but then we want the reassurance that when our eyes are wondering, our almost only has eyes on us.
We don’t want to be in a relationship, we don’t want the label, but we want that connection. We want that person to know us, to reply to the “call me” message, or even just to simply reply.
To know who we mean when we talk about our childhood friends, our hobbies, our families.
To know our weird quirks and habits, what we order from the bar, our favorite song.
To connect but not commit.
Then we stop.
It’s all too much for the next step.
We convince ourselves that it was almost what we wanted, but not quite.
It’s pretty close, but there could be better.
We leave, we shut it down, we turn it off.
We keep looking.
We keep searching for the exclusive non-exclusive.
But from this we’re breeding a generation who question themselves every day.
Am I enough?
Is this good enough?
Will they stay?
Will they go?
Should I stay?
Should I go?
Is this enough?
We’re not brave anymore—we’re weak and scared.
Because we’ve convinced ourselves that’s easier, safer, that all the almosts are far better than all the broken hearts.