love has changed.
it doesn’t look like it did in our parents’ generation—or even how it looked just 10 years ago. what used to be clear-cut is now covered in gray. what used to be “he asked me out, we went steady, and now we’re together” has become “we’re talking, but it’s not like that… but it’s kind of like that… but don’t ask too many questions.”
even the vocabulary feels like a maze:
dating could mean going out, going steady, or just going with the flow.
“talking” could be a daily facetime or a one-time link-up followed by weeks of silence.
seeing someone doesn’t mean you’re with them.
being with someone doesn’t always mean you’re committed.
there’s no longer one clear path to love.
no blueprint. no shared language.
just vibes, tiktoks, soft launches, and hopes that you’re on the same page without having to read it out loud.
⸻
a generation in the gray
this generation is fluent in ambiguity.
we know how to give just enough to keep someone close, while holding back just enough to stay detached.
we want the intimacy of partnership with the freedom of solitude.
we say “i’m not ready” when we mean “i’m scared.”
we say “i’m chill” when we mean “i care more than i’m willing to admit.”
and we do this all while scrolling through highlight reels of relationships that look more certain than ours, more solid, more shiny—forgetting that half of them are curated chaos or quietly crumbling.
it’s hard to be in your 20s right now and not feel the tension.
between wanting something real and fearing you’ll choose wrong.
between craving deep connection and needing space to finally be on your own.
between being the version of yourself who wants to love and the version of yourself still learning how to.
⸻
naming vs. doing
i used to need labels.
i needed to name it so i could control it. so i could explain it. so i could justify why i was so in it.
but lately, i’ve been letting go of that. not because i don’t care, but because i do—just differently now.
i’m learning that some things don’t need to be planned or packaged.
they just need to be felt. lived. grown through.
i’ve stopped asking “what is this?” so quickly.
i’m starting to ask, “how does this feel?”
i’m still anxious, yes. still want to know what’s next.
but i’m getting better at being in what’s now.
at letting life feel like mine again.
at letting love, in whatever form, be something i don’t have to defend or define to anyone else.
⸻
the personal becomes universal
i’ve experienced something lately that doesn’t fit in a box.
and maybe that’s okay.
because not every story has to start with certainty to be worth telling.
not every connection has to be broadcast to be real.
not every beginning has to come with a contract or a title.
there’s something tender about slow beginnings.
something brave about staying soft in a world that tells you to be distant.
something healing about choosing to keep showing up—not for the validation, but for the experience.
⸻
if i’m being honest…
if the roles were reversed a year ago, i probably would’ve looked at my friends sideways too.
i would’ve wanted them to explain it better.
i would’ve asked, “so what are you guys, really?”
but growth will humble you.
it’ll widen your lens.
it’ll teach you that love doesn’t always come in clean lines, and connection doesn’t always wait for your permission to form.
i’ve learned to stop judging the parts of me that still want romance.
and i’ve learned to stop needing everyone to approve before i let myself be happy.
⸻
discernment > approval
now, it’s not about convincing others.
it’s about checking in with my peace.
it’s about honoring the experience for what it is—not what i hoped it would be, or what someone else thinks it should be.
discernment is softer than judgment.
it listens. it observes. it lets things unfold.
and it reminds me that i don’t have to choose between being careful and being open.
i can be both.
⸻
the point is—it’s okay to be torn
it’s okay to be in the in-between.
to want love and still want time.
to not know if this is the one, but still know it’s something.
even if it doesn’t last forever, can’t i still hold it with care now?
even if it doesn’t look perfect to everyone else, can’t i still honor what it’s teaching me?
⸻
because this is what becoming looks like, too:
letting go of needing everyone to get it.
letting go of needing to get it all myself.
letting life be soft, uncertain, slow, and still full.
letting my life feel like mine.
and trusting myself—even if i don’t know the ending.
