Spoilt for choice, screwed for life
There is one sentence I keep coming back to. Not the breakup. Not the men. Just this one, I wonder if I've swiped past my person to keep scrolling toward a hypothetical one, because it names something I don't think we've fully admitted to ourselves yet: we didn't get worse at love. We just got worse at appreciating what is right in front of us. I want to tell you I'm above it. I'm not. I have opened an app in the middle of missing someone real and let a hundred strangers' faces flatten the missing into something manageable, something scrollable. Spoilt for choice, screwed for life. It sounds like a joke until you sit with it. The apps promised abundance. More people, more options, more chances to get it right. Somewhere in the architecture of infinite scroll, we stopped meeting people and started auditioning them. Stopped asking Do I like this person? And started asking Is this the best that is available to me? Those are not the same question. One i...