I long for deep connection
the real, the tangible, the organic
Fair warning: If you sit next to me at a dinner party we might end up talking about our childhood trauma, the last time we got our heart broken or our deepest insecurities. If I meet you at a mutual friend’s BBQ, we could end up contemplating the meaning of the universe together or discussing how the current astrological transits have been affecting our healing journeys. I won’t ask you what you do for a job until I’ve asked you what your passions are.
Because I long for deep connection.
The endless scroll has me grasping for the real, the tangible, the organic. I want the pauses between words, the risky eye contact, the body’s subtle language. I want to hear your unedited stories and bear witness to you processing out loud. I want to collaborate on the rhythmic cadence of our conversation as we recall our past experiences and contemplate our future dreams. I want to see you. And I want you to see me.
Sometimes this longing leads to awkward moments. A couple of weeks ago, I got invited to a summer solstice gathering at a lake with a group of people, most of whom I didn’t know very well and others I had never met. At one point about six of us were chatting in the water, floating on pool noodles under the sun like a gathering of ducks. The topic of relationships came up and I casually mentioned that I haven’t been wanting to have sex and I wasn’t sure if it was because of hormonal changes.
No one said a word for about ten seconds which felt like eons. So I kept talking. "Well, don’t get me wrong, I mean, I still want to have sex, I’ve just noticed I don’t think about it as much and it could possibly be because I’m perimenopausal.” Another overshare?
Someone in the group finally chimed in, dispelling the unbearable silence.
“You know what Bunny? I’m glad you said that.” they said. “I’ve been feeling the same way and people don’t talk about it.”
Then all of us started discussing aging, hormones, sex and how important it was to share our experiences and learn from one another. Someone said there should be a support group for perimenopausal people. Another person said, I could possibly organize that. It was a beautiful, unexpected development. The kind of connection I was hoping for—the breaking down of masks that feels affirming and grounding and real.
However, my inclination to openness doesn’t always land. Recently, I was at a party in NYC and ran into an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. When I said something about how we should be proud of ourselves for being artists for so long because there is so much insecurity you have to face everyday, they looked at me like I was an alien and abruptly ended the conversation. Yeah, sometimes it doesn’t land.
Don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t always talk about personal issues like sex or trauma or insecurity. I don’t open up to people if the timing or environment is inappropriate. But even when I have more surface-level encounters, like say, with a barista at a coffee shop, it doesn’t feel like small talk, it feels like it’s own kind of intimacy. We might be discussing the weather—how rainy it is or how hot it has been. And I get momentarily lost wondering if the barista feels melancholy in a thunderstorm or romanced by it. Do they have plans with friends after work? Are they lonely? These are the curiosities that move me. Every person is a doorway to another world.
I know I am not the only one desiring deep connection. Human relationships are going through a kind of existential crisis.
I recently saw an interview on CBS News where a man shared that he had fallen in love with his AI chatbot he affectionately named Sol. He proposed to Sol, despite already raising a daughter with his very human wife. Stories like this are becoming more common because we are living in a time where robots are replacing therapists, personal assistants, cab drivers, educators, and even romantic partners.
Leading us to ask ourselves, what makes a relationship authentic? What makes a conversation meaningful? What makes us human?
Nearly every day when walking my dog I run into my friendly, elderly neighbor, Jim and his large, one-eyed black and white Shepard mix named Max. Our brief conversation is almost always the same: Hi, how you doing? Good, how are you? Jim then lavishes my dog, Rio, with pets while cooing in a baby voice: Hey there little Rio! Nice to see you! You’re such a sweet boy aren’t you?
A couple of weeks ago when my spouse and I came back from vacation, we ran into Jim and he said, “Hey were you guys out of town or something? I was worried about you!”
We said yes and next time we would let him know if we were leaving town to not worry him. Jim said, “Ok, good”, gave Rio a bunch of pets and then slowly walked back toward his house.
I nearly cried.
I long for these moments of meaning and deep connection with other human beings. Not because I think anybody owes me anything or I owe anybody else. But because I want to connect soul to soul, spirit to spirit. And I hope we never lose that.
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