Love is the only thing humans claim is priceless while simultaneously turning it into a subscription service.
That's where we are now.
We live in a civilization capable of putting a robot on Mars, generating fake people with artificial intelligence, and delivering a burrito to your front door in twelve minutes. Yet somehow we've become spectacularly confused about the thing that has been sitting in the center of human existence since two cave people looked at each other and thought, "You know, I enjoy not being eaten by predators with you."
Love.
Not the movie version.
Not the Instagram version.
Not the version where two impossibly attractive people run through an airport while a piano swells in the background.
I'm talking about the real thing. The inconvenient thing. The thing that has survived wars, famines, plagues, economic collapses, and family reunions.
And the more I watch modern society treat love like a disposable consumer product, the more convinced I become that we've stopped taking it seriously.
That's a problem.
A very funny problem.
But a problem.
We Treat Love Like Fast Food
Imagine if we treated medicine the way we treat relationships.
A doctor walks into the room and says:
"Good news. This treatment works about half the time. It requires enormous emotional investment. The side effects include anxiety, disappointment, irrational behavior, financial instability, and occasional crying in parking lots."
Most people would immediately leave.
Yet that's basically the sales pitch for love.
And we sign up anyway.
The difference is that nobody respects love as something serious anymore.
People treat relationships like they're scrolling through a streaming service.
Too many flaws.
Too much effort.
Not enough excitement.
Cancel subscription.
Find a new one.
Repeat.
We've developed the attention span of caffeinated squirrels.
The second a relationship becomes difficult, people start acting like they've discovered a manufacturing defect.
"This relationship requires communication."
Refund.
"This relationship requires compromise."
One star review.
"This relationship requires effort."
Unacceptable.
Meanwhile these same people spend six hours trying to beat a level in a video game.
Apparently suffering is noble when it's digital.
The Cult of Endless Options
Technology has given us access to more potential partners than any generation in human history.
And somehow it has made everyone worse at relationships.
That's almost impressive.
Dating apps promise infinite possibilities.
Infinite possibilities sound great until you realize infinite possibilities create infinite dissatisfaction.
You could be sitting across from a wonderful human being.
Kind.
Funny.
Loyal.
Intelligent.
Attractive.
Compatible.
But somewhere in the back of your mind a tiny voice whispers:
"What if there's someone 3% better?"
And just like that you've transformed a human relationship into a shopping experience.
Nobody can compete with imaginary perfection.
Especially when perfection doesn't exist.
The modern dating marketplace resembles a casino where everyone believes the next pull of the lever will finally deliver happiness.
Spoiler alert:
The lever is broken.
We've Confused Attention With Love
Social media has performed one of the greatest magic tricks in human history.
It convinced millions of people that attention and love are the same thing.
They're not.
Attention is easy.
Love is expensive.
Attention is a stranger liking your photo.
Love is someone sitting next to your hospital bed at 3 a.m.
Attention is a hundred heart emojis.
Love is helping somebody move furniture.
Attention is instant.
Love takes years.
One is a dopamine hit.
The other is a commitment.
But commitment isn't glamorous.
Nobody posts a viral video called:
"My Partner Consistently Supported Me Through Ordinary Life For Twenty Years."
There's no soundtrack.
No dramatic reveal.
No influencer sponsorship.
Just reliability.
Which, ironically, is one of the most romantic things on Earth.
Romance Has Been Outsourced To Corporations
You ever notice how much of our understanding of love comes from companies trying to sell things?
Engagement rings.
Luxury vacations.
Matching pajamas.
Couples packages.
His and hers everything.
If aliens landed tomorrow and learned about human relationships entirely through advertising, they'd conclude that love is primarily expressed through jewelry and scented candles.
Imagine explaining this to someone from another century.
"How do modern people demonstrate affection?"
"Mostly through targeted marketing campaigns."
The corporations have figured out something brilliant.
People desperately want meaning.
Meaning is hard to manufacture.
Products are easy.
So they sell products disguised as meaning.
And people buy them because meaning is harder to find than free parking.
Love Is Not A Feeling
This is where people get angry.
Love is not primarily a feeling.
It's a decision.
Feelings are weather.
Feelings change every day.
Love is what remains when the emotional forecast looks terrible.
Nobody likes hearing that.
People want love to be magical.
Mystical.
Effortless.
A cosmic force that descends from the heavens and permanently solves loneliness.
That sounds wonderful.
It also sounds suspiciously like a screenplay written by someone who's never had to share a bathroom.
Real love isn't maintained by butterflies.
Butterflies have terrible long-term planning skills.
Real love survives because people choose it repeatedly.
Sometimes enthusiastically.
Sometimes reluctantly.
Sometimes while wondering why the other person loads the dishwasher like a raccoon trying to solve a puzzle.
Modern Culture Worships Independence
We've become obsessed with self-sufficiency.
Everyone wants to be an island.
Strong.
Independent.
Untouchable.
Emotionally bulletproof.
The modern hero isn't someone who loves deeply.
The modern hero is someone who needs nobody.
That's strange.
Because humans are arguably the most relationship-dependent creatures on Earth.
A baby giraffe can walk within hours.
Human babies arrive looking like unfinished projects.
We spend years relying on other people.
We learn language from other people.
Values from other people.
Identity from other people.
The entire story of human civilization is basically one giant group project.
And yet somewhere along the way we decided needing people was weakness.
It isn't.
It's reality.
The strongest people I know aren't independent.
They're interconnected.
They've built meaningful relationships.
Support systems.
Communities.
They understand something we've forgotten:
Life is heavy.
Carrying it alone doesn't make you stronger.
It just makes your back hurt.
The Fear Of Looking Foolish
Part of the reason people avoid taking love seriously is because love makes you vulnerable.
And vulnerability is terrifying.
Love basically hands another person the instruction manual for hurting you.
Then it says:
"Please be responsible."
That's insane.
Objectively insane.
Yet it's also necessary.
Because every meaningful relationship requires risk.
You cannot experience deep connection without the possibility of deep disappointment.
Those things come packaged together.
Like batteries included.
People try to avoid the risk.
They stay detached.
Sarcastic.
Guarded.
Emotionally unavailable.
Everything becomes ironic.
Nothing becomes real.
The problem is that emotional armor protects you from pain.
It also protects you from intimacy.
Eventually people become prisoners inside defenses they built for safety.
The walls keep danger out.
They also keep everyone else out.
Love Is A Rebellion Against Meaninglessness
This is the part nobody talks about enough.
Love matters because existence is weird.
We're floating through space on a giant rock.
Nobody fully understands consciousness.
Everyone dies.
Time moves too quickly.
The universe appears completely indifferent to our personal ambitions.
Cheerful stuff.
Faced with all that uncertainty, humans do something remarkable.
We care about each other.
Not because logic demands it.
Not because economics requires it.
Not because nature guarantees success.
We do it anyway.
That's extraordinary.
Love is one of the few things that directly challenges the cold indifference of reality.
The universe says:
"Nothing matters."
Love responds:
"This person matters."
The universe says:
"Everything ends."
Love responds:
"Then I'll make the time count."
The universe says:
"You are alone."
Love responds:
"Not today."
That's not weakness.
That's courage.
Why We Keep Getting It Wrong
Because love is difficult.
There.
Mystery solved.
Not complicated.
Difficult.
People keep searching for shortcuts.
Compatibility tests.
Algorithms.
Personality profiles.
Relationship hacks.
Five easy steps.
Seven secret tricks.
Twelve warning signs.
Human beings love turning complicated realities into checklists.
Unfortunately love refuses to cooperate.
Because love involves two irrational creatures attempting to build a shared life while simultaneously battling stress, insecurity, aging, financial concerns, family drama, and whatever fresh catastrophe appears on the evening news.
Of course it's difficult.
Anything worthwhile usually is.
The Strange Miracle Of Ordinary Love
The greatest tragedy is that people overlook the most impressive form of love.
The quiet stuff.
The unremarkable stuff.
The stuff nobody writes songs about.
A spouse bringing home your favorite snack.
A parent answering the phone every time.
A friend showing up when things fall apart.
A partner remembering small details from conversations years ago.
Tiny acts.
Repeated endlessly.
That's where love actually lives.
Not in grand gestures.
Not in dramatic speeches.
Not in fireworks.
In consistency.
Day after day.
Year after year.
Choosing someone again.
And again.
And again.
It's less cinematic.
But infinitely more impressive.
Taking Love Seriously
So why do we need to take love seriously?
Because almost everything else we're told to worship eventually disappoints us.
Money helps.
Success helps.
Status helps.
Technology helps.
None of them solve the fundamental human problem.
We want connection.
We want belonging.
We want someone to witness our existence and say:
"I see you."
Not your résumé.
Not your follower count.
Not your bank account.
You.
That's what love offers.
Not perfection.
Not constant happiness.
Not immunity from suffering.
Just companionship in a universe that often feels indifferent.
And honestly?
That's a much bigger deal than most people realize.
The older I get, the less impressed I am by power, wealth, influence, or prestige.
I've watched too many people chase those things only to discover they don't fill the hole they promised to fill.
Love isn't everything.
But it's one of the few things that makes everything else worth enduring.
Which is why we should stop treating it like entertainment.
Stop treating it like a commodity.
Stop treating it like a lifestyle accessory.
Take it seriously.
Because one day your career won't sit beside your hospital bed.
Your social media followers won't help you through grief.
Your online shopping history won't hold your hand when life falls apart.
The people who love you will.
And if that's not worth taking seriously, I honestly don't know what is.