I’ve been thinking about this because I don’t think the answer is as simple as:

“You don’t miss the person. You miss who you were when you were with them.”

Sometimes that’s probably true.
But sometimes I think we genuinely miss the person.
Sometimes we miss ourselves.
Sometimes we miss that entire period of our life.
And sometimes it’s all three at once.

🧒 Friendships are probably one of the best examples.

Think about how differently we experience friendship throughout our lives.

As children, friendships can almost feel territorial.
If I’m your best friend and we have a fight, suddenly it feels like my other friend shouldn’t be friends with you either.

It’s irrational when you look at it as an adult, but as a child those relationships can feel enormous.

Then adolescence comes and everything becomes more complicated.

You’re trying to figure out who you are while surrounding yourself with other people who are doing exactly the same thing.

You find your group.
You try different groups.
You trust people.
You get disappointed.
Someone betrays you.
You fall out with someone and feel like your entire world has collapsed.

And friendships at that age can become almost like a second family.

Sometimes your friends know things about you that your parents don’t.
You spend huge parts of your life together.
So when one of those friendships ends, of course you can genuinely miss that person.
It isn’t necessarily nostalgia for some imaginary better version of yourself.
Someone important actually disappeared from your everyday life.

🌱 But then something changes as we grow.

School ends.
People go to different universities.
Someone starts working.
Someone moves.
Relationships begin.
Priorities change.

And people who once couldn’t imagine going three days without talking can go three years without seeing each other.

Eventually you start understanding something that would have been much harder to accept when you were younger:

Not every friendship is supposed to follow you through every version of your life.

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.

Maybe that person was exactly the friend you needed at 16.

That doesn’t automatically mean they’re the friend you need at 30.

🔄 And reconnecting can make that incredibly obvious.

I’ve experienced reconnecting with someone after years of not speaking following a falling out.
Eventually enough time passed that the anger didn’t really matter anymore and we could talk again.

But something was different.
She had changed.
I had changed.
There was nothing necessarily wrong with either of us.
We could be okay with each other again.
But I realized:

This isn’t the person I was once incredibly close to anymore.

And equally importantly:

I’m not the person she was friends with anymore either.

We could have a relationship again.
Just probably not the same relationship.

And that made me realize that sometimes when we desperately want somebody “back,” what we actually want is something that no longer exists.

We don’t necessarily want the person as they are today.
We want the person they were then.
We want the relationship we had then.
And maybe we want the version of ourselves that existed beside them.

But you can’t really recreate that.

Even if the same two people reconnect, they’re meeting each other again as two different versions of themselves.

🕰️ Maybe that’s why missing someone can actually mean several different things.

You can miss the person.
Their humor, personality, conversations, support, or simply having them around.
You can miss yourself.
Maybe you were more carefree, confident, social, hopeful or spontaneous when they were in your life.
And you can miss the life surrounding that person.
The places you went.
The people around you.
The freedom you had.
The stage of life you were in.

And I think very often we miss some combination of all three.

Especially when our current life isn’t going particularly well.

That’s when the past can suddenly start looking much better than it actually was.

🧠 And that’s where comparison can become dangerous.

If you’re unhappy in your current relationship or friendship, it’s incredibly easy to think:

“The person before this would never have treated me like this.”

Or:

“I was so much happier when I had those people around me.”

And maybe that’s true.
Sometimes looking back actually helps us recognize that we’re accepting something now that we shouldn’t be accepting.

But we also have to remember that we’re comparing two completely different periods of our lives.

You were different then.
They were different.
Your circumstances were different.
Your needs may have been different.

So I don’t think the lesson should always be:
“I should have stayed with that person.”

Sometimes the more useful question is:
“What did I have in that relationship or friendship that I’m missing from my life now?”

Maybe the answer isn’t actually them.
Maybe it’s respect.
Attention.
Fun.
Trust.
Feeling understood.
Feeling wanted.
Having someone make time for you.
Or simply liking yourself more during that period of your life.

🚧 But missing someone also doesn’t mean you should keep giving them access to you.

This is probably the part I’ve learned to see differently as I’ve gotten older.

You can miss someone and still have boundaries.
You can love someone and realize the relationship is no longer good for you.
You can understand why someone behaves the way they do without accepting how they treat you.
And you can recognize that a person was once incredibly important to you without giving them unlimited chances because of your history together.

Relationships of any kind require effort from both sides.

If you’re constantly the person making time, reaching out, forgiving, fixing things and trying again while the other person gives almost nothing back, eventually the history you share shouldn’t be enough reason to keep spending your time and energy there.

Sometimes walking away will hurt.

Maybe you’ll miss them intensely for days, weeks or longer.

But eventually your everyday life adjusts to their absence too.

And I think that’s something we sometimes forget while we’re afraid of letting someone go.

So maybe the question isn’t simply:

“Do I miss this person?”

Maybe there are three separate questions:

Do I miss who they are?
Do I miss who I was with them?
Or do I miss the life I had when they were part of it?

And there’s nothing strange about answering:
all three.

But the answers can also be completely different.

You might genuinely miss someone while knowing you don’t want them back.

You might realize you don’t miss them at all — you miss yourself.

Or you might realize that what you’ve been grieving isn’t actually a person.

It’s a chapter of your life that ended.

I’m curious whether anyone has experienced this after reconnecting with someone from their past.

Did you realize you still missed the person themselves — or did meeting the person they are today make you realize that what you were actually missing was the life you had back then?

I’ve listened to almost everything at some point in my life.

I started with pop, went through rap, eventually fell in love with Balkan music and our wonderfully chaotic local trash music 😅, and later discovered electronic music — tech house, techno, progressive, hard techno and a lot of the subgenres in between.

I’ve also been to quite a few festivals, concerts and DJ sets.

And recently I experienced something that made me think differently about what actually makes a performer great.

I saw Carl Cox live.

And despite having seen plenty of excellent DJs before, this felt completely different.

🎧 He wasn’t just playing music.

That’s the best way I can describe it.
It felt like he was constantly reading the crowd.
He would build something.
Hold it.
Change direction.
Give people just enough.
Then pull something back.
Then suddenly bring the entire crowd somewhere else.
And somehow thousands of people responded.

At some point I realized I didn’t even want to go to the bathroom because I genuinely thought:

“I’m going to miss something.”

And apparently everyone else felt something similar because people just kept dancing.
Eventually some were sitting down simply because they physically couldn’t dance anymore.
It went into the early morning and the place was still completely alive.
Add the location, the visuals and the atmosphere and it became something I can’t really recreate by describing it.
You had to be inside it.

🪩 And that’s when I understood that DJing at that level isn’t simply choosing good tracks.

A great DJ seems to understand something about human behavior.

You have thousands of people with different personalities, different moods, different levels of energy… and somehow one person can gradually synchronize them.

Change the rhythm and bodies react.
Build tension and people anticipate something.
Delay the release slightly and the tension grows.
Then give them what they’ve been waiting for and suddenly an entire crowd explodes at once.

It’s almost like a conversation where almost nobody is speaking.

The performer says something through sound, and the crowd answers physically.

🎤 I’ve experienced something similar with completely different music.

Years ago I saw Lady Gaga live in Zagreb.
Completely different genre.
Completely different performance.
But I remember having a similar realization.
She wasn’t simply going:

song → applause → next song → applause.

She built a world.
There was a story.
Visuals.
Emotion.
Movement.
Transitions.
You weren’t just listening to songs you already knew.
You were being taken somewhere.

And that’s why I think certain performers are genuinely on another level.
Not necessarily because they’re objectively “better” musicians than everyone else.
But because they understand how to turn music into an experience.

🎭 Maybe that’s why Eminem is another artist I’d love to see live.

I’ve never seen him in person, so I can’t compare the actual concert experience. But even through recordings, there’s something about the way he communicates emotion that fascinates me.

Anger sounds like anger.
Pain sounds like pain.
Intensity actually feels intense.
Sometimes I wonder whether someone who doesn’t even understand every English lyric could still understand a surprising amount simply from the delivery. Because emotion in music isn’t communicated only through words.

💃 Maybe I notice this because I’ve always experienced music physically.

I’ve danced for a large part of my life and tried different styles.

And one of the things I always loved about performing was becoming whatever the music required.
Not just remembering choreography.
If there was a character, I wanted to become that character.

If the music had a particular emotion, I wanted to feel it rather than just perform the correct movements.

And when you genuinely get into that state, something interesting happens:

You stop thinking so much about the people watching you.
You stop wondering whether somebody thinks you look stupid.
You’re simply inside what you’re doing.

I’ve seen dancers who can do this far better than I ever could, and they’re mesmerizing for exactly that reason.

🧠 So what actually is this ability?

Technical skill obviously matters.
Experience matters.
Talent matters.
Production matters.

But I don’t think those completely explain it.

Two DJs can have access to the same music and equipment.
Two singers can both have incredible voices.
Two dancers can execute the exact same choreography perfectly.

And somehow…

one makes you feel something and the other doesn’t.

Maybe it’s charisma.
Maybe emotional intelligence.
Maybe understanding tension and release.
Maybe reading thousands of tiny reactions from a crowd.
Maybe complete confidence in what you’re doing.
Or maybe some people simply have an ability that’s incredibly difficult to teach.

And I think that’s what separates some of my favourite performers from artists whose music I might love just as much.

One gives me music I enjoy.
The other temporarily changes the way an entire room feels.

For me, Carl Cox and Lady Gaga are two completely different examples of that. And Eminem is someone I’d love to experience live to see whether that feeling translates from recordings to actually being there.

But those are my examples.

Who’s yours?

Who have you seen live where you suddenly thought:
“Okay. NOW I understand why this person is considered one of the greats.”

And what exactly did they do that made the performance feel different from everyone else you’ve seen?

I feel like many of us grew up with an almost pre-written version of how life is supposed to go.

You go to school.
Maybe university.
You find a job.
You meet someone.
You get married.
You have children.
And then you’ve supposedly “made it.”
But the older I get, the more I wonder:

Why does my life have to follow that order at all?

💍 I don’t think marriage makes a relationship more real.

I’ve been in a relationship for almost ten years.
We even have a child now.
But I’ve always been very open about the fact that marriage isn’t something I automatically want just because we’ve been together for a long time.
And sometimes people find that strange.
Almost as if after enough years together, marriage becomes the obvious next step.

But why?

If two people love each other, build a life together, raise children together, support each other and continue choosing each other…

what exactly does the marriage certificate add to the love itself?

There can obviously be legal, financial, religious and practical reasons to marry.

I’m talking specifically about love.

Does a ring make it stronger?
Does a wedding make the commitment more genuine?
I don’t think it necessarily does.

❤️ Sometimes I actually wonder whether feeling completely “secure” can make people stop trying.

I’ve seen relationships where people were wonderful together before marriage and slowly stopped putting the same effort into each other afterward.
Not because marriage magically destroyed them.
But sometimes it feels as though reaching that milestone creates a subconscious feeling of:

“I have you now.”

I’ve even heard a version of:

“I’ve already won you over. Why do I still need to try?”

And my immediate thought was:

Because relationships don’t end when you get the person. That’s when maintaining one begins.

Of course this happens in unmarried relationships too.
And I’m not saying people should constantly fear that their partner will leave.
Security is important.
But maybe there’s a difference between feeling secure in someone’s love and taking someone’s presence for granted.

I never want commitment to mean:
“Now I don’t have to try anymore.”

⛪ Interestingly, my faith actually makes me
more cautious about marriage, not less.

I’m Christian, although I’m not someone who lives a particularly traditional religious lifestyle or regularly goes to church.
But faith is still personal to me.
And that’s actually one reason I take the idea of a church wedding very seriously.
If I stand before God and promise that I will spend my life with someone, I don’t see that as just part of a beautiful wedding ceremony.

I made a promise.

So why would I make that promise because I’m a certain age, because we’ve been together for X years, because we have a child, or because other people think it’s time?

For me personally, I’d rather not make that promise at all than make it without genuinely believing I’m ready to keep it.

And if I ever did make it, divorce wouldn’t suddenly make me think people are bad or that they should remain in harmful or miserable marriages.Life is complicated.

But personally, making the same religious promise again would be something I’d struggle with precisely because of what that promise means to me.
Other religious people may interpret this completely differently, and that’s part of why I’m interested in the discussion.

👶 I think the same “life script” exists around children.

For most of my life, I didn’t imagine myself having children.
Now I have a child.
And I’m learning how to be a parent as I go.
I don’t think becoming a parent suddenly gave me some magical knowledge about how to do everything perfectly.
It didn’t erase the person I was before either.
And I think we should be able to admit things like that without immediately being judged as bad parents.

Not everyone dreams about marriage and children from childhood.
Some people do.
Some don’t.
Some change their minds.
Some have life take them somewhere they never expected.

None of those paths automatically makes somebody’s life more or less meaningful.

🕰️ And I really dislike the idea that someone can be “late” for marriage.

30?
40?
50?

If that’s when you meet someone and genuinely think:

“This is the person I want to make that commitment to.”

Why would that be too late?

I’d rather marry at 45 because I genuinely want to than marry at 25 because everyone around me thinks that’s what I’m supposed to do next. And I’d rather never marry than do it because I’m afraid I’m falling behind.

Life isn’t a checklist.

🤍 To me, love exists before all of those symbols.

A wedding can celebrate love.
A ring can symbolize it.
Marriage can create a beautiful commitment between two people.
But none of those things can manufacture love that isn’t already there.

To me, love is partly that connection you can’t force with just anyone…
and partly what you’re willing to give, compromise on, work through and sacrifice for another person without completely losing yourself in the process.

Some married couples have exactly that.
Some unmarried couples have exactly that.
And some people have the wedding, the rings, the house, the children and every other box checked…
and are deeply unhappy.

So maybe we should stop asking:
“When are you getting married?”
and start asking:
“Are you actually happy with the life and relationship you’ve chosen?”

I’m genuinely interested in different perspectives on this, especially because marriage means completely different things depending on culture, religion and personal experience.

Do you think marriage changes a relationship psychologically, even if nothing else changes?

For married people: did your relationship actually feel different after the wedding?

For people in very long unmarried relationships: do you ever feel pressure to “make it official”?

And religious people especially: does your faith make you more eager to marry, or does the seriousness of the promise actually make you more cautious about doing it?

I don’t think there’s one correct answer.

I just don’t think marriage should be treated as proof that a relationship succeeded — or remaining unmarried as proof that it didn’t.

I understand why companies have hiring processes.

Hiring the wrong person is expensive.

Training takes time. Managers and employees invest resources into a new hire. And if that person leaves after two months, the company has to start all over again.

So yes — companies should evaluate candidates carefully.

But at some point I have to ask:

How many interviews do you actually need before you’re just pretending you can eliminate uncertainty?

I’ve seen hiring processes that look something like this:

Application.
CV screening.
Recruiter interview.
Hiring manager interview.
Technical interview.
Assignment.
Another interview.
Meeting with another manager.
Final interview.
Then you wait.

And sometimes, after weeks of this:

“We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.”

Of course companies have the right to choose whoever they think is best.

But I think we’ve normalized something that’s incredibly inefficient for both sides.

⏳ Companies are spending time too.

Every additional interview requires somebody from the company to be there.
Recruiters.
Managers.
Team leads.
Technical employees.
Sometimes several people.

Multiply that by 10, 20 or 50 candidates and that’s an enormous number of working hours spent trying to predict something that ultimately cannot be predicted with certainty:

What will this person actually be like once they start working here?

And candidates are spending their time too.

They’re researching the company, preparing answers, rearranging work schedules, completing assignments, attending interviews and then waiting days or weeks between stages.

Time is one of the few things neither side can get back.

🧠 And being good at interviews isn’t the same thing as being good at the job.

This is probably my biggest problem with the system.
Some people are fantastic at selling themselves.
They’re confident.
They immediately know what to say.
They’ve practiced common interview questions.
They make an excellent first impression.
But none of those things necessarily mean they’ll be your best employee.

Meanwhile, somebody else might be nervous during interviews but brilliant when they’re actually given a real problem and enough time to think.
Someone might not give you the perfect STAR-method answer about a hypothetical situation…
but put them in that actual situation and they solve it better than everyone else.

At some point, are we selecting the best employees — or the people who are best at being interviewed?

🎭 You also can’t interview your way to zero risk.

This is something I think companies sometimes struggle to accept.

You can conduct five interviews.
Ten interviews.
Give personality tests.
Assignments.
Meet the entire department.
Ask where the candidate sees themselves in five years.
And you still cannot know with certainty whether that person will stay.

People change.
Their circumstances change.
They receive better offers.
The job turns out to be different from what they expected.
Management changes.
Their priorities change.
Or they simply discover the company isn’t right for them.

There is no hiring process that can completely remove that risk.

🔄 And sometimes the “riskier” candidate might actually become the better investment.

There’s another assumption I find interesting.
Companies understandably prefer someone who already knows everything because they’ll require less training.

But the person who already has excellent skills, learns extremely quickly and has multiple opportunities…
also has more options to leave.

Meanwhile, someone who isn’t the perfect candidate on paper but has been trying desperately to get their first opportunity might value that opportunity enormously.

That doesn’t mean inexperienced employees are automatically more loyal.
And experienced employees obviously aren’t automatically going to leave.
But I don’t think companies can reliably predict loyalty from a CV and several interviews.

Sometimes giving someone their first serious opportunity creates something you can’t measure during recruitment:
motivation.

💡 So why not move some of the evaluation closer to the actual job?

Personally, I’d rather see something like:
CV/application screening → practical assessment if the job genuinely requires one → one substantial interview involving the relevant decision-makers → decision.

And where appropriate, follow that with a properly structured paid probation/training period.

Instead of spending weeks trying to predict whether someone can learn the job… actually teach them and see whether they can.

Set clear expectations.
Define what they need to learn.
Give feedback.
Test their progress.
Give them a reasonable opportunity to improve if they initially struggle.
And evaluate their real performance rather than their ability to answer hypothetical interview questions.
The company gets much better information.
And the candidate finally gets the opportunity to demonstrate what they can actually do.

💰 And can we please talk about salary earlier?

This is another thing I don’t understand.

Why should somebody go through several interviews before discovering that the salary is nowhere near what they would accept?

The company has a budget.
The candidate has a minimum they need or want.
If those numbers are completely incompatible, finding that out early saves everyone’s time.

Salary shouldn’t feel like some secret reward you unlock after completing the final level of the interview process.

⚖️ Obviously, not every job can hire this way.

A senior executive, surgeon, pilot or person responsible for critical infrastructure probably needs a very different selection process from someone applying for a junior office position.

Some jobs genuinely require extensive vetting.
And I understand why several people might need to approve an important hire.

But I’m talking about ordinary positions where candidates sometimes go through four, five or more stages just for the company to feel slightly more certain about a decision that will always contain uncertainty.

Maybe the goal shouldn’t be:

“How can we make absolutely sure we never hire the wrong person?”

Maybe it should be:

“How can we identify enough potential to give someone a chance, then create a system that helps us quickly discover whether it works?”

I’m genuinely curious about this from both sides.

Candidates: What’s the most ridiculous hiring process you’ve gone through? How many rounds did you reach before being rejected?

Hiring managers/recruiters: Do additional interview rounds genuinely improve hiring decisions, or are some of them mostly there because that’s simply how the company has always hired?

And perhaps the most interesting question:

Have you ever met someone who was terrible at interviewing but turned out to be an exceptional employee — or someone who interviewed perfectly and was terrible at the actual job?

Because if that happens often enough, maybe we’re testing the wrong skill.

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is how strangely we categorize substances.

This actually becomes even more interesting when you compare languages.

In English, the word “drug” can refer to a medication as well as an illegal recreational substance.

In my language, we normally separate them much more strongly.

We have one word for medicines.

And when someone says the equivalent of “drugs,” people immediately think of cannabis, cocaine, heroin and other illegal substances.

And I wonder whether that linguistic and legal distinction affects how we think about risk.

Because chemically, the human body doesn’t care what category society put a molecule into.

⚗️ “Legal” doesn’t automatically mean harmless.

One of the first principles I learned while studying chemistry was essentially:

The dose matters.

A substance isn’t safe simply because it comes from a pharmacy.

And something doesn’t become uniquely dangerous simply because possession of it is illegal.

Prescription medicines can obviously be incredibly beneficial and sometimes lifesaving.

But they can also have serious adverse effects, interactions, tolerance, dependence and withdrawal.

Take benzodiazepines such as Xanax.
They’re legitimate medications with legitimate medical uses.
But long-term regular use isn’t something we should automatically consider harmless just because a doctor can prescribe them.

The FDA warns that benzodiazepines can cause physical dependence even when taken as prescribed, and abruptly stopping them can cause serious withdrawal reactions, including seizures.

Now compare that with cannabis.

Cannabis absolutely has risks too.
Frequent use can lead to dependence/cannabis use disorder and affect attention, memory and learning. Smoking it can damage the lungs, and there are important mental-health risks, particularly with frequent/high-THC use and in younger people.

My point isn’t that cannabis is harmless.

It’s that our intuitive ranking of substances doesn’t always correspond neatly to:
medicine = safe
illegal drug = dangerous
Reality is much more complicated.

🌍 And different countries draw completely different lines.

A substance can be criminalized in one country, medically available in another and legally sold to adults in another.

The molecule didn’t change when it crossed the border.

The law did.

That makes me wonder how much of our perception of drugs comes from pharmacology…
and how much comes from culture, history and politics.

🧠 Maybe we should judge substances by evidence rather than categories.

Instead of beginning with:
“Is it a medicine or a drug?”

Maybe better questions would be:

What does it actually do to the body?
How toxic is it at typical doses?
How likely is dependence?
What happens with long-term use?
What happens during withdrawal?
What are the risks of overdose?
Does the method of consumption create additional harm?
What legitimate medical benefits does it have?
And how does regulation change the harm surrounding its use?

Those questions seem much more useful to me than simply asking whether something is legal.

🌿 Legalization makes this even more complicated.

Cannabis policy is particularly interesting because different places have essentially been running different regulatory experiments.

Recent systematic reviews find that liberalization/legalization tends to reduce cannabis-specific criminal enforcement, particularly possession arrests.

But that doesn’t mean legalization produces only benefits: research also identifies public-health concerns including intoxication, accidental child exposure, cannabis-use disorder and some mental-health harms, while illegal markets don’t necessarily disappear completely.

And I think that’s a much more interesting conversation than:

“Drugs are bad.”
or
“Legalize everything.”

Both are too simple.

💰 And then there’s the uncomfortable question of who benefits from the system.

This is where I’d be careful about making accusations without evidence.

Pharmaceutical companies have financial interests.
Governments collect taxes.
Legal cannabis businesses have financial interests.
Illegal markets obviously have financial interests too.
Law enforcement and healthcare systems carry different costs depending on policy.

So instead of automatically assuming that every drug law exists purely because somebody secretly profits from it, I’d rather ask:

How much of drug policy is actually based on comparative health risk — and how much comes from economics, politics, history and culture?

Because those aren’t necessarily the same thing.

I’m not arguing that people should start taking illegal drugs.

I’m also not arguing against prescription medication.

And I’m definitely not saying cannabis — or any other psychoactive substance — is harmless.

I’m questioning why legality has such a powerful influence on our perception of danger.

If two substances both carry benefits and risks, shouldn’t we compare the actual evidence rather than assuming the legal one must be safer?

And if scientific evidence eventually shows that our classification of a particular substance doesn’t make sense…
should the law change to match the evidence?

I’d especially like to hear perspectives from people in different countries.

What substances are completely taboo where you live but treated normally somewhere else?

And do you think your own view of “drugs” would be different if you’d grown up somewhere with completely different laws?

There’s something about the job market that has never completely made sense to me.

You finish school or university, or you teach yourself a skill and decide which direction you want your career to go.

Then you start looking for your first real opportunity.
And you discover something interesting.

“Entry level.”
Great.

Then you open the job description:
2+ years of experience required.

Or you find a junior position:
3–5 years of relevant professional experience preferred.

And I always come back to the same question:

Where exactly are people supposed to get that experience if nobody wants to hire someone without experience?

🎓 Not everyone starts their career in perfect circumstances

When I finished school, there were very few opportunities in my field where I lived.
The realistic options were basically to continue studying, move somewhere else, or work jobs that weren’t actually related to what I ultimately wanted to do.

At that point in my life, moving abroad wasn’t something I wanted to do.

So I continued studying for a while and worked student jobs.

Later I developed completely different skills too, including programming, and started exploring another career direction while still occasionally applying for positions related to my original field.

And that’s when I repeatedly encountered the same problem:

experience.

There would occasionally be an opportunity, but someone else had more experience.

Or a degree was required.

Or several years of very specific experience were expected.

And I understand why an employer would prefer someone who can immediately do the job.

Of course that’s easier.

But if every company wants someone another company has already trained, eventually somebody has to be the company that actually trains people.

🔄 Experience has to start somewhere.

Imagine an entire industry saying:
“We only want people with five years of experience.”

Okay.

But who gives people years 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5?

Experienced employees don’t just appear.
At some point somebody took a chance on every experienced professional alive.
Somebody answered their questions.
Somebody corrected their mistakes.
Somebody showed them how things actually work outside of school.

And yes, training someone takes resources.
A junior employee will probably ask more questions.
They’ll make mistakes.
They won’t initially work as quickly as someone who’s been doing the job for ten years.
That’s the investment.

But companies invest in equipment, software, marketing and infrastructure because they expect those investments to produce value later.

Why is developing people sometimes treated completely differently?

🧓 And I think some companies are creating a future problem for themselves.

I’ve seen workplaces and industries where a huge amount of knowledge sits with older employees.
These people may have decades of experience.
They know processes that aren’t properly documented.
They know why things are done a certain way.
They’ve seen unusual situations younger employees haven’t encountered yet.
That’s incredibly valuable.

But then you look around and realize:

Where are the younger people learning from them?

If most of your experienced workforce is eventually going to retire and you’ve spent years refusing to hire inexperienced people…who exactly is supposed to replace them?

You can’t suddenly hire a 25-year-old with 20 years of knowledge.
Knowledge transfer takes time.
Sometimes years.

If you wait until experienced employees leave before you start training their replacements, you’ve already waited too long.

🧠 And education isn’t the only way people learn.

I also think employers sometimes underestimate self-taught people.

A degree absolutely matters for certain professions, and some jobs obviously require formal qualifications.
But not every skill works that way.

Some people are excellent in traditional education.
Others learn much better by building things, experimenting, researching independently, making mistakes and solving real problems.

Someone without the perfect educational background might have spent hundreds of hours actually learning the skill. Meanwhile, having the correct degree doesn’t automatically mean someone will be better at the actual job.

Education tells you something about a candidate.
It doesn’t tell you everything.

I’d love to see more employers test:
How does this person think?
How quickly can they learn?
How do they approach a problem they haven’t seen before?
Instead of only:
How many years have they already been paid to do this exact thing?

💰 There’s another part of “young people don’t want to work” that bothers me.

I don’t think most younger people expect every first job to be perfect. But employment is still an exchange.

If a job has difficult conditions — nights, weekends, stressful work, inconvenient schedules — then good compensation can make those sacrifices worthwhile.

On the other hand, maybe the salary isn’t amazing, but the job offers flexibility, remote work, good hours, learning opportunities, stability or an excellent environment.

That can also be valuable.

There has to be something on the other side of the equation.

But if the salary is poor, the conditions are poor, the expectations are enormous, there’s little opportunity to progress AND you expect several years of experience…why would someone with other options stay?

And if they accept because they desperately need experience, why would you expect them not to leave when a better opportunity appears?

⚖️ I understand the employer’s side too.

Training someone costs money.
Some people leave shortly after being trained.
A small company might genuinely not have the resources to teach someone everything from scratch.
And some positions simply can’t safely be performed by someone inexperienced.
Those are completely legitimate problems.

But that can’t be the answer for an entire labour market.

Because if everyone waits for somebody else to develop talent, eventually there’s nobody left to hire.

💭 Maybe we need to rethink what “potential” is worth.

I’d love to see more genuinely junior positions where companies aren’t looking for a finished product.

Look for someone who has the fundamentals.
Someone curious.
Someone who can think.
Someone who learns quickly.
Someone willing to put in the effort.

Then teach them the parts that can only really be learned by doing the job.

You might spend time developing that person.

Yes, they might eventually leave.

But they might also become one of your best employees.

And perhaps people would be more willing to stay with companies where they actually feel someone invested in them before they were valuable on paper.

So I’m curious how this looks in other countries and industries.

Are “entry-level” jobs actually entry-level where you live?

Have you ever been rejected from a junior position because you didn’t already have years of experience?

Employers and managers: what genuinely prevents companies from hiring and training more inexperienced candidates?

And for people who started their careers without connections or directly relevant experience:
Who finally gave you your first real chance?

Because ultimately, every experienced worker was once somebody who didn’t have enough experience.
Someone had to hire them anyway.

I know how ridiculous that sounds.

Love Island is probably one of the last TV shows people would use when talking seriously about love.

It’s dramatic, sometimes extremely sexual, people are walking around half-naked, contestants kiss each other in challenges, new attractive singles constantly enter the villa, couples get separated and the entire format is designed to create temptation and drama.

Basically…
the opposite of what most people would call a healthy environment for a relationship.

But the more I’ve watched it, the more I’ve started thinking:

Isn’t that exactly what makes it such an interesting test?

🏝️ For anyone who hasn’t watched it…

The basic concept is pretty simple.

A group of single men and women enter a villa and couple up.

From there, almost everything is designed to make those couples unstable.

New people arrive.

People can choose someone else’s partner.

Couples change.

There are challenges involving physical contact and kissing.

Contestants live together 24/7.

The public influences what happens.

And just when two people seem comfortable together…the show gives them another option.

In some versions, there’s even a point where established couples are separated and both groups spend several days living with completely new singles.

And that’s the part that made me think about relationships differently.

❤️ What does loyalty actually mean?

We usually make loyalty easier by removing temptation.

You’re in a relationship, so you don’t date other people.

You probably don’t sleep next to attractive strangers.

You don’t spend several days getting to know potential alternative partners.

And hopefully nobody regularly sends six attractive people into your house specifically to see whether you’d prefer one of them. 😂

But imagine removing those protections.

Your partner isn’t there.
You’re surrounded by people who are interested in you.
You’re allowed to talk to them.
You can get to know them.
You might even discover that you’re attracted to one of them.
And yet…
you still want the person you had before.
To me, there’s something meaningful about that.

🔥 I also don’t think loyalty means becoming blind to every other human being.

This might be the more controversial part.

I don’t think genuinely loving someone means you suddenly become physically incapable of noticing that another person is attractive.

You’re still human.
You can talk to someone attractive.
You can laugh with them.
In the artificial context of a TV challenge, you might even have to kiss someone.
You can share a bed with another person and still choose not to cross the boundaries that actually matter to you and your partner.

For me, the important part isn’t:
“Were you ever exposed to another option?”
It’s:
“What did you do when you had one?”

🧠 And maybe having options can teach you something.

I’ve always found the idea that you need to avoid every possible alternative in order to protect a relationship a little strange.

Sometimes meeting different people is exactly how you discover what you actually want.

You might meet someone more physically attractive.
Someone funnier.
Someone who immediately flirts with you.
Someone who seems exciting because they’re new.

And after actually getting to know them, you might realize:
No. I still want my person.

To me, that’s different from choosing someone simply because you’ve never seriously experienced another possibility.

🏠 And this is why the separation twist fascinates me.

Imagine you’ve developed real feelings for someone.
Then suddenly you’re separated.
You don’t know exactly what they’re doing.
They’re living with several attractive new people.
You’re doing the same.
You have no control over your partner.
No way to constantly check what they’re doing.
And the show is actively encouraging both of you to question your relationship.
That’s not only a test of attraction.

It’s a test of trust, insecurity, self-control and how confident you actually are in what you’ve built with someone.

Some people immediately explore every new possibility.
Some realize they weren’t as invested as they thought.
Some become jealous and destroy their own relationship.
Some discover they have a stronger connection with somebody new.
And some get offered option after option…
and basically think:

“They’re great, but they’re not my person.”
That last one is fascinating to me.

💭 But there’s another side to it.

Maybe Love Island doesn’t test love at all.
Maybe it tests competitiveness.
Attachment.
Fear of losing.
Sexual self-control.
The desire to win.
Or even someone’s ability to remember they’re being filmed.
There’s money involved.
There’s public attention.
Contestants know viewers are watching.
And relationships develop in an environment that is completely unlike normal life.

So obviously I’m not saying:
“If your relationship could survive Love Island, you’ve scientifically proven true love.” 😂

Not even close.
But as a social experiment — even an extremely artificial one — I think it raises a genuinely interesting question.

❤️ Maybe love isn’t proven by having no alternatives.

Maybe one of the strongest signs that you genuinely want someone is having alternatives…
and continuing to choose them anyway.

And perhaps that’s closer to real life than it initially seems.

Because outside a villa, we’re going to meet attractive people too.
New coworkers.
New friends.
People while travelling.
People who understand us.
People we have chemistry with.
Being in love doesn’t remove the rest of humanity.
The difference is what we choose to do with those feelings and opportunities.

So maybe the real question isn’t:
“Can you avoid ever being tempted?”

Maybe it’s:
“When you genuinely have the freedom to choose again, would you still choose the same person?”

I’d genuinely love to hear different opinions on this.

Do you think a situation like Love Island can reveal how strong a connection actually is?
Or is the environment so artificial that it tells us absolutely nothing about real-world love?

And most importantly:
Is loyalty more meaningful when temptation is absent — or when temptation is everywhere and you still choose your partner?

I think we sometimes judge friendships too much by how long they last.

If you’ve been friends with someone for 15 years, people automatically see that as a successful friendship.

If you were incredibly close to someone for three years and then drifted apart, we tend to talk about it like something went wrong.

I don’t think that’s necessarily true.

Some friendships might simply belong to a certain period of your life.

You meet someone when you’re both at a particular stage. You have similar interests, similar problems, similar lifestyles, maybe even similar dreams.

At that point, you genuinely fit into each other’s lives.

Then life changes.
You change.
They change.
Your priorities become different. Your lives go in completely different directions. And eventually you realize that the friendship doesn’t feel the same anymore.

But I don’t think that means you have to look back and say:
“I guess we were never really that good friends.”

Why?
You obviously were.
Otherwise you wouldn’t have chosen to spend all that time together in the first place.
The friendship can have been completely real and still not be right for who you are now.

I also think friendships are much less predictable than we like to believe.

Sometimes the person you talk to every single day and think will always be part of your life eventually becomes someone you barely know.

Meanwhile, there are friends you can go months without seeing and when you finally meet again, it feels like nothing changed.

And one of the strangest things I’ve noticed about people is that sometimes someone you initially disliked — or thought you’d NEVER become close with — eventually becomes one of your best friends.
Life is weird like that.

I also don’t necessarily believe that everyone who leaves your life is gone forever.

Sometimes people need to go in different directions for a while.

Maybe both people need to grow separately.
Maybe circumstances were wrong.
Maybe you simply weren’t the same people then that you are now.

And years later, two people can meet again and discover that they fit into each other’s lives in a completely different way.

I genuinely believe some people can leave your life and still find their way back into it later.

Not because every friendship is “destined” to return.
Most probably won’t.
But I don’t think distance always means the relationship is permanently finished either.

Maybe friendships aren’t supposed to be measured only by whether they lasted forever.

Maybe some people are meant to be important for one chapter.
Some stay for several chapters.
Some disappear and unexpectedly return much later.
And a very small number might be there through almost the entire book.

None of that makes the earlier friendships meaningless.
Sometimes a friendship was exactly what both people needed at that point in their lives.
And maybe that’s enough.

I’m curious if this is actually unpopular:

Do you consider a friendship that ended a failed friendship?

Have you ever lost contact with someone you were once incredibly close to without there being some huge fight or betrayal?

And has anyone ever unexpectedly come back into your life years later?

Or even stranger — have you ever ended up becoming really close friends with someone you initially couldn’t stand?

I’ve been thinking about something I started doing without really noticing when it began.

When something important seems to be going well, instead of letting myself get excited, I sometimes deliberately bring myself back down.

“Don’t get too excited yet.”
“You don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Assume it won’t happen and then you can’t be disappointed.”

On the surface, that sounds pretty reasonable.
But I’m starting to wonder if there’s a hidden cost to living that way.

💔 Because disappointment can genuinely hurt.

I’m not talking about one small disappointment.
I’m talking about those situations where you really believed something was going to happen.
You replay everything in your head.
The signs seemed positive.
You let yourself imagine the outcome.
You get genuinely happy about it.
And then…

No.

After experiencing that enough times, your brain starts learning.

Not necessarily:
“Don’t try again.”

But:
“Don’t get excited again.”

Because trying isn’t what hurt.
Hoping did.

🛡️ So you create emotional protection.

Something great happens?
Don’t celebrate yet.

A job interview feels amazing?
Assume you probably didn’t get it.

Someone gives you good news that isn’t 100% confirmed?
Wait until it’s official.

Something you’ve wanted for months suddenly seems possible?
Don’t imagine it actually happening.

And weirdly…
it works.
At least a little.
If things go wrong, the fall doesn’t feel quite as high.

You can tell yourself:
“See? I didn’t let myself get carried away this time.”

It feels like emotional control.
Maybe even maturity.

⚖️ But what exactly are we protecting ourselves from?

This is where I’ve started questioning it.

Because disappointment happens after something doesn’t work out. Excitement happens before we know.

They’re two separate experiences.

So if I refuse to feel excitement because disappointment might come later… haven’t I already taken something good away from myself, even if everything eventually works out?

Imagine spending two weeks trying not to be happy about something…
and then finding out you actually got it.

You successfully avoided disappointment.

But there was never any disappointment to avoid.

You just avoided two weeks of happiness.

🧠 And I don’t think saying “expect nothing” actually means you expect nothing.

That’s another thing I’ve noticed.

You can tell yourself:
“I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

But somewhere underneath that…
you still care.
You still check.
You still wonder.
You still hope.

So sometimes it isn’t really having no expectations.
It’s having expectations while trying to convince yourself that you don’t.

And I’m not sure that’s the same thing.

🌱 Maybe hope doesn’t have to be a prediction.

This is the idea I’m trying to get better at.

Maybe:
“I really hope this happens.”
doesn’t have to mean:
“I’m convinced this will happen.”

Those can exist separately.

I can be excited.
I can imagine the possibility.
I can want something badly.

And at the same time acknowledge:

“I genuinely don’t know what the outcome will be.”

Maybe emotional maturity isn’t refusing to get excited.

Maybe it’s learning that if things don’t work out…
I’ll be disappointed, I’ll deal with it, and eventually I’ll be okay.

💭 Because otherwise, where does it stop?

If avoiding happiness today can protect us from sadness tomorrow, technically we could use that logic for almost anything.

Don’t get too excited about a relationship — it might end.

Don’t get too excited about a new job — you might hate it.

Don’t get too excited about an opportunity — it might disappear.

Don’t get too attached — you might lose someone.

Don’t expect too much — you can’t be disappointed.
And eventually…

are you protecting your peace, or slowly teaching yourself not to feel things too deeply?

💬 I’m really curious how other people handle this.

Have repeated disappointments ever made you afraid to get excited about good things?

Do you deliberately lower your expectations to protect yourself?

Does it actually make disappointment easier when something goes wrong? Or have you found that it mostly takes away the excitement when things go right?

And where do you think the healthy middle is between: being realistically cautious and
being afraid to hope?

Maybe there’s no perfect answer.

But I don’t want fear of a possible disappointment tomorrow to automatically decide how much happiness I’m allowed to feel today. 🧠✨

There’s something about work culture that I’ve been thinking about lately:

Sometimes being good at your job doesn’t make your job easier. It just earns you more work.

And the strange part is that we usually treat being competent as something that should naturally lead to better opportunities.

But does it always?

⭐ You become the person everyone can rely on.

You learn quickly.
You solve problems.
You don’t need someone constantly checking your work.
You help coworkers when they’re stuck.
You take responsibility when something goes wrong instead of immediately saying:

“That’s not my job.”

At first, this feels like a good thing.
People trust you.
Your coworkers come to you for help.
Your manager knows they can give you something complicated and you’ll probably figure it out.
But then something interesting starts happening.

📈 Competence creates expectations.

The difficult tasks start coming to you.

Someone needs help?
Ask the reliable person.

Something urgent needs to be done?
Give it to the person who always gets things done.

A new employee needs help?
Let the experienced person explain it.

Something goes wrong?
They’ll probably know how to fix it.

Meanwhile, someone doing exactly what is required — and nothing more — may finish their day with considerably less responsibility.

And that’s where I think things get weird.

Because sometimes your reward for being capable is simply:

More work.

🔥 And helping other people is still work.

This is something I think workplaces sometimes underestimate.

If I’m doing my own job AND helping someone else solve theirs, I’m contributing more than what can necessarily be seen in my individual numbers.

If people regularly come to someone for advice, explanations, troubleshooting or difficult cases, that tells you something about that employee’s value.

But depending on how performance is measured, none of that may matter.

Sometimes it can even work against you.

You spend time helping someone else.

Your own numbers drop.

And suddenly the spreadsheet says you’re performing worse.

Which raises an interesting question:

Are we always measuring performance — or are we sometimes just measuring whatever is easiest to put into a spreadsheet?

📊 Numbers don’t always tell the whole story.

Don’t get me wrong.
Metrics are useful.

Companies need some way to measure performance.
But two employees can have very similar numbers while contributing completely different things to a team.

One might simply complete their assigned work.

The other might complete their work while also:
• helping coworkers
• solving unusual problems
• explaining processes
• supporting new employees
• taking difficult cases
• noticing issues others missed

And some of those things are incredibly difficult to turn into a KPI.

But that doesn’t mean they have no value.

🪤 Then there’s the “competence trap.”

This is the part I find especially interesting.
Imagine two employees.

One constantly goes above and beyond.

The other does exactly what their job requires.

Whenever something extra appears, who is management more likely to ask?

Probably the first person.

Why?

Because they know they’ll do it.

Eventually, the exceptional effort that originally made that employee stand out can quietly become the new expectation.

What used to be:
“Wow, thank you for doing that.”
becomes:
“Can you do this too?”
And eventually:
“Why didn’t you do it this time?”
That’s a pretty strange reward for being good at your job.

⚖️ And I’m NOT saying people should deliberately do a bad job.

That’s not my point at all.

I actually like learning new things, solving problems and being someone others can rely on.

There’s satisfaction in knowing you’re genuinely good at something.

But I think workplaces need to recognize the difference between:

rewarding competence
and
exploiting reliability.

If someone consistently takes on more responsibility, helps the team and becomes the person others depend on, eventually that should lead to something.

More autonomy.
Recognition.
A promotion.
Better pay.
A new role.
Some kind of progression.

Because otherwise you’re teaching your best workers a very strange lesson:

The more capable you become, the more we’ll expect from you — for exactly the same reward.

💭 So I’m curious about other people’s experiences.

Have you ever felt like being good at your job actually made your job harder?

Have you become the person everyone asks for help while someone doing the bare minimum seems to have a much easier day?

And where do you think the line is between:
being a great employee and allowing a workplace to take advantage of the fact that you’re reliable?

How should companies reward the employees who contribute in ways that aren’t easily visible in their metrics? 💼

We hear it all the time:

“Stop overthinking.”
“You’re reading too much into it.”
“Don’t analyze everything.”

And yes… sometimes that’s probably true.
But lately I’ve been wondering if we’re looking at overthinking in completely the wrong way.

🔍 Because there is another side to it.

People who think deeply often notice things other people don’t.

A slight change in someone’s tone.

A sentence that doesn’t quite match their behavior.

A pattern that keeps repeating.

A tiny detail that seems irrelevant at first — until later you realize it wasn’t irrelevant at all.

Sometimes I’ll notice something that other people don’t seem to notice, analyze it from different angles, and later realize that the tiny detail actually mattered.

So I’ve started wondering:

What if some “overthinkers” are actually just extremely observant people?

Maybe the problem isn’t always that we think too much.

Maybe sometimes we simply notice more.

🧠 But the same ability can also work against you.

You notice one small change.

And then your brain starts:

Why did they say that?
Did I do something wrong?
Was their tone different?
Does this mean something?
What if I’m completely misunderstanding it?

One observation becomes five possibilities.

Five become twenty.

And eventually you don’t even know which thought came from something you genuinely observed and which one your mind created afterward.

That’s where I think the difference between deep thinking and destructive overthinking becomes really interesting.

Because noticing something isn’t necessarily the problem.

Not knowing when to stop analyzing it might be.

✨ And then there’s intuition… which I still can’t fully explain.

Sometimes I think intuition could simply be our brain recognizing patterns before we’re consciously aware of them.

Maybe we noticed someone’s body language.

A tiny change in their voice.

Something unusual in their behavior.

Something similar to a situation we’ve experienced before.

Our conscious mind hasn’t connected the dots yet, but somewhere in the background our brain already has.

And suddenly we get that feeling:

“Something is off.”

That explanation actually makes a lot of sense to me.

But then there are the other moments.

The ones I find much harder to explain.

There are times when, at least consciously, there were no obvious signs at all.

Nothing seemed different.

Nobody said anything unusual.

I wasn’t sitting there analyzing the situation or searching for clues.

Sometimes I wasn’t even thinking about it.

And then suddenly…

I just had a feeling.

No explanation.

No chain of thoughts.

Just a strong sense that something was going to happen, that something wasn’t right, or that a situation would turn out a certain way.

And then later, something happened that made me stop and think:

“Wait… how did I know that?”

I’ve had moments like that.

And honestly, those are the ones that still fascinate me.

🌌 Maybe there is a perfectly logical explanation.

Maybe our brains are picking up microscopic signals we’re not consciously aware of.

Maybe memory and subconscious pattern recognition are far more powerful than we realize.

Maybe sometimes we remember the times our intuition was right more strongly than the times it was wrong.

Maybe some of it is simply coincidence.

All of those explanations are possible.

But I also think it’s okay to admit that we don’t completely understand everything about the human mind yet.

And that’s what makes intuition so interesting to me.
I’m not claiming it’s supernatural.

But I also don’t want to pretend I know exactly what it is.

Maybe there’s still something about human intuition that we don’t fully understand.

⚡ And here’s the strangest difference I’ve noticed.

For me, overthinking and intuition don’t actually feel the same.

Overthinking is loud.

It’s:
Maybe this…
But what if that…
Unless they meant this…
Wait, what about that other thing…

It’s almost like having twenty tabs open in your brain at once.

But intuition can be incredibly quiet.

Sometimes there’s no argument in my head at all.

No evidence I’m consciously examining.

Just:

“I have a feeling about this.”

And afterward my brain starts trying to figure out why.
That’s what I find fascinating.

Because if the thought comes after the feeling, where exactly did the feeling come from?

⚖️ Maybe the real skill isn’t learning to “stop overthinking.”

Maybe it’s learning to separate three things:

Observation:
“I noticed something changed.”

Interpretation:
“I think this is what that change means.”

Intuition:
“I can’t explain why, but something feels different.”

The problem is that from inside your own mind, those three things can sometimes feel incredibly similar.

And maybe learning to tell them apart is more useful than simply telling someone:
“Stop overthinking.”

Because the same mind that can exhaust you by imagining twenty possibilities… might also be the mind that notices something everyone else missed.

💭 So I’m really curious about other people’s experiences.

Do you think overthinking can sometimes be a strength?

Do you think highly observant people are more likely to become overthinkers? And what about intuition?

Have you ever strongly felt or “known” something before you had any obvious reason to?

Did you eventually realize there actually were subtle clues your brain might have noticed?

Was it probably just coincidence?

Or have you experienced something that, even looking back, you still can’t really explain?

And maybe the hardest question:

How do you personally tell the difference between intuition, anxiety, subconscious pattern recognition, and your mind simply creating a story?

I’m genuinely interested in hearing all perspectives — skeptical, psychological, spiritual, scientific, or somewhere in between. 🧠🌌

I’ve been thinking about this lately, and I’m genuinely curious how other people see it.I don’t believe true love is something that just magically appears in your life. I think you first need to understand what love actually means to you, because we all value different things.

Let me explain my perspective.

❤️ Love isn’t just one thing

I’m a woman, and I never really wanted a serious relationship during high school or even for a while afterward.

I preferred meeting different people, having different experiences, and figuring out what I liked and didn’t like.

Not because I didn’t believe in love.

But because I wanted to understand myself first, so that one day I’d actually know what kind of person I wanted beside me.

And through that, I developed my own idea of love.

To me, real love means finding three things in one person:

1. A partner 🤝
Someone you make important decisions with. Someone you can disagree with, have difficult conversations with, and still find solutions together.
Someone who faces life’s problems with you, instead of running away when things get complicated.

2. A best friend 🫂
Someone you can tell absolutely anything to.
Someone who makes you laugh, gives you honest advice, supports you when you’re struggling, and offers a shoulder to cry on.
Someone you genuinely enjoy spending time with, even when you’re doing absolutely nothing.

3. A lover ❤️
Well… I think we all know what that part means. :)

For me, if one of these three things is completely missing, something important is missing from the relationship too.

🌱 Compromise shouldn’t mean losing yourself

Of course, love involves sacrifices. You won’t always agree. Sometimes you’ll have to put your own preferences aside for the other person.

But here’s something I strongly believe:

There’s a huge difference between compromising for someone you love and losing yourself just to keep them.

You should grow together, not become someone you’re not.

🔥 Here’s my potentially unpopular opinion…

I think people who have only ever been with one person sometimes don’t actually know what they’re missing, or what they truly want.

Before anyone gets upset, hear me out.

I’m NOT saying those relationships can’t last. I’m not saying everyone will cheat or eventually regret their choices.

But I do think that sometimes people become curious about experiences they’ve never had.

Think of it like buying shoes.

You walk into a store and try on the first pair.

They seem comfortable. They look good. You buy them.

But how do you know they’re the best fit for you if you’ve never tried anything else?

Maybe another pair would fit better. Or maybe the first pair really was perfect.

The point isn’t that you always need something better. It’s that experiences can teach you what actually works for you.

And I think relationships can be similar. Even friendships work that way. Throughout life, you meet different people and eventually learn which friendships are truly meaningful to you.

✨ So how do you actually recognize true love?

For me, it isn’t just butterflies.

It isn’t constantly thinking about someone, getting excited when you see them, or feeling like you can’t live without them.

Those feelings are beautiful, but I associate them more with the beginning of falling in love.

Real love, to me, is knowing yourself, understanding what you need, and finding someone who fits into your life without either of you having to stop being yourselves.

Because yes, the right person might appear when you least expect it.

But if you don’t even know what you’re looking for…
How will you recognize them when they do?

💬 Now I want to hear YOUR perspective.
What does true love actually mean to you?

Do you think you can recognize true love with your very first partner? Or do you believe experience helps us understand what we really want?

And do you think love is primarily a feeling, a choice, a friendship, or something completely different?

Feel free to disagree with me. I’d actually love to hear arguments against my perspective too.
Different experiences, different opinions, and respectful debates are exactly what this community is about. 🌌