Bare Minimum, Maximum Hope
Or: Are We Actually Dating or Just Waiting on Read?
I couldn’t help but wonder...
If we know what we want — why are we so afraid to ask for it?
We think we’re clear on our standards: connection, consistency, a reply that doesn’t feel like it came from an AI customer support chat. And yet, here we are — once again, rearranging our schedules, lowering our expectations, and double-texting someone whose idea of flirting is liking our Instagram story from five days ago.
We tell ourselves we’re the “go with the flow” type. “No pressure.” “We’re just vibing.” But the truth is: we’re silently hoping that being easygoing will magically turn into being taken seriously.
Because what if we say, “This isn’t enough,” and they walk away? What if asking for more means getting nothing at all? So we keep it breezy. We send the “Let’s hang soon!” texts. We follow up. We suggest plans. Sometimes, we even book them — just to be met with radio silence. We pretend we’re fine with seeing them “whenever works for you,” which somehow ends up being never. And we accept the bare minimum — all while dreaming of the kind of love that actually shows up.
We’re not delusional. We know what effort looks like. We’ve seen it — in our friends’ relationships, in TV shows, in the way we treat the people we like. We just don’t always believe we’re allowed to expect it.
Because in a world where ghosting is more common than closure and dates are booked like dentist appointments (two weeks out, pending mood and Mercury’s alignment), effort starts to feel like a luxury.
And maybe the worst part? We compromise for people we might not even like. People we’ve matched with solely on aesthetics, then constructed entire futures with — all before they’ve even asked how our day was. People whose only offering is being “hot” and “sort of emotionally available, depending on Wi-Fi.” People who seem like rare gems — but often turn out to be more “natural healing jade stone” than five-carat diamond.
Maybe it’s not just fear of rejection. Maybe it’s fear that asking for more will expose us. That someone might say, “You’re too intense. Too much.” And there it is — the queer wound.
So naturally, we shrink. We overfunction. We play it cool. We settle for conversations that circle the drain and first dates that feel like auditions for the lead role — but somehow we always end up working backstage.
But let’s be honest: we’re tired. Tired of texting like it’s a full-time job. Tired of reading into “what are you up to?” messages at 10:43pm. Tired of pretending we don’t care when we care a lot.
We don’t need fireworks and fanfare. We just want someone who doesn’t make us guess. Someone who’s intentional. Present. Who actually follows through — preferably with a time, place, and a reservation that doesn’t involve standing outside G-A-Y in the rain.
So maybe the new standard is this: If they can’t meet you where you are — emotionally, conversationally, or literally at the local Blank Street — you release it with grace, not guilt. If it’s one-sided, you stop playing both sides. If you feel like you’re begging for effort, that’s your cue to exit, stage left, with dignity intact.
Because wanting more isn’t a weakness — it’s clarity. And we deserve the kind of love that doesn’t make us question if we’re asking for too much… when really, we’ve been asking for just enough this whole time.
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