I once met someone at a moment when he was between versions of himself.

I felt it it in the pauses. The way he answered was intentional. The way he named his past honestly. The way he seemed aware of the patterns he was dismantling, but not yet fluent in the person he was becoming. He wasn’t a “fuck yes.” but he wasn’t nothing. He was something more interesting to me: a human being in transition, mid-process ... (aren’t we all?)

My friends weren’t impressed. They were married, in a long term relationship, or entrenched in social media psychology. “If it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a no.” was a simple rule. Quick, easy, and internet friendly. Red flag. Move on.

At the time, I didn’t get it... What was the big deal? I wasn’t waiting for him, I liked talking with him and our interactions, and I kept living my life while he sorted things out.

In the end, nothing happened between us. But it made me wonder if these decision-making shortcuts (mine included) are slowly taking away our thoughtfulness and kindness; quietly draining us of curiosity, discernment, and grace.

I see it everywhere now, and it sucks.

“If it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a no” feels decisive. Protective. It flatters us into believing we’re honouring our boundaries rather than avoiding uncertainty. It promises protection from ambivalence, from wasted time, from the uncomfortable reality that most worthwhile things in life don’t announce themselves with fireworks.

We apply it not only to romantic prospects, but to friends, family, collaborators, and even ideas. If someone doesn’t meet us with immediate warmth, clarity, or enthusiasm, we quietly disqualify them.

I see thoughtful, caring people treating others like online purchases. Add to wishlist. Remove from cart. One-click connection. Free returns for anything that doesn’t show up perfectly packaged.

This is dichotomous thinking (the tendency to sort complex realities into binary categories) and it’s a well-documented cognitive distortion linked to anxiety, depression, and relational instability. In other words, it feels clean while quietly degrading judgment, and we’ve made this way of thinking part of how we live.

Barry Schwartz warned years ago that too much choice doesn’t make us freer. It makes us brittle. When options are endless, expectations skyrocket.

The toothpaste aisle is the classic example. Forty-five options, all promising some marginal improvement. Choosing feels exhausting. I'm blown away each time I visit N. America and see a chip aisle.

“The task is not as much the search as it is what you do after you conclude the search,” Schwartz explains. “There’s an enormous amount of work required in developing and maintaining the relationship.”

Now imagine turning that mindset on people, not your 'outside bones'.

We’re swimming in a culture of endless options, optimization, and snap comparisons. The “fuck yes” rule is consumer thinking dressed up as emotional maturity. It frames people as products that should show up ready-made, perfectly labeled, and instantly compatible.

Obviously, people aren’t toothpaste, or dill pickle chips (clearly the superior option). Imagine you cross paths with someone: a potential friend, coworker, or even a family member. You’re having a good day. You’re open, present, and generous. They’re quiet. Distracted. Perhaps even a little flat.

By this logic, you quietly shelve them. Not a fuck yes.

What you don’t know is what they’re carrying.

A parent is sick. A diagnosis just landed. Debt is mounting. Their job is shaky. They’re grieving something they haven’t yet found the words for. Most social contracts don’t permit people to disclose these things spontaneously without seeming unstable or inappropriate. Vulnerability requires safety, and safety takes time.

As Brené Brown has spent years pointing out, vulnerability is a context-dependent response. Demanding it on first contact is less about standards and more about impatience.

The “fuck yes” mindset robs us of the chance to be detectives of context. It hands out gold stars for snap judgments and calls it intuition.

Unfortunately, we didn’t even get there before AI and infinite choice entered the picture.

Many of us were raised by people who never learned how to talk about feelings, needs, or conflict with any fluency. Add screens, parasocial relationships, dead bedrooms, and constant comparison, and the bar for honest communication hasn’t just stayed low. It has eroded. We’re starting from a deficit. Ya-aaay...

Social feeds reward confidence, not thoughtfulness. Hot takes outperform careful thought (ha, this one included?). AI systems trained to be agreeable are remarkably good at validating whatever position someone already holds.

ChatGPT is out there telling the worst person you know that they’re right.

The loudest message everywhere is the same: if something doesn’t feel immediately right, move on. The result is a feedback loop where nuance seems wasteful, and curiosity becomes an afterthought.

Therapist Esther Perel often notes that modern relationships are strained not by lack of desire, but by unrealistic expectations of ease. We want depth without friction. Intimacy without effort. Understanding without patience. We crave spontaneous adventure yet demand certainty, expecting convenience to facilitate genuine connection without the messiness of human complexity.

We’re outsourcing judgment to heuristics because discernment takes effort.

Don't get me wrong ..this is not a plea for self-abandonment, nor is it an argument for tolerating harm.

• If someone is consistently ambivalent, acting in bad faith, or unwilling to engage, this doesn’t apply.

• If a coworker is manipulating or undermining you, this doesn’t apply.

• If someone is cruel, bigoted, or unsafe, absolutely not.

Boundaries matter. Clarity matters.

But discernment needs information. Information takes time, attention, and the courage to sit with uncertainty. Instead of shoving uncertainty aside, embrace it.

Every real connection demands vulnerability and effort. Every meaningful relationship, romantic or not, asks you to show up more than once. It calls for flexibility. It asks you to meet people where they are before deciding if they can meet you where you need to go.

Chemistry counts. So does consistency. But neither can be measured in a single moment shaped by mood, timing, or chance.

We have to gather the data first.

The "fuck yes" rule looks efficient on the surface. In truth, it leaves behind a trail of choices built more on convenience than real understanding. Imagine losing five potential friendships every year because we choose immediate clarity over curiosity. Quantifying the hidden cost this way highlights the unseen toll of convenience, turning what feels like an abstraction into something urgent.

We don’t create meaningful lives or communities by treating people like fast-food orders. We don’t grow emotionally by chasing instant results. And we don’t get safer by refusing to ask a second question.

The “fuck yes” rule works well for toothpaste or crackers. (Black pepper Triscuits, obviously.) It might even work for job offers or apartment hunting; but it shouldn’t decide who deserves our patience, curiosity, or grace.

Because if we lose the ability to hold space for other people’s unfinishedness while staying rooted in our own internet-enshittified boundaries, we’re not protecting ourselves, we’re rehearsing for loneliness.

And that, too, is a choice.

I once met someone at a moment when he was between versions of himself.

I felt it it in the pauses. The way he answered was intentional. The way he named his past honestly. The way he seemed aware of the patterns he was dismantling, but not yet fluent in the person he was becoming. He wasn’t a “fuck yes.” but he wasn’t nothing. He was something more interesting to me: a human being in transition, mid-process ... (aren’t we all?)

My friends weren’t impressed. They were married, in a long term relationship, or entrenched in social media psychology. “If it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a no.” was a simple rule. Quick, easy, and internet friendly. Red flag. Move on.

At the time, I didn’t get it... What was the big deal? I wasn’t waiting for him, I liked talking with him and our interactions, and I kept living my life while he sorted things out.

In the end, nothing happened between us. But it made me wonder if these decision-making shortcuts (mine included) are slowly taking away our thoughtfulness and kindness; quietly draining us of curiosity, discernment, and grace.

I see it everywhere now, and it sucks.

“If it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a no” feels decisive. Protective. It flatters us into believing we’re honouring our boundaries rather than avoiding uncertainty. It promises protection from ambivalence, from wasted time, from the uncomfortable reality that most worthwhile things in life don’t announce themselves with fireworks.

We apply it not only to romantic prospects, but to friends, family, collaborators, and even ideas. If someone doesn’t meet us with immediate warmth, clarity, or enthusiasm, we quietly disqualify them.

I see thoughtful, caring people treating others like online purchases. Add to wishlist. Remove from cart. One-click connection. Free returns for anything that doesn’t show up perfectly packaged.

This is dichotomous thinking (the tendency to sort complex realities into binary categories) and it’s a well-documented cognitive distortion linked to anxiety, depression, and relational instability. In other words, it feels clean while quietly degrading judgment, and we’ve made this way of thinking part of how we live.

Barry Schwartz warned years ago that too much choice doesn’t make us freer. It makes us brittle. When options are endless, expectations skyrocket.

The toothpaste aisle is the classic example. Forty-five options, all promising some marginal improvement. Choosing feels exhausting. I'm blown away each time I visit N. America and see a chip aisle.

“The task is not as much the search as it is what you do after you conclude the search,” Schwartz explains. “There’s an enormous amount of work required in developing and maintaining the relationship.”

Now imagine turning that mindset on people, not your 'outside bones'.

We’re swimming in a culture of endless options, optimization, and snap comparisons. The “fuck yes” rule is consumer thinking dressed up as emotional maturity. It frames people as products that should show up ready-made, perfectly labeled, and instantly compatible.

Obviously, people aren’t toothpaste, or dill pickle chips (clearly the superior option). Imagine you cross paths with someone: a potential friend, coworker, or even a family member. You’re having a good day. You’re open, present, and generous. They’re quiet. Distracted. Perhaps even a little flat.

By this logic, you quietly shelve them. Not a fuck yes.

What you don’t know is what they’re carrying.

A parent is sick. A diagnosis just landed. Debt is mounting. Their job is shaky. They’re grieving something they haven’t yet found the words for. Most social contracts don’t permit people to disclose these things spontaneously without seeming unstable or inappropriate. Vulnerability requires safety, and safety takes time.

As Brené Brown has spent years pointing out, vulnerability is a context-dependent response. Demanding it on first contact is less about standards and more about impatience.

The “fuck yes” mindset robs us of the chance to be detectives of context. It hands out gold stars for snap judgments and calls it intuition.

Unfortunately, we didn’t even get there before AI and infinite choice entered the picture.

Many of us were raised by people who never learned how to talk about feelings, needs, or conflict with any fluency. Add screens, parasocial relationships, dead bedrooms, and constant comparison, and the bar for honest communication hasn’t just stayed low. It has eroded. We’re starting from a deficit. Ya-aaay...

Social feeds reward confidence, not thoughtfulness. Hot takes outperform careful thought (ha, this one included?). AI systems trained to be agreeable are remarkably good at validating whatever position someone already holds.

ChatGPT is out there telling the worst person you know that they’re right.

The loudest message everywhere is the same: if something doesn’t feel immediately right, move on. The result is a feedback loop where nuance seems wasteful, and curiosity becomes an afterthought.

Therapist Esther Perel often notes that modern relationships are strained not by lack of desire, but by unrealistic expectations of ease. We want depth without friction. Intimacy without effort. Understanding without patience. We crave spontaneous adventure yet demand certainty, expecting convenience to facilitate genuine connection without the messiness of human complexity.

We’re outsourcing judgment to heuristics because discernment takes effort.

Don't get me wrong ..this is not a plea for self-abandonment, nor is it an argument for tolerating harm.

• If someone is consistently ambivalent, acting in bad faith, or unwilling to engage, this doesn’t apply.

• If a coworker is manipulating or undermining you, this doesn’t apply.

• If someone is cruel, bigoted, or unsafe, absolutely not.

Boundaries matter. Clarity matters.

But discernment needs information. Information takes time, attention, and the courage to sit with uncertainty. Instead of shoving uncertainty aside, embrace it.

Every real connection demands vulnerability and effort. Every meaningful relationship, romantic or not, asks you to show up more than once. It calls for flexibility. It asks you to meet people where they are before deciding if they can meet you where you need to go.

Chemistry counts. So does consistency. But neither can be measured in a single moment shaped by mood, timing, or chance.

We have to gather the data first.

The "fuck yes" rule looks efficient on the surface. In truth, it leaves behind a trail of choices built more on convenience than real understanding. Imagine losing five potential friendships every year because we choose immediate clarity over curiosity. Quantifying the hidden cost this way highlights the unseen toll of convenience, turning what feels like an abstraction into something urgent.

We don’t create meaningful lives or communities by treating people like fast-food orders. We don’t grow emotionally by chasing instant results. And we don’t get safer by refusing to ask a second question.

The “fuck yes” rule works well for toothpaste or crackers. (Black pepper Triscuits, obviously.) It might even work for job offers or apartment hunting; but it shouldn’t decide who deserves our patience, curiosity, or grace.

Because if we lose the ability to hold space for other people’s unfinishedness while staying rooted in our own internet-enshittified boundaries, we’re not protecting ourselves, we’re rehearsing for loneliness.

And that, too, is a choice.