Unavailable Love Quotes

how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps? how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short? why do you find the unavailable so alluring? where did it begin? what went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless? if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you? all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you, but they smelt it on you, you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin? and what about the others that would do anything for you, why did you make them love you until you could not stand it? how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful? where did you learn this, to want what does not want you? where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?

The trick is not to get hooked on the highs and lows and mistake an activated attachment system for passion or love. Don't let emotional unavailability turn you on.

Just about every available female--and some unavailable--seemed to think the way to his heart was through his blood sugar levels.

Nim handed me a mug of tea. I took a sip and it was just how I like it, strong and sweet. If you added psychotic and emotionally unavailable to that, it would also cover my taste in women.

The truth you believe in and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.

I found myself in a pattern of being attracted to people who were somehow unavailable, and what I realized was that I was protecting myself because I equate the idea of connection and love with trauma and death.

My conclusion is this: there’s no rule that says the unavailable person you waste your life being in love with has to be the greatest human you ever met. It doesn’t make the loss of him any less painful.

The traditional gender ideals of the strong-silent man who plays his cards close to his chest and the mysterious woman who disguises her feelings with coyness go so far as to make a virtue of being unavailable and secretive. But wholehearted intimacy can develop only where two people are equally forthcoming and self-revelatory. To take the risk of loving, we must become vulnerable enough to test the radical proposition that knowledge of another and self-revelation will ultimately increase rather than decrease love. It is an awe-ful risk.

Our first kiss was there on the bridge in the woods. How do you describe a first kiss? It is like trying to hold water in your hands. There is an ancient Chinese proverb that compares kissing to drinking salted water. “You drink, and your thirst increases,” it says. Time, I’m sure, passed by, but we remained unavailable for comment.

People often learn about starvation economies in childhood, when parents who are emotionally depleted or unavailable teach us that we must work hard to get our emotional needs met, so that if we relax our vigilance for even a moment, a mysterious someone or something may take the love we need away from us.

The poet lusts after emotionally unavailable people because she doesn't have to worry about commitment. The poet desperately wants commitment.

The older I get, the more I realize the importance of connectivity, not taking people for granted. Don't be so busy "doing you" that you lose sight of those who love and support you. They will be the ones you seek, the ones you need when those you "thought" had your back turn their's away. If you only reach out when you need something, one day you'll discover that lifeline was cut and is now unavailable. Appreciate the good people in your life when it counts, not when it's convenient.

This pursuit of unavailable distant people has oedipal roots. … fearing the consequences, they make certain that they fail at the attempt.” ―Distancing, Kantor (p.115)

Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind – trying to keep them happy, win their love – is this not an old story, Theo? A familiar story?

We believe in the wrong things. That's what frustrates me the most. Not the lack of belief, but the belief in the wrong things. You want meaning? Well, the meanings are out there. We're just so damn good at reading them wrong. I don't think meaning is something that can be explained. You have to understand it on your own. It's like when you're starting to read. First, you learn the letters. Then, once you know what sounds the letters make, you use them to sound out words. You know that c-a-t leads to cat and d-o-g leads to dog. But then you have to make that extra leap, to understand that the word, the sound, the "cat" is connected to an actual cat , and that "dog" is connected to an actual dog. It's that leap, that understanding, that leads to meaning. And a lot of the time in life, we're still just sounding things out. We know the sentences and how to say them. We know the ideas and how to present them. We know the prayers and which words to say in what order. But that's only spelling" It's much harder to lie to someone's face. But. It is also much harder to tell the truth to someone's face. The indefatigable pursuit of an unattainable perfection, even though it consist in nothing more than in the pounding of an old piano, is what alone gives a meaning to our life on this unavailing star. (Logan Pearsall Smith) Being alone has nothing to do with how many people are around. (J.R. Moehringer) You could be standing a few feet away...I could have sat next to you on the subway, or brushed beside you as we went through the turnstiles. But whether or not you are here, you are here- because these words are for you, and they wouldn't exist is you weren't here in some way. At last I had it--the Christmas present I'd wanted all along, but hadn't realized. His words. The dream was obviously a sign: he was too enticing to resist. Wow. You must have a lot of faith in me. Which I appreciate. Even if I'm not sure I share it. I could do this on my own, and not freak out that I had no idea what waited for me on the other side of this night. Hope and belief. I'd always wanted hope, but never believed that I could have such an adventure on my own. That I could own it. And love it. But it happened. Because I'm So uncool and so afraid. If there was a clue, that meant the mystery was still intact I fear you may have outmatched me, because not I find these words have nowhere to go. It's hard to answer a question you haven't been asked. It's hard to show that you tried unless you end up succeeding. This was not a haystack. We were people, and people had ways of finding eachother. It was one of those moments when you feel the future so much that is humbles the present. Don't worry. It's your embarrassment at not having the thought that counts. You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here's ahint- ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn't just the women. It's the great male fantasy- all it takes is one dance to know that she's the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know--this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don't want a very long courtship. They want to know immediately. Be careful what you;re doing, because no one is ever who you want them to be. And the less you really know them, the more likely you are to confuse them with the girl or boy in your head You should never wish for wishful thinking

O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

The narcissistic mother cannot give her child unconditional love. She’s not capable of being self-less, devoted, warm, mature, or attentive to you. Instead, everything is about her. Life revolves around meeting her unrealistic, immature needs. She expects your undivided attention. Your admiration. Your praises. Your loyalty to her. She demands you to meet her needs no matter how ridiculous they can be.

I think you’re just as emotionally unavailable as I am. I avoid men because I’m afraid I’ll lose my heart, and you go from girl to girl to keep from giving yours away.

Love addicts often pick partners who are emotionally unavailable because deep down, they don’t feel worthy of having a healthy, loving relationship. A love addict craves and obsesses about becoming enmeshed or ‘one’ with another human being at all costs, even if it means putting themselves in potential danger.

I’m in love with a man who’ll never be mine—who’s unavailable in every way, shape, and form—and I’m certain it’s going to ruin me.

You moon, I’m afraid. But she must find it endearing. Can’t say I understand the appeal. I like my men emotionally repressed and unavailable.

I N TAOISM there’s a famous saying that goes, “The Tao that can be spoken is not the ultimate Tao.” Another way you could say that, although I’ve never seen it translated this way, is, “As soon as you begin to believe in something, then you can no longer see anything else.” The truth you believe in and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.

The unexamined life is unavailable to the depressed. That is, perhaps, the greatest revelation I have had: not that depression is compelling but that the people who suffer from it may become compelling because of it. I hope that this basic fact will offer sustenance to those who suffer and will inspire patience and love in those who witness that suffering.

It takes confidence to be wholeheartedly intimate and passionately committed. Men who are emotionally unavailable have a self-confidence deficit, plain and simple. So man up and get rid of those insecurities or whatever it is that keeps you from opening up. Because if you're not man enough to talk about your own feelings, then you're not man enough to be in a committed relationship.

Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind – trying to keep them happy, win their love – is this not an old story, Theo? A familiar story?’ I clenched my fist and didn’t speak. Ruth went on, hesitantly: ‘I know how

The bottom line is you must do your part to change the system. It will not get better without your active, loving participation.

Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind—trying to keep them happy, win their love—is this not an old story,

Emotionally unavailable men usually hover around, throwing in a little “I miss you,” occasionally hoping for a response or getting a reaction out of you.

Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind – trying to keep them happy, win their love

Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind—trying to keep them happy, win their love

Parents who are emotionally unavailable, indifferent, uninterested, too busy and/or highly critical set their children up for self-rejection and the need for external validation.

aren’t you tired of needing things from those who are incapable of providing the things you need

Empaths may unknowingly get involved with toxic partners and become anxious, depressed, or ill. They give their hearts too easily to narcissists and other unavailable people. Empaths are loving and expect others to be that way, which doesn’t always happen. They also absorb their partner’s stress and emotions, such as anger or depression, simply by interacting with them,

Mr Unavailable’s inadvertently complicit partner is you, the Fallback Girl, the woman he habitually defaults to or ‘falls back’ on to have his needs met while selling you short in the process. Accommodating his idiosyncrasies and fickle whims, you’re ripe for a relationship with him because you are unavailable yourself (although you may not know it) and are slipping your own commitment issues in through the back door behind his. You get blinded by chemistry, sex, common interests and the promise of what he could be, if only he changed or you turned into The Perfect Woman. Too understanding and making far too many excuses for him, you have some habits and beliefs that are standing in the way of you having a mutually, fulfilling healthy relationship…with an available man. Pursuing or having relationships with Mr Unavailable is symbolic of your need to learn to love yourself more and to set some boundaries and have better standards.

The flesh,' as Saint Paul used the term, refers, ironically, not to our bodies but to fallen human nature. The 'carnal' spirit is the one that devours things for itself and refuses to make them an oblation to God. The carnal spirit is cruel, egocentric, avaricious, gluttonous, and lecherous, and as such us fevered, restless, and divided. The spiritual man, on the other hand, is alone the man who both knows what flesh is for and can enter into its amplitude. The lecher, for example, supposes that he knows more about love than the virgin or the continent man. He knows nothing. Only the virgin and the faithful spouse knows what love is about. The glutton supposes that he knows the pleasures of food, but the true knowledge of food is unavailable to his dribbling and surfeited jowls. The difference between the carnal man and the spiritual man is not physical. They may look alike and weigh the same. The different lies, rather, between one's being divided, snatching and grabbing at things, even nonphysical things like fame and power, or being whole and receiving all things as Adam was meant to receive them, in order to offer them as an oblation to their Giver.

Oh, it is true enough. I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb (an old country saying, not of much account, but it will do for a rough soldier), and so I will speak my mind, regardless of your pleasure, and without hoping or intending to get your pardon. Why, Miss Everdene, it is in this manner that your good looks may do more harm than good in the world." The sergeant looked down the mead in critical abstraction. "Probably some one man on an average falls in love with each ordinary woman. She can marry him: he is content, and leads a useful life. Such women as you a hundred men always covet—your eyes will bewitch scores on scores into an unavailing fancy for you—you can only marry one of that many. Out of these say twenty will endeavour to drown the bitterness of despised love in drink; twenty more will mope away their lives without a wish or attempt to make a mark in he world, because they have no ambition apart from their attachment to you; twenty more—the susceptible person myself possibly among them—will be always draggling after you, getting where they may just see you, doing desperate things. Men are such constant fools! The rest may try to get over their passion with more or less success. But all these men will be saddened. And not only those ninety-nine men, but the ninety-nine women they might have married are saddened with them. There's my tale. That's why I say that a woman so charming as yourself, Miss Everdene, is hardly a blessing to her race.

Don’t you get it?” I spring up from the chair and pace. “It’s hopeless and I know it and I have no urge to date him. No urge, whatsoever. I don’t expect him to tell me he loves me because I don’t want him to and I know he won’t.

When a caregiver is emotionally unavailable, the child is left to learn how to interact with the world around them by themselves. They aren’t able to develop skills to connect with others and are left desperate for love, affection, and validation.

But even as I said that, I didn’t believe it. Neither did Ruth. “I don’t think so. I think her behavior suggests she is quite damaged—lacking in empathy and integrity and just plain kindness—all the qualities you brim with.” I shook my head. “That’s not true.” “It is true, Theo.” Ruth hesitated. “Don’t you think perhaps you’ve been here before?” “With Kathy?” Ruth shook her head. “I don’t mean that. I mean with your parents. When you were younger. If there’s a childhood dynamic here you might be replaying.” “No.” I suddenly felt irritated. “What’s happening with Kathy has got nothing to do with my childhood.” “Oh, really?” Ruth sounded disbelieving. “Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind—trying to keep them happy, win their love—is this not an old story, Theo? A familiar story?” I clenched my fist and didn’t speak. Ruth went on hesitantly, “I know how sad you feel. But I want you to consider the possibility that you felt this sadness long before you met Kathy. It’s a sadness you’ve been carrying around for many years. You know, Theo, one of the hardest things to admit is that we weren’t loved when we needed it most. It’s a terrible feeling, the pain of not being loved.

We are all searching for love, some at the bottom of a bottle, some at the casino, some in the eyes of a new lover. The more we search outside ourselves, we more desperate we become. We suffer not because love's unavailable, but because we are not looking in the right place.

When our caregivers are unavailable, most of time it has nothing to do with LOVE for the child, however, the child cannot possibly know this. The child winds up believing that the unavailable parent is not available due to some defect within the child. We believe that if we were “enough” the parent would CHOOSE to be available.

Everyone has flaws. You’re just in the honeymoon phase. Eventually she will get annoyed with cancellations and unavailability. Just like you’ll eventually start noticing things she does that irritate you. Right now is the shiny happy part that everyone loves. It’s why so many people get married after barely knowing each other. It’s also why they get divorced when they do know each other.

I chose people who made me feel anxious and insecure and re-created my childhood circumstances of getting erratic attention. I gravitated toward people who were either physically or emotionally unavailable to subconsciously ensure I was getting a constant hit from my “internal drug cabinet.” Instead of heroin or cocaine, I used to be addicted to cortisol and adrenaline (which turns into dopamine! Yay!). That drove me to pick people who couldn’t give me safety or stability, which caused those chemicals to go buck wild on my brain. You live in London? Yes, please. You work until three A.M., and when you are available, you’re super tired, so every time we have the chance to connect, your eyes are half closed? Sure, let’s move in together. One day you tell me you’re in love with me, but then you disappear and go on a week-long bender on Long Island? Absolutely. You travel for four months at a time in places that have horrible cell service? Don’t mind if I do marry ya.

I once heard a woman who'd lost her dog say that she felt as though a color were suddenly missing from her world: the dog had introduced to her field of vision some previously unavailable hue, and without the dog, that color was gone. That seemed to capture the experience of loving a dog with eminent simplicity. I'd amend it only slightly and say that if we are open to what they have to give us, dogs can introduce us to several colors, with names like wildness and nurturance and trust and joy.

Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!  “Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth into battle — be Thou near them! With them — in spirit — we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended in the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames in summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it —   For our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimmage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!   We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.   (After a pause.) “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits.”  …

I don’t know why some of these memories must remain so crystal clear. I recall one sliver and the whole picture comes rushing back, while other things, for instance, other things I would like to remember, are completely unavailable. If only memory were a library with everything stored where it should be. If only you could walk to the desk and say to the assistant, I’d like to return the painful memories about David Fry or indeed his mother and take out some happier ones, please. About stickleback fishing with my father. Or picnicking on the banks of the Cherwell when I was a student. And the assistant would say, Certainly, madam. We have all those. Under “F” for “Fishing.” As well as “P” for “Picnicking.” You’ll find them on your left. So there my father would be. Tall and smiling in his work overalls, a hand-rolled cigarette in one hand and my fishing net in the other. I’d skip to keep up with him as he strode the broken lane down to the stream. “Where is that girl? Where are you?” The hedgerow flowers would boil with insects and my father would lift me to his shoulders and then—What? I haven’t a clue. I don’t remember the rest.

Sadly, it seems as though society encourages this type of behavior in which men pursue women, then back off when commitment appears imminent. It’s the classic playboy model and sowing-wild-oats excuse and such behavior leaves the emotional wreckage of confused and hurt women in its wake. It is perceived as a male prerogative—love them and leave them and don’t suffer any consequences. You may try to rationalize his behavior—perhaps he was engulfed by his mother, his father was emotionally unavailable, he was never breast-fed. The bottom line, however, is that he can’t commit and you’ve got a problem.

Girls, I was dead and down in the Underworld, a shade, a shadow of my former self, nowhen. It was a place where language stopped, a black full stop, a black hole Where the words had to come to an end. And end they did there, last words, famous or not. It suited me down to the ground. So imagine me there, unavailable, out of this world, then picture my face in that place of Eternal Repose, in the one place you’d think a girl would be safe from the kind of a man who follows her round writing poems, hovers about while she reads them, calls her His Muse, and once sulked for a night and a day because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns. Just picture my face when I heard - Ye Gods - a familiar knock-knock at Death’s door. Him. Big O. Larger than life. With his lyre and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize. Things were different back then. For the men, verse-wise, Big O was the boy. Legendary. The blurb on the back of his books claimed that animals, aardvark to zebra, flocked to his side when he sang, fish leapt in their shoals at the sound of his voice, even the mute, sullen stones at his feet wept wee, silver tears. Bollocks. (I’d done all the typing myself, I should know.) And given my time all over again, rest assured that I’d rather speak for myself than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc. In fact girls, I’d rather be dead. But the Gods are like publishers, usually male, and what you doubtless know of my tale is the deal. Orpheus strutted his stuff. The bloodless ghosts were in tears. Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years. Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers. The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears. Like it or not, I must follow him back to our life - Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife - to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes, octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets, elegies, limericks, villanelles, histories, myths… He’d been told that he mustn’t look back or turn round, but walk steadily upwards, myself right behind him, out of the Underworld into the upper air that for me was the past. He’d been warned that one look would lose me for ever and ever. So we walked, we walked. Nobody talked. Girls, forget what you’ve read. It happened like this - I did everything in my power to make him look back. What did I have to do, I said, to make him see we were through? I was dead. Deceased. I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late. Past my sell-by date… I stretched out my hand to touch him once on the back of the neck. Please let me stay. But already the light had saddened from purple to grey. It was an uphill schlep from death to life and with every step I willed him to turn. I was thinking of filching the poem out of his cloak, when inspiration finally struck. I stopped, thrilled. He was a yard in front. My voice shook when I spoke - Orpheus, your poem’s a masterpiece. I’d love to hear it again… He was smiling modestly, when he turned, when he turned and he looked at me. What else? I noticed he hadn’t shaved. I waved once and was gone. The dead are so talented. The living walk by the edge of a vast lake near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.

Why? Because we are setting up little boys to be emotionally unavailable men and, at the same time, setting up little girls to be emotionally unhappy women. How? By teaching our little girls that they are princesses. Special. And that someday their prince will come. Not only will their prince come, but he will be strong, smart, romantic and will take care of their every princess need and desire. Little princesses are taught the fantasy that they will be whisked away by the man of their dreams. That man being, of course, someone who will meet all of her needs — especially emotionally. That man will have undying love and devotion for the princess. And, by the way, no needs of his own.

The doctrine of justification by faith—a Biblical truth, and a blessed relief from sterile legalism and unavailing self-effort—has in our time fallen into evil company and been interpreted by many in such manner as actually to bar men from the knowledge of God. The whole transaction of religious conversion has been made mechanical and spiritless. Faith may now be exercised without a jar to the moral life and without embarrassment to the Adamic ego. Christ may be "received" without creating any special love for Him in the soul of the receiver. The man is "saved," but he is not hungry nor thirsty after God. In fact he is specifically taught to be satisfied and encouraged to be content with little.

it’s not something you’ve said or done that’s ‘made’ him this way - he was this way before you met him, while you were with him, and will be long after you’re gone until he sees fit to address his reasons for being unavailable. You haven’t misunderstood although you may have applied meaning where there is no meaning at times. You’re not going crazy, you don’t need to change yourself for him (although you do need to address your love habits), and you cannot change him. While it’s upsetting, it’s also empowering because you can stop making his problems, your problems. You, like many a Fallback Girl that has come before you and will no doubt follow, have probably spent far too much time and brain energy trying to ‘figure him out’, which is like rationalising the irrational.

she had to question Mariana’s assessment of him as a loving parent. The man Ruth heard described sounded authoritarian, cold, emotionally unavailable, often critical and highly unkind—even cruel. None of these qualities had anything to do with love. “Love isn’t conditional,” Ruth said. “It’s not dependent on jumping through hoops to please someone—and always failing. You can’t love someone if you’re afraid of them, Mariana. I know it’s hard to hear. It’s a kind of blindness—but unless you wake up and see clearly, it will persist throughout your whole life, affecting how you see yourself, and others too.” Mariana shook her head. “You’re wrong about my father,” she said. “I know he’s difficult—but he loves me. And I love him.” “No,” said Ruth firmly. “At best, let’s call it a desire to be loved. At worst, it’s a pathological attachment to a narcissistic man:

Yeah, he's nice.” I've given up trying to explain Hobie to Boris: the house, the workshop, thoughtful way of listening so different from my father's, but more than anything a sort of pleasing atmosphere of mind: foggy, autumnal, a mild and welcoming micro-climate that made me feel safe and comfortable in his company. Boris stuck his finger in the open jar of peanut butter on the table between us, and licked it off. He had grown to love peanut butter, which (like marshmallow fluff, another favorite) was unavailable in Russia. “Old poofter?” he asked. I was taken aback. “No,” I said swiftly; and then: “I don’t know.” “Doesn’t matter,” said Boris, offering me the jar. “I've known some sweet old poofters.” “I don't think he is,” I said uncertainly. Boris shrugged. “Who cares? if he is good to you? None of us ever find enough kindness in the world, do we?” (pg. 282)

A higher form of communication, verbal language, is also unavailable or inadequate to describe the intensity of a cutter's inner state. As kids, by and large, self-injurers were not allowed to have or express their own feelings—especially anger. Instead they were forced to carry the feelings of their parents and grew up feeling responsible for their parents' anger, frustration, and unhappiness. They were expected to fill their parents' need for love and gratification, rather than the parents satisfying their children's needs. When a child's feelings and perceptions are actively denied or minimized by her parents, the child's ability to develop a language of feelings is stunted, and she is left with a mute hopelessness about the possibility of communicating in a way that will help her to get critical needs met. Words then seem to take on terrifying proportions; they are both too powerful and completely useless. Emotions are so damned up that sadness seems annihilating, rage often feels murderous.

Truth engages the citadel of the human heart and is not satisfied until it has conquered everything there. The will must come forth and surrender its sword. It must stand at attention to receive orders, and those orders it must joyfully obey. Short of this any knowledge of Christian truth is inadequate and unavailing. Bible exposition without moral application raises no opposition. It is only when the hearer is made to understand that truth is in conflict with his heart that resistance sets in. As long as people can hear orthodox truth divorced from life, they will attend and support churches and institutions without objection. The truth is a lovely song, become sweet by long and tender association; and since it asks nothing but a few dollars, and offers good music, pleasant friendships and a comfortable sense of well-being, it meets with no resistance from the faithful. Much that passes for New Testament Christianity is little more than objective truth sweetened with song and made palatable by religious entertainment.

listening to Mariana, and saying very little … one day Ruth finally interrupted. What she said was simple, direct, and devastating. Ruth suggested, as gently as she could, that Mariana was in denial about her father. That after everything she had heard, she had to question Mariana’s assessment of him as a loving parent. The man Ruth heard described sounded authoritarian, cold, emotionally unavailable, often critical and highly unkind—even cruel. None of these qualities had anything to do with love. “Love isn’t conditional,” Ruth said. “It’s not dependent on jumping through hoops to please someone—and always failing. You can’t love someone if you’re afraid of them, Mariana. I know it’s hard to hear. It’s a kind of blindness—but unless you wake up and see clearly, it will persist throughout your whole life, affecting how you see yourself, and others too.” Mariana shook her head. “You’re wrong about my father,” she said. “I know he’s difficult—but he loves me. And I love him.” “No,” said Ruth firmly. “At best, let’s call it a desire to be loved. At worst, it’s a pathological attachment to a narcissistic man: a melting pot of gratitude, fear, expectation

CONFESSIONS OF A CLING-ON If a man is walking in a forest and makes a statement, but there is no woman around to hear it, is he still wrong? Or if a woman is walking in the forest and asks for something, and there is no man around to hear her, is she still needy? These Zen koans capture some of the frustrations people have with the opposite gender. And where is the dividing line between someone simply having a need, and someone being a needy person? Is it written in heaven somewhere what is too much need, too little need and just right amount of need for the “normal person?” Ask pop radio psychologists Dr. Laura, or Sally Jessie Rafael, or any number of experts who claim to know for sure, and you’ll get some very different answers. And isn’t it fun to see the new sophisticated ways our advanced culture is developing to make each other wrong? You better keep up with the latest technical terminology or you will be at the mercy of those who do. Whoever has read the latest most recent self-help book has the clear advantage. Example: Man: “Get real, would you! Your Venusian codependency has got you trapped in your learned helpless victim act, and indulging in your empowerment phobia again.” Woman: “When you call me codependent, I feel (notice the political correctness of the feeling word) that you are simply projecting your own disowned, unintegrated, emotionally unavailable Martian counterdependency to protect your inner ADD two year old from ever having to grow up. So there!” Speaking of diagnosis, remember the codependent. Worrying about codependency was like a virus that everyone had from about 1988 to 1994. Here’s a prayer to commemorate the codependent: The Codependent’s Prayer by Kelly Bryson Our Authority, which art in others, self-abandonment be thy name. Codependency comes when others’ will is done, At home, as it is in the workplace. give us this day our daily crumbs of love. And give us a sense of indebtedness, As we try to get others to feel indebted to us. And lead us not into freedom, but deliver us from awareness. For thine is the slavery and the weakness and the dependency, For ever and ever. Amen.

The energy that can come from self-love will propel you into becoming the best version of yourself. No longer trapped in the pursuit of hopeless relationships, emotionally unavailable partners,

According to Thrivetalk, enmeshment trauma is a form of emotional damage that occurs when one or more parents project their values, needs, and dreams onto their child. This causes the child to abandon their own sense of self in order to please their caregiver. Ultimately, the child feels as though they must adapt to their parent’s needs to be worthy of love, and this, when combined with a caregiver who is also unavailable, leaves the child feeling emotionally abandoned.

When that person is emotionally unavailable or unresponsive, we face being out in the cold, alone and helpless. We are assailed by emotions — anger, sadness, hurt, and above all, fear. This is not so surprising when we remember that fear is our built-in alarm system; it turns on when our survival is threatened. Losing connection with our loved one jeopardizes our sense of security. The alarm goes off in the brain’s amygdala, or Fear Central,

She’s distant and emotionally unavailable. I could never go to her for support. She never loved me in the way I needed to be loved.” Tricia’s rejection of her mother was the culprit behind her relationship failures. What sat unresolved with her mother unconsciously resurfaced with her partners, eroding the bond they shared and the intimacy they desired.

I will no longer make room for emotionally unavailable individuals in my life.

When we experience our partners as being here with us, it results in the positive beliefs that our partners care about us, we matter to them and we are worthy of their love and attention. Conversely, when our partners are unavailable, unresponsive or mentally elsewhere, attachment insecurity can arise, feeding the fears and doubts that we are not valued, loved or worthy.

He had always been emotionally unavailable and not at all interested in love either as a topic for discussion or a daily life practice, but he was absolutely confident that he had something meaningful to say on the subject.

That’s why I am emotionally bankrupt these days – any love I had left for her is spent.

Back then, in every creative writing course the poets dedicated to the love poem were always male. Indeed, the partner I left after many years first courted me with a love poem. He had always been emotionally unavailable and not at all interested in love as either a topic for discussion or a daily life practice, but he was absolutely confident that he had something meaningful to say on the subject.

It had taken a lot of therapy for me to stop gravitating toward emotionally unavailable men, the kind who’d get a matching tattoo with you on week, and be dating your upstairs neighbor the next. I’d been so relieved when I finally fell in love with someone who actually wanted to love me back.

become an evil wizard with the power to take away those strengths: perhaps your love, or courage, or kindness, or creativity. Whatever strengths you were using during the peak experience, they are now utterly unavailable to you. Imagine that I could keep you from using any of those peak strengths for an entire month. List in your journal the feelings that result. Make the list as long as you can.

Getting more into one-on-one therapy helped. It helped me to keep going, and it helped me to quit drinking. I almost feel it’s mandatory in my position. C’mon, buddy, you’ve got to get your head shrunk. Because your head gets so big, you need to shrink it. You need to go to some guy who’s going to tell you what you already know about yourself and pay attention to you for an hour straight. Which we all like. We all need a little attention. The first time I ever considered therapy was back in Boston, during my run in Richard III. I was staying at our director David Wheeler’s house for a few days, and he came into my room one morning to share some good news with me. “Hey, Al!” he said. “You just won the National Board of Review!” It was my first major film award for The Godfather. I said to him, in the softest voice I could summon up, “I was going to ask you, David, do you have the name of a psychiatrist? Because I need one.” That was my answer to him. Not that I was unhappy about winning such a prestigious award, but there were just other things on my mind. I saw a psychiatrist in Boston first, and then I went and got myself a guy in New York. I fell in love with the process, and I got to a point where I was in therapy five days a week at certain times. I highly recommend therapy if you’re at all leaning in that direction. Maybe you don’t need it five times a week, but give it a whirl. There’s an old story: A woman goes to a therapist for years. It’s her last appointment, because she feels she’s come to a great place in her life and is ready to move on. She wants to congratulate her therapist and say goodbye. So she tells him, “You’ve done so much good for me. I love my husband so much. Every day with my kids is just a joy. My work is going off the charts. I’m seeing a whole new side of life. You’ve been so wonderful. I never hear you speak. You just take it all in. Please tell me, how did you do it?” The doctor looks at her and says, “No habla inglés.” That’s an interpretation of therapy too; you need to talk and get it out. When I was living with Jill, before I ever went to therapy, I used to just sit in the bathtub alone and talk about things. I cleared my mind to myself. It’s an unusual relationship that you forge when you find a good doctor, someone you feel has that kind of commitment to you. And then they take some colossal amount of time off, and you don’t see them for the whole summer. I had one of those episodes when I couldn’t find my doctor. I might have been spared about twenty years of tsuris if I could have avoided it. It’s a good idea that when your psychiatrist goes away, you know where they are and you can call them when you’re in trouble. They need rest too. I can deal with, “Hey, my daughter’s graduating college, I’ll be out for a few days.” But going up a fucking river somewhere, to not be available for, like, six weeks? Come on, my life was capable of going right off the rails in far less time than that. I used to have recurring dreams in which I go to my psychiatrist’s office but can’t find him anywhere. He’s in the building, but he’s unavailable. I’m at the door, but there’s not even a buzzer I can press to let him know I’m there and no way to let me in. That was my dream. Now I have that feeling about my agent.

As a child, you might experience her as unavailable, self-absorbed, or withholding. You might then reject her, taking her depleted flow of love personally, as if somehow she had made a choice to keep it from you. The greater truth would be that the love you longed for was not available for your mother to give.

This week has had a strange effect on me,” Llandrindon ruminated aloud. “I feel… different.” “Are you ill?” Daisy asked in concern, closing the sketchbook. “I’m sorry, I’ve made you sit out in the sun too long.” “No, not that kind of different. What I meant to say is that I feel… wonderful.” Llandrindon was staring at her in that odd way again. “Better than I ever have before.” “It’s the country air, I expect.” Daisy stood and brushed her skirts off, and went to him. “It’s quite invigorating.” “It’s not the country air I find invigorating,” Llandrindon said in a low voice. “It’s you, Miss Bowman.” Daisy’s mouth fell open. “Me?” “You.” He stood and took her shoulders in his hands. Daisy could only stutter in surprise. “I— I— my lord—” “These past few days in your company have given me cause for deep reflection.” Daisy twisted to glance at their surroundings, taking in the neatly trimmed hedges covered with bursts of pink climbing roses. “Is Mr. Swift nearby?” she whispered. “Is that why you’re talking this way?” “No, I’m speaking for myself.” Ardently Llandrindon pulled her closer, until the sketchbook was nearly crushed between them. “You’ve opened my eyes, Miss Bowman. You’ve made me see everything a different way. I want to find shapes in clouds, and do something worth writing a poem about. I want to read novels. I want to make life an adventure—” “How nice,” Daisy said, wriggling in his tightening grasp. “— with you.” Oh no. “You’re joking,” she said weakly. “I’m besotted,” he declared. “I’m unavailable.” “I’m determined.” “I’m… surprised.” “You dear little thing,” he exclaimed. “You’re everything he said you were. Magic. Thunderstorms wrapped up with rainbows. Clever and lovely and desirable—” “Wait.” Daisy stared at him in astonishment. “Matth— that is, Mr. Swift said that?” “Yes, yes, yes…” And before she could move, speak or breathe, Llandrindon lowered his head and kissed her.

And because emotions create such inner havoc, this person will retreat from them, but in so doing, attract into his or her life precisely those people who tend to be needy or have poor boundaries, and in some fashion are the ones who will most push the emotionally unavailable person's buttons.

Welcome to The Kosk! I am Husni. I am here to give you love and cuddles When Hadrah Hakim is unavailable. Love Me!

One may take on some qualities of a loved one following her death; the five-year-old identifies with his father’s moral code in response to the oedipal frustration of being denied mother as a sexual partner. As long as gratification is available via objects in the real world, identification is irrelevant. When gratification is interrupted, when the object is lost or becomes unavailable because of conflict, the object is internalized to permit fantasy gratification. Identification

Affairs with unavailable people are a heroin high before nausea hits. Like smack they are destined to disappoint. They begin with magic. Then the chasing after magic. And finally the MOURNING FOR MAGIC.

-§ But just because we grew up in that kind of a culture does not mean we need to keep creating it in our present relationship. I recommend we ask different questions, like, “How could I make your life more wonderful?” and “Would you like to know how you could make my life more wonderful?” and “What are your needs right now?” and “Would you like to know what I need right now?” Now if none of this appeals to you because you prefer a relation-dinghy to a relationship, here are some suggestion to help you prevent your relation-dinghy from growing into a relationship: 1. Keep your attention focused at all times on who is right or wrong in a discussion, fair or unfair in a negotiation, selfish or unselfish in giving (it helps to keep a list of who has done what for whom), kind or cruel in their tone of voice, rude or polite in their mannerisms, sloppy or neat in their dress, and so on. Be careful not to realize that your attempt to be right is really an attempt to protect yourself from thinking you are wrong and then feeling shame. 2. If you need some support for this I recommend certain selfhelp groups who can give you the latest scoops on the most powerful, politically correct labels with which to overpower and confuse your partner. Members of these groups will collude with you in validating that your partner really is a man or woman who is commitment-phobic, emotionally unavailable, counterdependant, needy, spiritually unevolved, dysfunctional, immature, judgmental, sinful, bi-polar, OCD, clinically depressed, or adult-onset ADD. It is important to keep your consciousness filled with such terminology to prevent any fondness from developing. This also helps in keeping you caught in the “paralysis of analysis” and clueless about what you or your partner are needing from each other. 3. Adopt this test for love: If your partner really loves you, he or she will always know what you want even before you know—and then give it to you without your having to go through the humiliation of actually asking for it. And your partner will do this regardless of the sacrifice it requires. If your partner does not give you what you want, choose to believe it means he or she does not love you. 4. Ask for what you do not want instead of what you do want. I heard of a man who asked his wife to stop spending so much money shopping. She took up gambling on the internet. 5. In case your relationdinghy starts to grow, here are a few torpedoes guaranteed to sink it again: “It hurts me when you say that.” “I feel sad because you…fill in the blank (won’t say ‘I love you,’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ or won’t have sex, or won’t marry me, etc.)” If you really want to choke the life out of any relationship meditate on “I need you.” Then you will know how I felt for about thirtyfive years of my life. I felt like a drowning swimmer and I would grab hold of anyone who came near me and try to use them as a life raft. Now I want relationships to be flowers for my table instead of air for my lungs. When I Come Gently To You by Ruth Bebermeyer When I come gently to you I want you to see It’s not to get myself from you, it’s just to give you me. I know that you can’t give me me, no matter what you do. All I ever want from you is you. I know your fear of fences, your pain from prisons past. I’m not the first to sense it and I’m plainly not the last. The hawk within your heart’s not bound to earth by fence of mine, Unless you aren’t aware that you can fly. When I come gently to you I’d like you to know I come not to trespass your space, I want to touch and grow. When your space and my space meet, each is not less but more. We make our space that wasn’t space before. Chapter HEALING THE BLAME THAT BLINDS

God I Am Available for You The title above is a phrase that warms God’s heart every time He hears it. In fact, the greatest gift we can give to the Lord is our service to Him, but many of us just go through the motions. When we say, “God, I’m available to you,” do we really mean it, or are we secretly hope that we won’t get called on in some way that will interfere with the lives we chosen for ourselves? “Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.” –Proverbs 16:3 The key to truly being available to God is having a heart of surrender and sacrifice. Be bold! Don’t stop there! After you tell the Lord you are available, ask Him what He wants you to do! Open up your heart to the many possibilities to serve Him that are available in this world. Submitting to God’s will is the ultimate sacrifice to the Lord, and one that can foster change in others. Remember that when we don’t make ourselves available to God, it is harder for Him to touch our spirits. What if God were as unavailable to us as we sometimes are to Him? It can be difficult to take on the mantle of sacrifice and allow God’s plan for us to take shape. Sometimes God takes us into uncomfortable places where our beliefs may be questioned or where others may spurn our attempts to reach out to them. But think about God’s experience with humankind. How often have we turned our back on God, ignored His wisdom, and even shut out His love? We must stop ignoring God’s plan for us and make ourselves fully available to Him, just as He is always fully available to us. We must also mean every word we say when we promise Him, “God, I am available to you.” We can’t simply be spectators to God’s work on earth – we have to be fully involved. “I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?

But now Trish has me thinking, is he always unavailable because he has a side chick?

Avoidantly attached children tend to have parents who are emotionally withdrawn and psychologically unavailable. They

IT TAKES TWO TO BE TOXIC Often in our karmic love, we project all the negativity onto our partner and paint them as an asshole, a fuckboy, or maybe just emotionally unavailable, without actually taking responsibility for our part in the dynamic.

We don’t like emotionally unavailable men.

I’m sorry you lost the game.” His other hand joined the first, both now cupping my face. “Don’t you get it? I don’t care about the game.” “You don’t? But you love it.” “Baby, I love you more. You, and Charlie, Amelia, Jameson, and Beau. All five of you are my world. I choose you. Every time.” Testing the words on my tongue, I asked. “You choose me?” “I knew the first time I saw you that my world was forever changed. I remember thinking I would do just about anything to see your smile, hear your laugh. You were real when so much of my world was artificial. Back then, I only knew what you’d shared on the surface. But now that I know what’s underneath? I want all of you. I want to raise Charlie together with her older siblings. I want to be there for all of you every single day if you’ll let me. I want all of you forever.” “I’ve had some time these past few weeks to reflect on our relationship. Not only this past year, but the past ten years we’ve known each other. I used to curse the timing. That I’d met you too late, and it could have been me in your life if I had now been just a year or two earlier. I know now that I wasn’t enough for you back then. I was this eighteen-year-old-kid—yes, kid—who barely could take care of himself and had a one-track-mind focused on hockey. I wish I could erase all the pain you’ve suffered, but I needed that time to become the man you truly deserved. There was a reason I’d never dated seriously or entertained the idea of settling down. I was always waiting for you. It didn’t matter that you were unavailable. No one could compare to the standard for women you’d created in my mind. And then, one day, the universe rewarded my patience when a little boy threw his ball over my fence. Someone was looking out for me that day because you fell into my lap and gave me everything I’d always wanted but never thought I could have.

The shadow hides in our secret shames. To uncover the feeling of shame is to discover an arrow pointing straight toward shadow material, toward sexual taboos, bodily defects, emotional regrets—perhaps toward that which we would not dare to do but would secretly love to do. When shameful feelings are tucked away from those we love or even from ourselves, the shadow remains in the dark, out of sight of loving eyes and therefore unavailable for healing. What private thoughts or feelings most embarrass you? What trait do you wish to be rid of? In what ways do you feel unacceptable, dirty, or shamefully different?

Even if you had a rough start to life, even if you had parents who were emotionally unavailable, just like every other baby who has ever come into this life you affected people so deeply as the embodiment of love.

That still farther, past "free," there lay "loved," in her laughter, lay "home" in her touch, in the soft of her Afro? He almost can't fathom it. Had never dared dream of it, believing such endings unavailable to him, or to them, who walked shoeless, who smiled in their deaths and who sang in their dreams and who didn't much matter. That he found her and loved her and made their love flesh four times over—it matters, if only to him.

Jock cringed every time she was near him. Story of my life. Being a single mother was hard enough. Having to dodge emotionally unavailable hot guys because of her daughter’s penchant for them made it even more difficult.

I was emotionally tied to a man who was emotionally unavailable to me.

On the other hand, when an emotionally available person comes into their life, the love addict tends to pull away, saying things like, “They’re boring,” “There’s no spark,” or “There’s no attraction.” But the reality is that they’re experiencing a totally unfamiliar connection—it doesn’t affect them as profoundly, nor in the same way, as an emotionally unavailable person.

Love addiction usually manifests as an addiction to an unavailable person. Many love addicts grew up with parents who were emotionally unavailable to them. This can happen in any family, but it’s common in alcoholic families.

Unconsciously, they are drawn to individuals who are aloof, who aren’t in touch with their feelings, who are abusive, or who they chase emotionally, resulting in extremely unhealthy relationships caused by always chasing emotionally unavailable people, just as they’d become accustomed to as a child.

Minerva never knew she had other choices. She was lost in a mystified relationship with her father substitute bosses at work. In always trying to do the right thing and please her bosses, she was reenacting her original relationship with her insensitive, unavailable father. Many people reenact their mystified source relationships at work. Their offices become exact replicas of their family of origin. I will have more to say about this later.

I once heard a woman who’d lost her dog say that she felt as though a color were suddenly missing from her world: the dog had introduced to her field of vision some previously unavailable hue, and without the dog, that color was gone. That seemed to capture the experience of loving a dog with eminent simplicity. I’d amend it only slightly and say that if we are open to what they have to give us, dogs can introduce us to several colors, with names like wildness and nurturance and trust and joy.

As you get older. the abstract concept of love won't be exciting anymore. This is a good thing. The exact details of an imaginary boyfriend used to keep my mind in a never-ending fantasy groove. Real life was always a disappointment because the narrative of romance in my head was completely unattainable. Love should be about aligning your life with another person, not a place of make-believe you can escape to where you always feel high, are the star of the show and unquestioningly adored. But passion awaits me. And it awaits you, too, if love is what you're looking for. No matter how old or young we are, no matter how little or how much we've loved or lost, all of us deserve an occasional pair of arms around our waist as we stir the soup on the stove. It should never feel unavailable to us.

Inconsistency isn’t the only way parents make themselves unavailable. Sometimes parents remove themselves entirely and are physically or emotionally unavailable.

BROADCASTING RESONANCE Anchored in nonlocal consciousness, your local life begins to change. As you resonate with the cycles of nature, as your heart’s coherence conditions the energy space around you, as you vibrate to the signal of love and joy in your consciousness, you attract people and conditions that match your states and traits. Without effort, as your magnificent new signal broadcasts out around you, resonating with the music of the universe, you’ll come into synchrony with people and events that bless and delight you. You’ll discover that you’re not alone. As you tune to the great symphony of life each day, you’ll find that you’re tuned to millions of other people who are likewise attuned. With no effort at all, you’ll discover wonderful new friends and companions wherever you travel. As the light shines from your eyes, it meets the light in the eyes of others. When you’re awake, you naturally enjoy others who are awake. 9.3. Coming into synchrony. LOVING THE SLEEPER Not everyone is awake, and that’s fine. Sometimes your friends and family members are tossing in their sleep, suffering unnecessarily. Their plight touches you. You feel their misery. You would love to see them wake up, and shed those beliefs, thoughts, and habits that drag them down. You can’t force them to do so, no matter how much you love them. Everyone makes their own choice. What you can do for people who are suffering is shine brightly yourself. If they’re ready, they’ll wake up. If they don’t, trust the universe. We each wake up when the time is right. Their time might come later; it’s not up to you. You can share this book and other resources with them. You can share your story as I have shared mine, and perhaps these examples will inspire them. If and when each of us wakes up is our choice. UNLOCKING YOUR POTENTIAL As you live in synchrony with the universe, enjoying the community of other Bliss Brainers, you find new possibilities opening up. You start to unlock potential that’s been trapped inside the suffering, selfing self. Increasingly, you’re not just in Bliss Brain during meditation. You’re in the Awakened Mind state with your eyes open, going about your day. All kinds of possibilities that were previously unavailable to you now become available.

But passion awaits me. And it awaits you too, if love is what you’re looking for. No matter how old or young we are, no matter how little or how much we’ve loved or lost, all of us deserve an occasional pair of arms around our waist as we stir the soup on the stove. It should never feel unavailable to us.

As you get older, the abstract concept of love won't be exciting anymore. This is a good thing. The exact details of an imaginary boyfriend used to keep my mind in a never-ending fantasy groove. Real life was always a disappointment because the narrative of romance in my head was completely unattainable. Love should be about aligning your life with another person, not a place of make-believe you can escape to where you always feel high, are the star of the show and unquestioningly adored. But passion awaits me. And it awaits you, too, if love is what you're looking for. No matter how old or young we are, no matter how little or how much we've loved or lost, all of us deserve an occasional pair of arms around our waist as we stir the soup on the stove. It should never feel unavailable to us.

Lost boys, broken boys, dishonest boys, unavailable boys…I’ve spent way too much time in my life chasing after the wrong guys. Guys who didn’t know or love themselves enough to ever possibly know or love me. Guys who were so hopelessly, desperately lost they used parts of my soul as bread crumbs to try and find their way back. Guys who were drowning in their own lives and grasping for a life raft. But you know what happens to girls who allow themselves to become life rafts? They sink themselves. They get dragged into whirling, swirling cesspools of drama and chaos and dysfunction. They start to mistake mirages for the real deal. They start to question why they seem to never be ENOUGH. So the next time a lost boy tries to take your hand and lead you down his path of confusion, politely say no. Or even impolitely say no. But say no. You are not a life raft, you are not a compass, you are not bread crumbs, you are not a flashlight, you are not a Band-Aid, and you are not a stop along the way as he attempts to “find himself.” You are a destination. A whole, complete person who deserves another whole, complete person. You are wonderfully, beautifully ENOUGH. Too enough for someone who can’t see what he has standing right in front of his face. Maybe you’re saying, “Hey, I’m a little lost right now, too.” And that’s okay. But find your own way. Chart your own course. And never use another human being and their feelings and emotions as your GPS. Never look to another person to rescue you. Rescue yourself. Then you won’t even attract the lost boys anymore. You’ll attract the found ones.

I’ve fallen in love with Emmett Rhodes, the most unavailable guy in town. So unavailable he’d rather have a fake relationship than a real one.

I anticipate diagnostic AI will exceed all but the best doctors in the next twenty years. This trend will be felt first in fields like radiology, where computer-vision algorithms are already more accurate than good radiologists for certain types of MRI and CT scans. In the story “Contactless Love,” we see that by 2041 radiologists’ jobs will be mostly taken over by AI. Alongside radiology, we will also see AI excel in pathology and diagnostic ophthalmology. Diagnostic AI for general practitioners will emerge later, one disease at a time, gradually covering all diagnoses. Because human lives are at stake, AI will first serve as a tool within doctors’ disposal or will be deployed only in situations where a human doctor is unavailable. But over time, when trained on more data, AI will become so good that most doctors will be routinely rubber-stamping AI diagnoses, while the human doctors themselves are transformed into something akin to compassionate caregivers and medical communicators.