There was a time, believe it or not, when people met by accident.

Maybe they bumped into each other reaching for the same book, or sat next to each other on a train, or—God forbid—locked eyes across a smoky bar and got talking.

This was before love became a slot machine, before human desire was subjected to the cold, mechanical whirr of an algorithm.

And yet, here we are, neck-deep in a dating landscape so chaotic, so absurdly volatile, that a new movement has emerged from the wreckage: chaos celibacy.

It’s not that these people hate love. Far from it.

They just hate whatever this is.

The swipes, the ghostings, the emotionally incoherent text messages that arrive at 2 AM and disappear into oblivion by dawn.

They are opting out, defecting, taking their ball and going home—not because they’ve lost the game, but because the game has become a grotesque parody of itself, a bizarre Hunger Games of attraction where nobody wins, but everyone keeps playing.

The Digital Age and the Birth of Nah, I’m Good

Saint Camillus de Lellis was, in many ways, the last man anyone expected to become a saint. He was a fighter, a gambler, a brawler. He was a man who lived off his fists and his luck, and both betrayed him in equal measure.

Born in 1550, Camillus had a childhood that reads like a training montage for disaster. His father was a mercenary captain, the kind of man who solved problems with steel and walked away from them without a second glance.

Camillus, naturally, followed in his footsteps. At 16, he was already a soldier, swinging his sword for whatever cause paid him in coin and whiskey.

But discipline? No.

He was reckless, betting away his money, his food, his dignity. He was the kind of soldier other soldiers avoided—not because he wasn’t strong, but because his strength had no direction.

Then came the wound.

Marriage, in its purest form, is an exquisite cosmic prank.

Two human beings—whom evolution has not equipped for telepathy, emotional omniscience, or even reliably remembering to take out the trash—are expected to navigate a lifelong partnership in peace and harmony.

And yet, when things go south (as entropy suggests they must), people clutch their pearls: How did this happen?​

Enter marriage counseling, a peculiar human ritual in which two people, previously content to hurl passive-aggressive sighs across the dinner table, voluntarily submit to an intermediary who asks unsettling questions like, "What do you actually want from each other?"​

The results, dear reader, are astonishing.​

There’s an old joke, the kind that makes seminarians chuckle into their wine cups: three saints walk into a bar.

Except in this case, the bar is the twenty-first century, and the saints—long forgotten by all but the nerdiest hagiographers—have no idea what’s going on.

The king had called for him again.

Daniel, son of Judah, reluctant court prophet, the man who saw too much and spoke too plainly.

He had been summoned from his chamber, where he had spent the night kneeling on the hard stone floor, his fingers pressed into the dust, his breath slowed in meditation, waiting for the flicker of the divine to catch like a spark in his skull.

It had come again, and as always, it had burned.

Now, he stood before Nebuchadnezzar, that great engine of empire, the man whose very name felt like a weight on the tongue.

The king was wrapped in the thick silks of Babylon, his rings catching the firelight as he drummed his fingers against the arm of his throne.

His eyes, fever-bright, fixed on Daniel with the hunger of a man who knew he had seen something beyond the veil.

“You will tell me what I saw,” Nebuchadnezzar said. Not a question, not a request. A command.

Daniel said nothing at first. He let the silence stretch.

Once upon a time, the goal was clear: grow up, move out, never look back—except maybe for Thanksgiving dinner.

But times have changed.

Thanks to skyrocketing rent, student loan debt, and job market uncertainty, adult children are moving back home in record numbers.

For blended families, this transition can be even trickier.

If your stepchild is suddenly your roommate, or your partner’s adult son just took over the garage, you’re likely navigating a whole new level of family dynamics.

So how do you keep the peace, set boundaries, and make this work without losing your sanity? Let’s dive in.

For decades, modern dating has been fixated on compatibility quizzes, text chemistry, and the fine art of decoding emoji usage.

But what if the real key to lasting connection wasn’t in perfectly matched values or love languages, but in shared experiences that create intimacy through action rather than analysis?

Welcome to experiential intimacy-led dating—a relationship model that prioritizes doing things together over talking about doing things together. If past dating trends were about defining relationships, this one is about living them.

What Is Experiential Intimacy?

If there’s one dating trend that absolutely needed to happen, it’s this: setting boundaries as an act of self-love.

And not just the flimsy, “I don’t text after 10 PM” kind of boundaries, but real, enforced, and deeply respected emotional limits that keep your relationships (and mental health) intact.

For years, boundaries have been treated like a rude inconvenience—something to be negotiated away in the name of romance.

But as more people realize that love without limits is just codependency in a trench coat, the culture is shifting. Setting boundaries isn’t just responsible; it’s the sexiest thing you can do for yourself.

The dating world, much like an overcaffeinated startup, has spent the past decade operating at maximum intensity.

Fast matches. Instant chemistry.

Texting back in 30 seconds or be deemed emotionally unavailable. The sheer pace of it all left most people exhausted, confused, and just a little bit feral.

Enter the latest and perhaps most necessary relationship trend: soft dating—a gentler, more mindful approach to romance that prioritizes connection over pressure.

What Is Soft Dating?

In the long and sordid history of what makes a person attractive, we’ve worshipped brawn, wealth, and the ability to grow a passable mustache. But in 2025, a new trait has officially taken the top spot in the dating marketplace: emotional intelligence (EQ).

Yes, dear reader, it turns out the sexiest thing a person can do is not bench press 300 pounds or own a yacht—it’s handling a disagreement without turning into a toddler in a business suit.

What Is Emotional Intelligence, and Why Is It Suddenly Hot?

Once upon a time—by which we mean, the 2010s—relationships were a grim battleground of overanalysis. "Are we exclusive? Should we keep talking to other people? Should we split the check? What does their therapist say about me?"

Love, somehow, became homework. But now, a refreshing new movement is sweeping the dating world: pleasure-centered love.

Gone are the days when ‘hard work’ was the gold standard for a good relationship. Instead, people are now asking, "What if my relationship made me feel good?" Shocking, right?

By now, we’ve all encountered the ghostly wisp of a relationship known as a ‘situationship.’

That liminal space between ‘we’re seeing each other’ and ‘I just liked your Instagram story but haven’t texted back in three days’—a territory fraught with ambiguity, emotional whiplash, and, let’s be honest, bad communication.

But fear not, weary daters, and gentle readers, because a new sheriff is in town: intentional dating.

What is Intentional Dating, and Why is It Trending?