“Did You Get the Job?” — Lessons in Dating and Intentionality
Accompanying Selections:
“The Silence That You Keep” — Milton Wright
“All The Words We Don’t Say” — Hiatus Kaiyote
alexithymia (ə-LEK-sih-THY-mee-ə) — a neuropsychological phenomenon characterized by significant challenges in recognizing, expressing, sourcing, and describing one’s emotions
In the candlelit darkness, her silhouette flickered across the bare white walls. Moments ago, we were intertwined — a physical connection, yes, but also an emotional intimacy that escapes me in daylight. Yet somehow, it already feels distant. Watching her dress, I feel nothing.
I wish we had a better term for “post-nut clarity.”
It’s a topic that I’ve revisited with both my therapist and male friends for quite some time–that feeling, after sleeping with someone, when you suddenly see them differently. It manifests in many ways, from casual disinterest to outright resentment. It’s like when the lights come on at the club, and suddenly, you don’t like what you see. The conversations I’ve had with my peers on the subject have led to more questions than answers but almost always lead to the sentiment, “I don’t know why it happens; it just does.”
I think I have an answer — albeit a personal one. But first, let’s take a step back.
In another life, I was a recruiter for a major tech company. In that capacity, I prepped hundreds of potential candidates to interview for various roles. As we went through myriad example questions and general tips about wardrobe and presentation, I would always leave them with the same thought:
“Remember that as much as they’re interviewing you, you’re also interviewing them.”
It was a simple reminder that you have to want the job you’re applying for. Regardless of how big or how shiny the company may look, regardless of the salary and benefits, if it doesn’t feel like a match, you’ll never be happy there.
For much of my adult life, I approached dating like a job interview — a mindset that isn’t necessarily bad at first glance. I would meet (or perhaps match with) an attractive woman who was kind, smart, and successful–theoretically an ideal partner. After some witty banter, we would schedule a date so that we could get to know each other better. I would arrive on time, dressed in smart attire, and well-manicured. I listened intently, asking thoughtful follow-up questions with genuine curiosity. I was meeting the preferred qualifications. And before you say, “Excuse me, Paul, this sounds like the bare minimum,” I want to remind you that the bar for men is somewhere south of Hell, so let’s not lose focus here. As we continued, I would become more comfortable and, subsequently, more open. Years of therapy and a lack of filter have made me unusually transparent — a quality often mistaken for vulnerability. My ability to articulate myself and openness around my own traumas read as a welcome and promising departure from the superficiality of previous candidates because, again, the bar exists somewhere beyond the River Styx. After performing her due diligence and asking me a bevy of questions of her choosing, we would eventually sleep together, affirming her attraction.
I got the job!
But nowhere in this process had I asked myself, “Paul, do YOU like HER?”
And that’s it. That was the realization. That moment of emptiness — whether after sex or the first genuine show of affection or any other validation — was the discomfort of having to sit with the fact that I had shared this intimate moment with someone who didn’t even know me, who I hadn’t allowed to know me. To ask yourself AFTER sex, “Do I want to be with this person?” is hard, but to realize that the answer exists somewhere between “no” and “I don’t know” is even harder. The emptiness runs deeper than disinterest — it reflects misaligned values, emotional disconnection, or even a fear of being truly seen. Post-nut clarity isn’t the problem; it’s the result of a lack of intentionality from the start.
“[T]he male role socialization process produces men adept at the skills of provision and protection, such as problem-solving, assertiveness, staying calm under fire, and providing for others, but lacking the abilities to know their own emotional life and to be empathic with others. In addition, men’s more severe sex role socialization makes emotional intimacy threatening to them but leaves them with unmet dependency needs.” — Dr. Ronald Levant, Toward the Reconstruction of Masculinity (1992)
To be clear, this isn’t a critique of the women I’ve dated but of my own lack of discernment — and that of men who perpetually find themselves inexplicably losing interest in the people with whom they’re engaging. While men often struggle to articulate their needs, this emotional detachment doesn’t exist in isolation. Women, shaped by their own societal expectations, often bear the emotional labor of bridging these gaps. This dynamic creates frustration and misunderstanding on both sides, resulting in perpetual modes of unfulfilled connections. I look back fondly on most of the women in my life, but like those candidates I once coached — they could be great, the company could be amazing, but that doesn’t make it a match.
Identifying this disconnect was only half the battle. Making a change required a deliberate shift in how I approached relationships — and, more importantly, how I viewed myself.
If you’ve found yourself stuck in this disconnect,’ ask yourself, “Am I a serious person?” Not in terms of holding a job or meeting basic needs, but truly serious about connection. This isn’t a judgment either. If you’ve read this far, it should be fairly clear that I’m drenched in the afterbirth of unseriousness. We are who we are, but we’re not always who we’ve been. So let’s be better by being honest with ourselves, shall we?
Now, if you’ve established yourself as a serious person, proceed to ask yourself this: “Self, what do I want in a relationship?”
Many people, regardless of gender, can tell you what they want in a partner, but when pressed, their answers sound like stats on a basketball trading card — height, profession, salary, etc.
Earlier this year, I had a discussion with a friend about “wants” versus “needs.” As human beings, we all have basic needs, which I believe fall into these general categories:
- Physical — How you physically express yourself to another (e.g., showing affection, sex drive, etc.)
- Communication — How you effectively speak to me and others in your community and beyond (e.g., being an active listener, discussing conflicts and disagreements, etc.)
- Personal Connection — Commonalities that bind us within the friendship/connection element of our relationship (e.g., your music preferences, political perspectives, etc.)
- Emotional — How I look to be supported on an emotional level (e.g., how you approach conflict, the ways we’re working on our mental health, etc.)
- Behavioral — Basic lifestyle logistics and choices (e.g., race, geographical location, daily routine, etc.)”
This friend pushed me to prescribe tangible wants to these needs. “Yes, everybody wants good communication or physical connection with our partners, but what does that actually mean to you? What does that look like?” she posed. I sat with that question for a bit and began to put pen to paper. I jotted down what these needs looked like in practice. On the page, I met a woman who, among many notable traits, was non-judgemental of those different from her, held me accountable even when it was uncomfortable, and wasn’t quick to anger during conflicts but instead preferred meaningful dialogue and debate.
I quickly realized the woman I had outlined was the exact opposite of who I tended to date in reality.
Intentionality requires discernment. Discernment is the ability to judge well. You can’t judge who you want if you don’t know what you want.
This shift in perspective has made dating feel more aligned with my values. I’m not (unintentionally) playing with anyone’s emotions or time, and I’m not playing with mine, either. I’ve noticed that I’m quicker to identify when a connection isn’t right for me and not nearly as afraid to walk away from it. This clarity hasn’t just improved the quality of the relationships I pursue — it’s given me a greater sense of peace. I like peace. You like peace. We all like peace.
Now, If you’re a woman reading this, I imagine that you’re saying (most likely for the 3rd or 4th time), “This is wildly unimpressive, Paul. I did this years ago.” And that’s a completely fair reaction. I had another friend who suggested that to alleviate all of this, women should just ask men directly, “What do you need in a relationship?” At first, I thought, “That’s a great approach!.” But then I realized that up until recently, I wouldn’t have had a complete answer either. Men are conditioned to suppress vulnerability in favor of stoicism. This not only creates emotional barriers in relationships but also leaves many of us disconnected from our own needs. Shaped by societal expectations, we rarely have the space to ask ourselves what we need emotionally.
“One of the most far-reaching consequences of male role socialization is the high incidence among men of at least a mild form of alexithymia — the inability to identify and describe one’s feelings in words. I would advance the hypothesis that this is a result of being socialized to be emotionally stoic. Not only were boys not encouraged to learn to identify and express their emotions, but more pointedly they were told not to. They might have been told that “big boys don’t cry.” In sports they were told “no pain, no gain,” and admonished to learn to “play with pain.” These exhortations trained them to be out of touch with their feelings, particularly those feelings on the vulnerable end of the spectrum. As a result of such socialization experiences, men are often genuinely unaware of their emotions. Lacking this emotional awareness, they tend to rely on their cognition, and try to logically deduce how they should feel. They cannot do what is so automatic for most women — simply sense inward, feel the feeling, and let the verbal description come to mind.” — Dr. Ronald Levant, Toward the Reconstruction of Masculinity (1992)
This conditioning creates a vicious cycle. Without the tools to express our needs, we fall into patterns of avoidance or performative strength, perpetuating the very behaviors that alienate us from meaningful relationships. Women, too, are conditioned by these same societal narratives — taught to prioritize emotional caretaking or to interpret a man’s guardedness as a challenge to overcome. This dynamic often leaves them navigating relationships where their own needs are secondary, perpetuating an imbalance neither partner fully intends. Undoing this requires intentional work — learning to sit with discomfort, asking ourselves hard questions, and allowing space for emotions we were taught to ignore.
It’s important to add that even in my current state of awareness, it’s still incredibly difficult to be intentional. I constantly find myself wanting to backslide into past bad behaviors because those are at least the bad behaviors I know. I understand them; I’ve lived them. This new world of intentionality is scary. It’s scary because it allows me the possibility of being genuinely happy in a relationship, to be heard, and to have my emotional needs met. I think many of us believe that we’re not meant to be happy in a relationship.
Have you ever been to a bachelor party? Spent the evening with a groom-to-be the night before his wedding? Throughout the experience, phrases like “last night of freedom” or “beginning of the end” are casually thrown around as if marriage is something oppressive. These supposed celebrations feel like the final send-off before the homie goes to do twenty-five to life for a drug trafficking charge. That mindset makes me sad, but I’ve lived in it too. I’ve been in relationships that only made sense if they were chaotic. Heavy sighing before you enter the room is normal, right? Having to say, “Ok, you’re right,” through clenched teeth is part of the game, right? Maybe it’s the influence of 90s comedy routines or the types of relationships we grew up seeing at home, but we’ve all believed it at some point. Today, I don’t buy into that narrative. It’s only a prison if you feel trapped. And I’ve never felt more trapped than being with someone I knew I wasn’t meant to be with in the first place.
Let’s stop putting ourselves in self-imposed prisons. We don’t have to live like this. But to avoid it, we have to know what we want so we know what’s not for us–discernment.
Dating without knowing what you want is like grocery shopping without a list. Sure, you’ll come home with a few things you like, but what the fuck are you supposed to cook with three apples, a dozen eggs, almond milk, and a bag of flaming hot Cheetos? Now that I know what I want, I shop with purpose. My choices feel intentional, and the meals I create — or the relationships I build — are far more nourishing. And that’s not to say that intentionality will eliminate all uncertainty. People are complicated, and relationships are hard. Even with a clear sense of what we need, mistakes will still be made, and work will still need to be done. But the difference is I’m now better equipped to handle those moments with grace. I’ve learned that clarity isn’t about control — it’s about confidence in navigating the unknown and knowing I deserve to have my feelings voiced, met, and matched.
If you’re navigating modern dating, begin by asking yourself not just what someone else wants but what you truly need. The clarity you’ve been chasing after intimacy could already be within reach — if you’re willing to do the work beforehand. Be honest with yourself, define your values, and approach relationships with intention. It won’t make dating perfect, but it will make it purposeful — and that’s a foundation for meaningful connection.
