I’m 52 now. And what I want in my relationship looks nothing like what I wanted at 25.

At 25, I wanted chemistry. I wanted someone who made my chest tight and my brain go sideways. I wanted intensity. Drama. The kind of love that felt like an emergency.

And I got it. Multiple times. And it was an absolute disaster every time.

Because here’s what I didn’t understand then: Chemistry doesn’t mean anything if there’s no capacity. Intensity doesn’t matter if there’s no groundedness. And that emergency feeling? That’s usually just your nervous system recognizing dysfunction.

But I didn’t know that at 25. Nobody tells you that at 25.

I’m not saying chemistry doesn’t matter anymore. It does. But it’s not the thing I’m leading with. It’s not the thing I’m organizing my life around.

What matters now is consistency. Can this person show up the way they say they’re going to show up? Not just when it’s easy, but when shit gets hard. When life gets messy. When I’m not my best self.

Built trust. Not instant connection. Not “I feel like I’ve known you forever” on date two. But the slow accumulation of moments where someone proves they’re safe. Where they do what they say. Where their actions match their words.

And capacity – this is the big one. Can this person handle conflict without making me the problem? Can they sit in discomfort without shutting down or attacking? Can they take ownership when they fuck up?

Because we’re all going to fuck up. That’s not the question. The question is: What do you do after?

Do we want the same things from life? Do we approach relationships the same way? Do we both believe in doing the work? Or is one of us still running from ourselves?

These aren’t sexy questions. They don’t make your heart race. But they’re the questions that determine whether something actually lasts.

When the Real Test Came

Look, you can talk about capacity all you want. You can say you want someone grounded, someone who shows up. But you don’t really know what someone’s made of until life hits.

A year ago, Vanessa and I lost our home in the fires. Everything. Gone. This kind of thing will either bring you closer or break you. There’s no in-between.

When you lose everything, when you’re both in survival mode, when the stakes are that high – that’s when you see what’s real. That’s when all the shit you’ve been working on gets tested.

And here’s what I noticed: We got closer.

Not because it was some romantic movie moment. But because we both showed up. We regulated our own shit so we could hold space for each other. We didn’t make the other person responsible for our feelings. We didn’t spiral into blame or resentment.

We just... moved through it. Together.

That’s capacity. That’s what I’m talking about when I say it matters more than chemistry.

Because chemistry would’ve made that situation worse. Chemistry would’ve been two people drowning in their feelings, making it about the relationship, creating drama on top of crisis.

But groundedness? Groundedness meant we could both be in it without falling apart. We could support each other without losing ourselves. We could be scared and overwhelmed and still show up.

And that? That’s the kind of love that actually builds something.

The Fantasy vs. The Foundation

When I was younger, I was chasing a fantasy. I wanted someone who looked good on paper. Someone who checked boxes. Someone who made me feel a certain way.

And I ignored everything that actually matters. Does this person have emotional intelligence? Can they regulate their shit? Do they take care of themselves – not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually?

I didn’t ask those questions. Because I was too busy chasing a feeling.

I would’ve picked someone based on how they made me feel in the good times. How exciting they were. How much chemistry we had. And then when real life hit – when shit got hard, when we lost something, when we had to navigate actual adversity – the whole thing would’ve collapsed.

Because you can’t build on chemistry. You can’t build on intensity. You need something underneath. Something solid.

What This Actually Looks Like

It’s less exciting, I’ll be honest. It’s slower. It’s not that breathless, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you intensity that hijacks your whole life.

It’s someone who texts back when they say they will. Who doesn’t play games. Who can have a hard conversation without spiraling or shutting down.

It’s someone who’s been in therapy. Who knows their patterns. Who can name their triggers and take responsibility for their reactions.

It’s someone who shows up even when it’s not convenient. Who doesn’t disappear when things get real. Who can be in the mess with you without making it worse.

It’s groundedness. Stability. The ability to be a grown-ass adult in a relationship.

And I know that might sound boring to a 25-year-old. But when you’ve been through enough chaos disguised as passion, when you’ve survived enough relationships that imploded because the foundation was made of fantasy – groundedness starts to look really fucking attractive.

When you’ve lived through something that could’ve broken you and instead it brought you closer? That redefines what you think love is supposed to look like.

The Shift

I think what changes as you get older is you finally understand that love isn’t a feeling you chase. It’s something you build. With someone who has the capacity to build it with you.

You stop looking for someone to complete you or fix you or save you from yourself. You start looking for someone who’s done their work. Who can stand next to you as an equal.

And maybe that’s the real difference. At 25, I wanted someone to make me feel a certain way. At 52, I want someone I can have something sustainable with. Someone who can stand in the fire – literally or figuratively – and not crumble.

Not because the spark doesn’t matter. But because I’ve learned that a spark without kindling just burns out. And I’m done burning.

What you need is someone who can hold a steady flame. Someone who can weather the storms with you. Someone who has the emotional capacity to show up when everything goes to shit.

Because life is going to test you. It’s going to throw things at you that you can’t prepare for. And when that happens, you need to be with someone who doesn’t add to the chaos. Someone who can regulate themselves. Someone who’s built a solid enough foundation within themselves that they can be there for you without falling apart.

A Question to Sit With

If you stripped away the chemistry, the intensity, the way someone makes your heart race – what’s actually left?

Can you sit in a room with this person in silence and feel at peace? Can you trust them with your mess? Can they handle yours without making it about them?

Can you imagine losing everything tomorrow and knowing this person would be someone who brings you closer to solid ground rather than pulling you under?

Because that’s what love actually requires. Not the lightning bolt. The capacity to weather the storm.

And maybe you won’t know that until you’ve weathered a few. Until you’ve built something on chemistry alone and watched it crumble. Until you’ve mistaken intensity for intimacy enough times to finally know the difference.

But when you do know? When you finally understand what actually builds something real? Everything changes. Who you choose changes. What you tolerate changes. What you’re willing to walk away from changes.

And maybe that’s the gift of getting older. You stop chasing what looks good and start building what lasts.