Choosing Depth in a World of Surfaces

Love, Meaning, and Connection in a Surface-Driven World — How Chasing More Leaves Us Feeling Less...

There comes a point in life when the noise no longer satisfies — when the roles we’re expected to play, the metrics we’re told to value, and the pace we’re pushed to maintain start to feel hollow. For some, this realization arrives suddenly. For others, it unfolds quietly over years, shaped by experience, reflection, and inner questioning.

This is not a article about rejecting the world, nor about having all the answers. It’s an exploration of how awareness grows, how connection transforms when it’s no longer driven by fear or lack, and why choosing depth — in relationships, in self-understanding, and in life itself — can feel both challenging and liberating. What follows is a reflection on that process, and on what changes when we stop chasing surfaces and start listening inward.

Awakening, Patterns, and the Nature of Attachment

For me, awakening wasn’t a single moment of clarity or a dramatic turning point. It was a slow, unfolding process — something that began quietly in my teens and kept deepening with time. I always felt an inner pull to look beyond the surface of things: beyond appearances, beyond roles, beyond what people say they want. I was curious about what actually drives us — in relationships, in suffering, in love, in consciousness itself....

Life, of course, became the real teacher. Relationships, mistakes, losses, disappointments, and growth all played their part. Over time, patterns start to reveal themselves. You begin to notice how attachment forms, how expectations silently shape behavior, and how unexamined needs can turn connection into control. Much of what we call “love” is often fear in disguise — fear of abandonment, fear of being alone, fear of not being enough.

That realization changes everything.

Buddhist nun Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo expressed this with striking clarity:

“We often confuse love with attachment. Many people believe that grasping, clinging, and holding tightly in relationships is a sign of love, when in reality it is attachment — and attachment is what causes suffering. The more tightly we cling, the more afraid we are of loss. And when loss inevitably happens, pain follows

Attachment says, ‘I love you, therefore I need you to make me happy.’

Genuine love says, ‘I love you, therefore I want you to be happy.’

If that happiness includes me, wonderful. If it doesn’t, the love remains.

True love holds gently, not tightly. It nurtures without controlling and allows things to flow. When we grip out of fear, we suffer more — not because we care deeply, but because we are afraid of being hurt or left empty.”

Wholeness, Love, and Conscious Choice

I began to understand that real connection isn’t about possession or completion. It isn’t about filling a void or leaning on another person to give life meaning. Relationships become difficult when we expect another person to complete us. Ideally, two people come together already whole, sharing their fullness rather than trying to fill each other’s gaps.

There’s a profound difference between “I need you” and “I choose you”...

Romantic love, in particular, is often tangled with projection. We project our ideals, fantasies, and unmet desires onto another person, expecting them to embody our version of perfection — a Prince Charming, a Cinderella, a savior, a solution. Inevitably, reality intervenes. The illusion fades, and we discover an ordinary human being — imperfect, vulnerable, and struggling in their own way.

Lasting love requires something deeper: seeing the other clearly, liking them as they are, and meeting them with kindness and compassion — not illusion, fear, or need.

That’s why a simple sentence like “I don’t melt in money, status, looks, or material possessions; I value respect, care, depth, and love” carries so much weight. In a world obsessed with image, wealth, and surface-level validation, that perspective is rare. It reflects an understanding that what truly nourishes us isn’t what we accumulate, but how we are treated, how we are seen, and how safe we feel to be ourselves — emotionally, mentally, energetically.

Detachment, Depth, and a More Conscious Life

These realizations also explain why I chose to stay single for a long time...

At a certain point, I felt the need to step back — not just from relationships, but from many people, habits, ambitions, and environments that felt shallow or performative. Not out of arrogance or judgment. I don’t believe it’s anyone’s fault. Society conditions us from an early age to chase appearances, approval, productivity, and constant stimulation. We’re rewarded for speed, noise, and conformity — not depth, presence, or self-inquiry.

Waking up from that conditioning takes effort. It requires slowing down in a world that constantly pushes you to rush. It requires questioning narratives you were taught to accept without reflection. It means learning to detach — not in a cold or indifferent way, but in a conscious one. Detachment doesn’t mean not caring; it means not clinging. Not confusing love with ownership. Not confusing attention with connection. Not confusing busyness with meaning.

When that shift happens, the relationship you have with yourself transforms first. You become more honest about your motives. You start noticing when you’re acting from fear rather than clarity. You stop seeking external validation to confirm your worth. Silence becomes less uncomfortable. Solitude becomes nourishing instead of lonely.

And naturally, the way you relate to the world changes too.

You become more selective — not only with people, but with where you invest your time, energy, and attention. You value authenticity over charm. Presence over performance. Substance over spectacle. You’re no longer interested in filling time; you’re interested in meaning. Work becomes less about proving yourself and more about alignment. Success becomes less about recognition and more about inner coherence.

This path isn’t always easy. It can feel isolating at times, especially when much of the world seems to be moving in the opposite direction. But it’s also deeply grounding. It brings clarity, peace, and a quiet confidence that doesn’t need to be announced.

In the end, this journey isn’t about withdrawing from life — it’s about engaging with it more consciously. About choosing depth over distraction, freedom over attachment, truth over comfort. About remembering that love — for others, for life, and for ourselves — is not something we chase or demand. It’s something we allow, when we’re finally whole enough to receive it without fear.