Dating is just awkward moments and one person wants more than the

In the humble and perceptive words of Jason Schwartzman, we hear a truth both gentle and eternal: “Dating is just awkward moments and one person wants more than the other. It’s just that constant strangeness. I think it’s a very real thing.” His words, though spoken in the language of modern love, carry an ancient wisdom — the recognition that human connection is rarely smooth, that the meeting of two hearts is often uneven, uncertain, and filled with the strange beauty of imperfection. Schwartzman speaks not as a cynic but as a sage of sincerity, naming what many feel but few admit: that to seek love is to walk through discomfort, to live in the tender imbalance of longing and restraint.

The ancients knew this truth long before it was spoken in our age. In the dialogues of Plato, the philosopher described love not as harmony, but as a wound — a divine restlessness that compels one soul to seek its counterpart. When two people meet, one heart may burn brighter than the other; one may chase while the other retreats. This imbalance is the dance of desire itself, for rarely do two hearts beat with equal timing. Schwartzman’s phrase, “one person wants more than the other,” captures this timeless asymmetry — that love, in its early stages, is a field of uneven gravity. Yet within that awkwardness lies authenticity, for love that begins without vulnerability is love that has not truly begun.

The awkward moments he speaks of are not merely social discomforts — they are the tremors of honesty. When we date, we step into a mirror held by another person. We reveal, conceal, stumble, and hope to be seen for who we truly are. This strangeness is not a flaw but a feature of the human condition. For all our confidence, no mask can fully hide the heart’s trembling. The blush of uncertainty, the pause before a word, the fear of giving too much — these are the signs that one stands at the threshold of something sacred. As the poet Rumi once said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” In the awkwardness of dating, we find that same wound — the place where love first attempts to enter, clumsy yet courageous.

To understand Schwartzman’s constant strangeness is to understand that love is not a performance but a process. It is not scripted like the tales of romance sung by bards, but lived like the rough, unsanded truth of human existence. Consider the story of Tristan and Isolde, whose love, though destined and divine, was filled with misunderstanding, separation, and sorrow. Even their passion, sung through centuries, was not perfect — it was marked by fear, hesitation, and yearning. So too with all who love in any age: the awkward silence at dinner, the mismatched hopes, the small, uncertain gestures — these are the echoes of that ancient story, playing out again and again in modern hearts.

The origin of Schwartzman’s quote lies not in philosophy, but in observation — in his role as an artist who sees the subtleties of human nature. As a performer and storyteller, he understands that truth is often found not in grandeur, but in small moments: the nervous laugh, the unreturned text, the delicate dance of two souls learning each other’s rhythms. By calling dating “a very real thing,” he strips it of illusion. He reminds us that love does not begin in perfection but in vulnerability — in the willingness to face discomfort and still reach for connection.

His words also carry a quiet courage. To accept that awkwardness and strangeness are part of love is to free oneself from the tyranny of idealized romance. The ancients taught that to live fully is to accept imperfection — to see beauty not in smoothness, but in texture. Just as the sculptor’s chisel leaves marks on marble, love leaves its awkward traces on our hearts, shaping us with each encounter. Every failed date, every uneven exchange, teaches humility and empathy — it reminds us that love is not earned through charm, but through authenticity.

Let this be the lesson: love is born not from control, but from courage. To seek connection is to accept uncertainty, to embrace the strangeness that makes us human. Do not fear the imbalance, for it is part of the dance; do not run from the awkward moment, for it is the gateway to truth. Love’s power lies not in its ease, but in its honesty — in the fragile, trembling attempt to reach another heart despite the risk of rejection.

Action to take: the next time you feel the discomfort of vulnerability — the silence, the stumble, the fear that one heart beats louder than the other — do not flee. Smile gently at the strangeness. Speak honestly, listen deeply, and let awkwardness be your teacher. For as Jason Schwartzman reminds us, love is not the smooth meeting of perfect souls, but the beautiful, real, and often awkward journey of two imperfect beings daring to connect — and that, in the end, is the most human thing of all.