To be honest though I've never really been one for dating. I'm

“To be honest though I’ve never really been one for dating. I’m not used to it at all.” Thus spoke Maura Higgins, in words that, though plain, carry the quiet weight of truth. Beneath their simplicity lies the confession of one who has glimpsed the confusion and uncertainty that accompany the search for love in the modern age. Her words are not a rejection of romance, but an admission of unfamiliarity — a reminder that not all hearts are fashioned for the rituals and performances that society demands in the name of connection. For some, love does not grow in the marketplace of encounters; it blooms quietly, beyond the noise, where authenticity replaces pretense.

To the ancients, such a confession would not have been strange. They, too, knew that love comes in many forms, and that the ways of courtship — whether through letters, poetry, or social ritual — can often obscure the essence of what is sought. In Higgins’ words, “I’m not used to it at all,” we hear the voice of the soul that longs for what is real but feels lost amid the rehearsed gestures of dating. The act of dating, in her view, becomes not a dance of discovery but a mask of manners — a performance in which many speak but few are truly heard. Her honesty, then, becomes an act of rebellion against the false forms of affection.

In her candor, Higgins stands among a long lineage of those who have questioned convention. Consider Emily Dickinson, the reclusive poet of Amherst, who lived most of her days behind closed doors yet wrote of love with unmatched intensity. She did not date, nor did she seek the approval of society’s rituals. Instead, she discovered within solitude the profound communion between the heart and the infinite. Like Higgins, she found that love — true love — need not follow the paths of others. It may arrive quietly, outside the expected order, uninvited yet undeniable. Her life reminds us that to be “not used to dating” is not a flaw but a form of freedom — the freedom to seek connection in one’s own way, in one’s own time.

The modern world teaches us to equate dating with belonging, as though those who are not accustomed to it are incomplete. But this is illusion. What Higgins names — that discomfort, that unfamiliarity — is not failure, but self-awareness. She acknowledges that she does not yet fit the rhythm of this modern courtship, and in doing so, she honors the truth of her nature. The ancients would have called this gnōthi seauton — “know thyself.” For the one who knows their own heart cannot be led astray by the customs of the crowd. Love built on imitation crumbles; love built on authenticity endures.

Yet, there is tenderness too in her confession — a vulnerability that all can understand. To admit not being used to dating is to admit one’s own inexperience, one’s uncertainty in the face of intimacy. But from such humility springs growth. For every human heart, before it learns the language of love, must first stumble through silence. The greatest loves of history began not with confidence, but with awkward beginnings. Higgins’ words remind us that love does not require expertise; it requires sincerity. The first step toward love is not mastery of ritual, but the courage to show up as oneself, unpolished and unguarded.

Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. Though known for his stoicism, he often wrote of the tenderness he shared with his wife, Faustina. Their love was not born of performance, but of patience — two souls learning to understand one another in the quiet moments beyond ceremony. In his Meditations, Marcus wrote that true affection arises not from desire’s fire but from respect’s steady flame. Higgins, in her simple honesty, echoes this same truth: love does not require practice in dating, but practice in being genuine.

So, my children, learn from her words. Do not be ashamed if you are “not used to dating.” Let your unfamiliarity remind you that love, in its purest form, is not something to be mastered but something to be lived. The world will urge you to perform, to impress, to chase affection through appearances — resist this. Be real. Be patient. Let your heart unfold not in the haste of expectation, but in the quiet rhythm of truth.

For in the end, Maura Higgins’ words are not about romance alone — they are about the courage to stand apart from the crowd, to honor one’s own pace in a world that rushes toward false connection. Love, after all, is not a skill; it is a surrender. And when it comes, it will not ask whether you are “used to it” — it will simply recognize in you the one who was ready, at last, to love without pretense.