No performance, Just Presence
On being sapiosexual, self-rooted, and slowing down love in a world that moves too fast.
Ok So…I’ve changed the title of this blog three times now. Each time, searching for a name that truly fits—not just what I write, but who I’m becoming through the process.
And today, something finally clicked. It happened during a morning crit with (1/3) collective groups I’m part of, and later in a group conversation at my friend’s studio. Those moments helped me see and appreciate my writing, my process—and myself in a new light.
As a multidisciplinary artist, curator, community architect, writer, bibliophile, MFA candidate—and someone who wears many hats—I often find myself exploring a wide range of themes: identity, intimacy, creativity, rest, community, freedom. Sometimes it feels like I’m juggling too many threads, and my writing can seem scattered. But the more I engage with it, the more I realize these—let’s call them threads—weave together into a vast, interconnected landscape. Nothing I write stands alone. Every reflection is a root system. Every thought leads to another.
It’s not scattered. It’s expansive.
Returning to writing has unlocked unexpected layers within me, and I’m learning to give myself permission to go deeper—using each post, each idea, each feeling as a launchpad for the next.
This new title finally feels like home. It covers everything I have written, and everything I still want to explore. It’s a place for complexity, curiosity, and holding space for all the layers that make us human.
I’m excited to keep going, and to share the journey with you.
So, welcome to The Space Between Thoughts—a perspective shifter’s archive. This is where I write from the root, not the surface. Where curiosity replaces urgency, and truth is found in the quiet. I’m interested in what happens when we stop performing and start listening—deeply. To ourselves, to others, to the space in between.
The Space Between Thoughts
A perspective shifter’s archive. Writing from the root, not the surface. Thoughts from a quiet kind of freedom.
I recently threaded (is that a thing yet?) — anyway, I posted on Threads something that really captures how I love:
“Whisper to me in curiosity, challenge me with thought, seduce me with perspective. That’s how I love.”
That line has been sitting with me, so today I want to dive deeper into what it means to love slowly, intentionally, and intellectually. How creating space for curiosity and perspective feels like the truest form of connection—and why rushing intimacy often misses the point.
There’s a quiet kind of intimacy I crave. The kind that shows up in unhurried conversation. In the pause before answering a question. In the way someone thinks out loud—not to impress, but to reveal. The kind that unfolds between shared glances of understanding, unfinished thoughts, and questions that don’t rush to be answered.
I’ve come to realize I’m a sapiosexual—not in the “reads one book and owns glasses”, trendy or cute-bio kind of way, but in the I want to know how your mind stretches and what ideas keep you up at night and what moves me is the way someone thinks, questions, imagines, and expresses kind of way. I want to know what patterns you’re learning and unlearning. What your silence sounds like. What your joy has survived. That’s the space where I fall in love. Not through noise or urgency, but through presence, curiosity, and minds that make mine stretch —especially as a natural perspective shifter.
Too often, dating feels like a sprint toward physicality. Like if you aren’t performing intimacy on someone else’s timeline, you’re “playing games.” But I’m not playing. I’m trying to understand. Not just who you are with me—but who you are with you and… are you ok with that?
I want to move at a pace where we both feel safe—where curiosity doesn’t lead to pressure, and slowness isn’t mistaken for disinterest. I want love that allows space for questions, contradictions, fears. For laughter in the middle of a tangent. For shared articles and hours-long rabbit holes. For moments when it’s just two minds, trying to find each other in the dark (or light).
Sex is beautiful, powerful and necessary. But I’m not in a rush to get there. I don’t want fireworks before we’ve built the fire pit.
For me, desire is mental. Connection is emotional. And trust? That’s built slowly.
But we live in a culture that celebrates performance. That expects constant visibility, validation, and momentum. Whether in work, art, dating, or even healing, there’s always a pressure to do, to show, to prove.
I don’t agree with that and I will always challenge that narrative.
I’ve always been a little to myself—only child, observant, inward by nature. I don’t seek validation in the ways many expect and seek such themselves. I’m not interested in performative closeness or high-speed vulnerability. I’m finally comfortable with all parts of myself: the ones that are still, soft, inquisitive, contradictory. And that comfort is something I protect.
I want conversations that feel like doorways. I want curiosity that doesn’t collapse into pressure. I want to be known, felt, heard—not just seen. Loved—not just consumed. Held—not just touched.
And I want to offer that same kind of space for someone else. A space where they can take off their mask. A space where every layer is met with patience, not expectation. Because to me, there’s nothing more seductive than safety. There’s nothing sexier than slowness. There’s nothing more romantic than being chosen for your mind and your humanity.
So if I’m moving slowly, it’s because I’m building something sacred. Not performing for a standing ovation, but inviting you to sit with me in the quiet.
And if that’s not sexy—I don’t know what is.
To anyone who’s tired of rushing, to anyone who wants to be understood before they’re touched—this is your reminder that slow is not stagnant. It’s sacred.