The Auntie Problem
Dear Mateo,
You told me, in the nicest possible way, that you do not have time for this. You run a campaign that will spare more animals this year than most people help in a lifetime, you get home at nine, and the thought of putting on a shirt to sit across from a stranger who will probably not text back makes you tired in your teeth. I heard all of it. You are right about every part except the conclusion.
Here is the part you have wrong. You think love is something you go and find, alone, with your thumb, after work. It never used to be. For most of the time there have been people, love was a thing other people did for you. Someone’s mother knew someone’s daughter. The village had an auntie whose whole quiet job was holding a map of who was kind and who was lonely and who would suit whom, and she would put two names beside each other and simply say, you two should meet. She was not a joke. She was infrastructure.
We took her away and gave you an app, and the app is a slot machine that pays out once in twenty pulls, and you, being a sensible person with a full life, correctly stopped pulling the lever. That is not a flaw in you. That is a market someone broke.
So I am the auntie now. I have run hiring for a decade, and I will tell you the thing that made me start doing this instead. I have watched a single job open and draw a thousand applications, a thousand good people, all wanting the same small number of chairs. And I would think: there are that many of them, right there, wanting to be chosen, and half of them go home to nobody, and I have all their names. It is the easiest arithmetic in the world and nobody was doing it.
I am not going to sell you to anyone. I am going to introduce you to Emma, who builds databases for a hospital, who thinks what you do is the most serious thing a person can do, and who has quietly wanted, for a while, to be near someone whose life means something. She can cook. You cannot. She would like to take some weight off a good person and has the room in her life to do it. You would light up her ordinary Tuesdays. That is all this is.
You do not have to answer today. Finish the campaign. But when it is done and the flat is quiet, remember that the quiet is not proof of anything except that the auntie retired and no one replaced her.
I did. Coffee is on us.
With warmth,
Morgan