Like Matures Here

We are raised on a diet of fairy tales and blockbuster movies that sell us a very specific vision of "like." In kindergarten, "like" is the glue stick—you share it with the kid who has the same color lunchbox. In high school, "like" is the currency of tribes; you are accepted based on your shoes, your taste in music, or your ability to be cynical.

In the immature phase, a difference of opinion feels like treason. You don't like that movie? Then you don't understand me. But when like matures, it develops a spine—and a soft heart. Mature like says, "I think you are wrong about politics, but I will drive you to the hospital at 3 AM." It understands that alignment of values is more important than alignment of taste. like matures

Not the romantic soulmate—but the toxic expectation that anyone should perfectly mirror you. Immature like is narcissistic: I like you because you are a reflection of me. Mature like is generous: I like you because you are different from me, and I am curious about that difference. We are raised on a diet of fairy

In its infancy, like is a sprinter. It is fast, hot, and breathless. It is the dopamine hit of a notification, the thrill of a shared meme, the instant camaraderie of agreeing that a certain celebrity is attractive. This young "like" is hungry for validation. It keeps score. It asks, Do they like me back? Am I winning? You don't like that movie

The immature mind confuses chaos for passion. We think a friendship that is dramatic, jealous, and possessive must be "real." But mature like is boringly reliable. It doesn't ghost. It doesn't keep score of who texted first. It is the friend who remembers you hate pickles, not because it's romantic, but because they were paying attention. The Hard Truth of Maturation To let like mature, you have to kill the idea of the "soulmate."