Let’s be honest. One of the many reasons that I write is to invite people to share stories with me. And even more selfishly, I hope that people will understand me better.

I am willing here. I have nearly 15 years worth of blog entries, documenting my not-so-confident days to the days of success. It’s all there. And yet, is that what draws people? Is that what makes people fall in love? Is the willingness to be seen and seeing the cause of love?

Like many people over the weekend, I was fascinating with the New York Times modern love article that referenced 36 questions to ask (to perhaps fall in love. I tested this with Chris over the weekend although we have known each other for more than 8 years. Like really know each other.

I didn’t learn anything new, beyond the fact that he had opinions that surprised me. (e.g. he didn’t think that our perspectives on spending was the most important habit that we shared) Being who he is, often found wearing a bulletproof armor to his emotions, his answers came off silly and perhaps shallow. His response to any ability: superhero powers. Why? Because then he could go anywhere.

But even then, maybe because I really knew him, the answers didn’t increase the intimacy that we had already established. I already have seen him at the most vulnerable. He has seen me at my worst too. And that was built over more than 8 years—when I cannot even identify the many moments that got us to this point. Was it the time that he told me deep stories of his childhood? Was it when he hid beneath my hair horrified after he accidentally walked into the women’s restroom? Was it when I told him my deep scars from my silent, awkward childhood?

And would the 36 questions have sped it up? I wouldn’t give up those 8 years either to have sped it up.

In college, I often bared my thoughts on a public journal that was advertised in my AIM profile. Even more than I do right now. Quite naturally then, anyone I met, I would blurt out: read my journal! That way I don’t have to explain myself to you! The power of inviting people into my mind was addicting. I truly believed then that my journal would solve all the misunderstandings and confusion. People would understand me and they would get me! Not always true. But what’s interesting is that people started to admire me. And worst, put me on a pedestal. Having been an outcast as a teenager, it was addictive that my words, the words describing my vulnerability and perhaps even answering the same 36 questions, attracted admirers for authenticity. Even when they never saw who I was. Words are dangerous.

I learned though that I could immediately sense when it was not mutual. And what’s interesting is that I shunned anybody who was not willing to be vulnerable and open.

I remember the flush I would have with someone I met. Inside, I wanted to outwardly beg to meet again to continue the flush. The feeling that I connected with someone. It was rare for me. But I kept still, often, because what if I was wrong? What if the feeling wasn’t mutual? What if you could make someone fall in love with you, but it wasn’t for real? I hope at least that they knew. Didn’t they know?

Which is ironic considering how I chose Chris. His definition was “fun” and that’s was all there was. And the 36 questions? They didn’t matter, because he showed me his answers in a different way.