Cordial. Like a handshake at a charity gala. Like two adults nodding politely at the same party.
And then, somewhere between the small talk and the second meeting, something flipped. Rich Paul isn’t spelling out the exact moment. He doesn’t have to. Anyone who’s ever stood across from a friend and suddenly thought, oh no, it’s you, knows the feeling. It’s quiet. It’s biological. And it changes everything.
That shift, from cordial to claimed, is the part nobody warns you about.
I see this in my San Francisco office every week. Two people who started as colleagues, gym friends, mutuals at a wedding. The relationship was easy when nothing was at stake. Then one day, the body decides.
You’re at a party. Or, in my case, breakdancing at a club. You see someone. They see you. You preen a little. They preen a little. On the surface, you’re just trading compliments about each other’s dance moves.
Underneath, your limbic system is filing paperwork. It’s quietly going, this is the one I’m hoping my emotional love needs will be met by. And if they’re doing the same thing back, you’ve just signed an unwritten contract.
That contract is the whole game. Because your first need as a human, back when you were a newborn, was a good-enough other on the other side of your birth. Someone there for you physically and emotionally. Otherwise you died. Nothing about that wiring has changed. We’re all still little babies when it comes to love. That’s just how we’re built.
