I keep wondering whether commitment confines us, or gives shape to something larger than the self. What emerges is the friction between the “I” and the “we”. Crudo suggests that love is not resolution, but stamina: the willingness to remain inside the rawness of being seen.

Our biology insists on honesty even when our psychology does not. The flush rising in our cheeks, tears springing to our eyes, our voice breaking when we speak of what matters. We are, whether we like it or not, transparent.