The Village, the Sacred, and the Impossible Weight We Place on One Person
Once upon a time, a village held us.
It wasn’t just geography—it was a web of meaning. Belonging was woven into family, rituals, neighbors, and shared work. Adventure and risk came from the hunt, the harvest, or journeys beyond the familiar. Safety was the collective shield of many hands. And when our longings outgrew the human, we turned to something larger than ourselves—whether in God, ritual, philosophy, or myth—for transcendence, purpose, and awe.
Today, we often ask a single person to carry all of that.
We expect our partner to be our confidant, our best friend, our co-parent, our erotic muse, our financial ally, our intellectual match, our therapist, our cheerleader, and—quietly, but profoundly—the one who gives us a sense of meaning. For many, the search for grounding and transcendence that once flowed through the village or the sacred has now migrated into our closest relationships. Romantic love becomes the place where we seek wholeness, transcendence, and purpose—longings that in other times were also met in community, philosophy, or faith.
It is a beautiful vision—and an impossible one.
The Double Burden of Modern Love
In the past, communities and belief systems—whether religious, spiritual, or philosophical—helped people answer questions of identity, belonging, and purpose. No single relationship had to do it all.
But as communal bonds weaken, and as traditional forms of meaning shift or fade, those ancient longings don’t disappear—they simply migrate. Often, they land on the person we share our bed with.
This raises some important questions:
Should one person be expected to provide the safety we once found in community?
Should one person be our source of transcendence, the way faith, ritual, or philosophy once was?
Should one person carry the responsibility of being both our anchor and our spark, our comfort and our mystery?
It’s a beautiful vision. But is it a realistic one?
Why This Feels So Heavy
The paradox is clear: we crave both security and mystery, both belonging and freedom. But asking one person to be our village and our source of transcendence creates inevitable strain. When they fall short—as all humans do—it feels not just disappointing, but existential.
Our partners cannot always be steady when we need safety. They cannot always be surprising when we crave mystery. They cannot hold all our contradictions and still feel infinite. And yet, many of us keep trying to stretch love into a space it cannot fully fill.
Toward a Lighter, Fuller Love
The invitation is not to love less, but to widen the circle.
Seek transcendence not only in romance, but also in art, nature, philosophy, music, or meditation.
Find safety not only in one partner, but also in chosen families, friendships, and community.
Rediscover awe in silence, creativity, ritual, or collective belonging.
When we diversify the sources of our needs, love becomes lighter, freer, less burdened with impossible expectations. Then a partner can simply be what they truly are: human.
Closing Thought
Romantic love is a miracle. But it is not a village, and it is not an ultimate source of meaning. It can be the meeting point of intimacy and desire, comfort and mystery—but only when it is not crushed by the weight of everything else.
Partnership, at its best, is not the goal of life itself—it is a way for two people to support each other on the journey toward their larger goals.
