“You want me to do what?” I remember asking my editor, choking on half a matcha latte as my coworking space buzzed around me. My editor, a visionary-slash-agent-of-chaos type, tasked me with a story exploring Vancouver’s niche singles events. Their theory? Maybe somewhere in these unconventional gatherings lay the holy grail of connection—not just with others but, perhaps, yourself.

One thing about me: I don’t shy away from an adventure. I once camped on a tiny island near Tofino with nothing but a tarp and optimism. But attending a singles event where the main activity was staring into strangers’ eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time? That sat somewhere between jumping in a cold ocean and karaoke-ing ABBA sober on the “Will I regret this?” scale.

But romance writing isn’t just about unraveling the mechanics of love—it’s about living it, awkward micro-moments and all. So, armed with nothing but a vague idea of what to expect, I threw myself into an experience that tilted so far into the bizarre it ended up circling back to enlightening.

The Setup: Staring into the Void (and Someone Else’s Soul)

The event was billed as a “Tantric Singles Experience,” set in what the organizer generously referred to as an “intimate studio space.” Translation? A dimly lit room, perfumed with a level of sage that probably cleansed my aura against its will. Vancouver, in peak Vancouver fashion.

Forty strangers—some visibly as panicked as I was—formed a loose circle on yoga mats. A facilitator, who had the demeanor of a High School Musical theater teacher, instructed us on the evening’s concept: five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact with a stranger. No talking. No breaking gaze, even if your brain screamed for an escape hatch.

“Are we summoning something?” I whispered to no one in particular. The woman next to me giggled nervously. The facilitator hushed us with a single raised hand, radiating that serene-but-bossy yoga teacher confidence.

The Awkward Dance (and Silence)

My first partner was a tech consultant named Alex, who looked like he, too, fell victim to this night because his cousin dragged him. “This will be fine, right?” he said, flashing what I interpreted as either desperate reassurance or a cry for help. We settled across from each other, knees almost touching.

The first minute was… tolerable. Like staring at a photo of someone on a museum wall. The second minute, though—when you’re forced to really see someone? That’s when your brain betrays you. I noticed everything: a faint scar above his left eyebrow, how his Adam’s apple wobbled whenever he gulped. Was he noticing all my quirks, too? The asymmetry of my smile? The rogue strand of hair sticking up like a defiant flag?

My internal monologue spiraled. What are we even communicating? Am I blinking too much? Oh no, I think I’ve panicked into a weird half-smile. Great, now I’m just the “creepy small-smile girl” forever. Time moves slower when you’re forced to confront your own ridiculousness.

When Vulnerability Hits in 3… 2… 1

By my third staring “round,” something shifted. My partner this time—a florist in her late twenties—locked eyes with me, and something in her gaze felt like an open door. I could see a flicker of sadness there, maybe exhaustion. Or maybe I was projecting. But suddenly, the stillness wasn’t threatening—it felt, dare I say, grounding.

“At about this point,” the facilitator chimed between rounds, “you might feel old wounds surfacing. Stay with it.” What old wounds? Well, a memory bubbled up of seventh-grade me, feeling invisible during a Valentine’s dance when no one asked me to slow dance. Who knew extended eye contact turned your brain into therapy TikTok?

Lessons from a Room Full of (Mostly) Strangers

By the end of the night, I’d come full circle—from profoundly uncomfortable to slightly giddy to oddly connected. Here’s what I learned—not just about tantric singles stuff but about connection at large:

  • You Can’t Hide from Authenticity: No filters, no carefully curated looks, no swipe-right bios—just pure, unadulterated “you.” That’s what this night demanded. It kicked me out of the comfort zone I’d nestled in, where humor or distraction masked vulnerability. And yeah, this kind of rawness feels bananas at first—but it’s also disarmingly beautiful.

  • The Eyes Have More Than Romance to Offer: Eye contact doesn’t always have to be romantic. Sometimes, it’s simply a way to say, “I see you,” even to strangers. And in a world filled with constant scrolling, where people barely look up from their screens, this felt radical.

  • Awkwardness Is Necessary—Embrace It: We try so hard to avoid awkwardness, don’t we? But sometimes, you have to lean into the awkward, the cringe, the uncomfortable silence. It’s where the real stuff happens. Call it the burrata of human experience—soft on the inside but messy to get through.

Would I Do It Again?

On my way home that night, Vancouver’s rain had its usual cameo—soft, misty, and slightly poetic. I pondered whether love really required staring contests and forced vulnerability or if my editor was simply looking for a wild headline.

Here’s the thing: Not everyone will find their meet-cute under fairy lights in a strangers’ staring circle. But putting yourself out there—even in ways that feel outside your natural habitat—can be transformative. Sometimes, it’s less about finding “The One” and more about rediscovering parts of yourself. Parts that might’ve gotten a little lost in the shuffle of dating processes that can feel like a game of Tetris.

If you ever find yourself at a crossroads—trying to decide between doing the predictable thing or diving headfirst into an experience you’ll definitely second-guess in the moment—choose the awkward. Choose the weird.

Because even if you don’t walk away with a love story, you’ll walk away with a story.