The Oyster Shucker Summer: What Chemistry Actually Is
Chemistry is real. I'm not here to tell you it isn't. I'm here to tell you what it actually is. And what it isn't.
My own oyster shucker summer
Carley Fortune's This Summer Will Be Different is set on Prince Edward Island. One summer, one electric night, and an oyster shucker named Felix. Netflix filmed the series here this summer.
I read that premise and laughed. Because I lived it.
I was in my late twenties, working evenings at an oyster bar. My boss kept telling me he couldn't wait to introduce me to his brother. Then the brother flew in early. I was behind the bar steaming clams when a tall, dark, pirate-looking champion oyster shucker walked straight up to me.
I remember exactly what I was doing at that moment. That tells you everything.
The chemistry was instant on both sides. Anyone in the room could see it. We had a few months of pure fun.
It was also never going to be a relationship. It was a wonderful experience. It wasn't a foundation.
What's happening in your brain
That rush has a name. Several, actually.
When you're attracted to someone, your brain releases dopamine, oxytocin and serotonin. You feel energized and a little giddy. You can't eat. You can't sleep. You think about them constantly.
This isn't love. It's neurochemistry doing its job.
For our ancestors, it was essential. Lives were short. The pull got people together fast.
Today that same pull often works against us. A brain on a lightning bolt high isn't making good decisions. It's chasing a feeling. And the feeling is designed to fade. It starts things. It can't keep them going.
The slow sunrise
Here's the part most people miss. Attraction can grow.
Oxytocin, the bonding hormone, isn't only released in that first rush. It also comes in moments of real closeness. A long conversation. A shared laugh. A quiet evening where you both feel completely at ease.
Relationship researchers like John Gottman have spent decades studying what makes couples last. Knowing each other's inner world matters. So does turning toward each other in small everyday moments. None of that happens in one electric night.
Chemistry is rarely a lightning bolt. It's much more often a slow sunrise.
Ask yourself
Are you chasing the high and calling it love?
How many people have you dismissed because you weren't attracted to them right away?
How many of your relationships burned hot and bright, then burned out?
After a year of matchmaking, I can tell you more than half the people I introduce put instant attraction above everything else. Some walk away from people who could have been right for them for the long term.
Some of the most enduring relationships I know started with a slow, comfortable warmth. People almost talked themselves out of them.
What I match on
I'm not trying to recreate gasoline on a fire. I match on the things that will still be there when the neurochemicals settle: values, genuine interest and compatible ways of being in the world.
Sometimes the chemistry is instant. Sometimes it arrives after the second conversation. Both are valid.
My job isn't to find you someone who sets you on fire. My job is to find you someone who keeps you warm, in and out of bed.
🎧 Listen to Episode 5 of Notes from the Matchmaker, What Chemistry Actually Is, on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. It pairs with Episode 4, Chemistry Is Not a Lightning Bolt.