I recently looked up the word conundrum because I thought I had encountered one and wanted to ensure I was using the right term. From my quick research, I found that a conundrum is a complex and puzzling problem or situation that is difficult to solve or understand.

I’ve noticed a conundrum in the realm of relationships—specifically, in starting them or simply getting to know people from the outset. Like many in the Reddit sphere, I’ve crafted worded snapshots of who I am in an attempt to meet people and potentially kindle a friendship or something more. However, I’ve often encountered quick judgments and the application of stereotypes to these blurbs.

Recently, I reached out to someone, and the interaction left me feeling sad—not because things didn’t work out, but because I got the impression that what they had read was taken as the entirety of who I am. As a result, they weren’t interested.

This situation made me pause for reflection. In my self-description, I mention a few interests and markers of enjoyment that I believe offer a partial idea of who I am. I’ve always assumed, perhaps naively, that such blurbs only reveal a fraction of a person. The complexities of humanity suggest that much of what’s written in these profiles is superficial—surface-level indicators of a person’s personality, values, and life philosophy. This leads me to a rhetorical question: can you truly know someone, or determine whether they’re a good fit for you, after reading just a couple of paragraphs about them?

In a recent post on the r/4/r poly thread, I described myself and mentioned that I am a nudist/naturist. This information is also visible in my profile for anyone who chooses to explore further. When searching for connections, I typically review profiles to find shared interests or common ground. However, I don’t let differences deter me from reaching out.

For example, I often see posts mentioning video games—a hobby I don’t share. Yet, this doesn’t stop me from connecting with someone because, in my mind, I know that playing video games isn’t their entire identity. I’ve had many successful relationships with partners who had interests I didn’t share or enjoy. That’s why I was surprised when I reached out to someone, and they politely told me they weren’t into nudism and therefore weren’t interested in getting to know me.

I understand this type of interaction is common. We all have to sift through a lot of information in a short amount of time, and investing the time to get to know someone might feel wasted if there’s a perceived “red flag” at the onset. This makes sense. Yet, on the flip side, I found myself wondering: really?

I pondered many questions about the interaction. Did this person even know what nudism is about, or did they assume I’m just some exhibitionist? Did they think nudism defines my entire identity? Did they imagine all I think about is being naked or being around naked people? This experience encapsulates the conundrum we all face at times.

I’ve come to a signpost in my thinking. Quick, judgmental decisions are important—I get that. Evolution has trained us to be cautious, to jump at the sight of spiders because they posed harm to our ancestors. Maybe nudism feels threatening to some, or perhaps the perception is that I’m a pervert.

But when will we start opening up to those who are different from us—those who don’t share our beliefs, hobbies, or backgrounds? This conundrum has revealed to me my own brand of ethnocentrism on a micro level. It’s filled with cultural bias, stereotyping, and resistance to diversity. And for that, I feel a deep sadness.