The first time I met my husband, it was about as far from love at first sight as a person can get.
His opening line was, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”—which is arguably the second-worst pickup line ever uttered. We talked briefly that night and I walked away convinced he was a great guy. Just not for me. I filed him neatly into the category of Perfect for Someone Else and moved on.
For weeks, nothing happened. Then, somehow, our paths crossed again. I found myself unexpectedly curious. We started dating, despite the fact that he violated most of my carefully curated ideas of “my type.” He was quiet. Reserved. We didn’t share many obvious interests. On paper, it didn’t make sense.
And yet.
Even without the spark I had been taught to expect, I found myself wanting his approval. Wanting to be around him. Wanting to know him better. Over time, it became clear he embodied the core qualities I had prayed for in a spouse—character, steadiness, kindness, faith—even if they arrived in packaging I hadn’t anticipated. Slowly, reluctantly, I realized my definition of “my type” might need an update.
For a long time, I assumed I missed him because I was looking for the wrong traits. I thought chemistry looked like instant banter, big personalities, emotional fireworks. I assumed strength meant social dominance and confidence meant volume. What I discovered instead was a quieter strength, a steadiness that felt less like adrenaline and more like safety.
But there was another reason I almost dismissed him: the absence of immediate chemistry. Somewhere along the way, many of us absorbed the idea that the right relationship announces itself loudly. You will know. There will be a spark. Something cinematic. Even if it begins with friction—an Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy dynamic—it will still feel charged, electric, undeniable.
That expectation has quietly become one of the most powerful forces shaping modern dating. Chemistry gets treated like confirmation. Compatibility gets treated like a consolation prize.
But chemistry and compatibility are not the same thing, and confusing them has consequences.
Chemistry is about intensity. It is emotional, physical and immediate. It is the pull that makes conversations feel effortless and attraction feel inevitable. Chemistry is not bad. It can be meaningful. It can even be real.
But chemistry does not tell you whether a relationship will last.
Compatibility is about sustainability. It shows up in shared values, emotional health, conflict styles, expectations around money, faith, communication and commitment. It is rarely obvious in the first conversation. Often, it takes time to reveal itself, especially in a culture trained to make snap judgments.
Debra Fileta, a licensed professional counselor and relationship expert who has spoken to RELEVANT about dating and emotional health, has consistently warned against treating chemistry as a spiritual signal.
“Chemistry is not a reliable indicator of a healthy relationship,” Fileta has said. “You can have chemistry with someone who is emotionally unavailable, unhealthy or completely wrong for you.”
That distinction matters because chemistry is reactive. It thrives on novelty and emotional intensity. Compatibility is revealed slowly through patterns—how someone handles conflict, communicates under stress, treats others and aligns with your core values. Fileta has often emphasized that strong chemistry can cloud discernment, especially for people who confuse emotional intensity with emotional intimacy. Attraction can be immediate. Character takes time.
This helps explain why research has consistently shown that arranged marriages—often built first on shared values and community wisdom rather than romantic intensity—fare as well as, and sometimes better than, marriages built primarily on passion. Sociologist Brian Willoughby has noted that relationships expected to start “boiling hot” often cool over time, while those that begin slowly can grow warmer as trust deepens.
Western dating culture flips that logic. We are taught to look for fireworks first and figure out the rest later. When the spark fades, as sparks tend to do, we panic. We assume something must be wrong. Maybe we chose poorly. Maybe we settled. Maybe we missed the one.
C.S. Lewis saw this coming decades ago. In “The Screwtape Letters,” he mocked the idea that “being in love”—a fleeting emotional high—is the only legitimate foundation for marriage. Treating chemistry as the sole justification for commitment, Lewis argued, sets couples up for disappointment the moment feelings shift.
Tim and Kathy Keller pushed back on that same assumption in “The Meaning of Marriage.”
“You never marry the right person. You just marry the person you marry. No matter how careful and discerning you are, there will always be incompatibilities, and there will be things you will wish were different. But that is not because you married the wrong person. It is because you are sinful and living in a fallen world. The primary problem in marriage is not finding the right person, but learning to love and care for the person you did find.”
That insight reframes the entire conversation. If incompatibility is inevitable—not because you failed to choose well but because people change, mature and disappoint each other—then the goal of dating cannot simply be locating someone who feels immediately right. It must involve discernment about whether this is someone you can grow with, repent with, forgive and be forgiven by over time. Chemistry may make a relationship feel alive in the beginning, but compatibility reveals itself in how two people navigate real life once the adrenaline wears off.
Dating wisely does not mean ignoring attraction or forcing feelings that are not there. But it may require questioning why we dismiss people so quickly when chemistry does not arrive on cue. Sometimes “boring” is simply emotionally healthy. Sometimes calm is not the absence of excitement but the presence of safety.
My husband’s first pickup line did not impress me. His worst one came much later, after he already knew he had won me over. Leaning back with the confidence of someone who had nothing left to prove, he asked, “So, do you believe in love at first sight, or do you need me to walk past you again?”
As it turns out, he had to walk past me more than once.
I am grateful he did. Sometimes compatibility whispers long before chemistry ever shouts, and learning to listen may be one of the wisest dating skills we can develop.
