Imagine: you are center stage, about to master the attention of a crowd of thousands. Nothing stands in your way to finally be heard, seen, and cheered on by thousands. “Finally,” you might think, “I have made it.” Except, to your left, your teammate refuses to look at you. The only person you so desperately desire attention from, is here out of obligation– not affection.

What have you done wrong? Why won’t they just look at you? You worked so intimately together leading up to this moment, curating the masterpiece that has drawn in these mega-audiences and sold-out stadiums. You can’t pull people in like that if what you shared wasn’t real. 

Why do they abandon you, leaving you completely and entirely alone?

After all those highs– all those firework moments– this must be love.

It couldn’t have been fake. It wouldn’t hurt if it wasn’t real.

And this just hurts so very much.

What you’re experiencing is the story of Daisy Jones and Billy Dunne– both holding the same perspective at different points in the book, Daisy Jones & the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid. The story is loosely inspired by the real-life band Fleetwood Mac, and follows the fictional world of Billy Dunne, the building of his band The Six, the integration of Daisy Jones, and the inevitable disbanding. At its core, it is a 1970s love story to rock-and-roll– with all the beauty and pain intertwining one another seamlessly. Deeper still, there are several explorations around mental health, mental illness, addiction, and heartache. This reflection is diving into the rapid highs and lows of infatuation vs. love, demonstrated by Billy, Daisy, and Camila. We will be exploring how love is a choice in shared stability, not a constant reach for the next firework moment.

Attachment language has gone mainstream. Used sloppily, it can flatten people; used thoughtfully, it helps us notice our nervous system’s patterns in relationships. In Attached (2010), Amir Levine and Rachel Heller describe three broad styles: Secure, Avoidant, and Anxious. Translated into plain speech, they sound like: we’re okay (secure), don’t trap me (avoidant), and don’t leave me (anxious). I personally find this to be an oversimplification of how attachment styles can manifest, but they remain, at their core, a way our past attachments manifest into thought patterns and behaviors in our relationships. Styles can mix and shift. But what about Daisy and Billy—whose love story feels right, but yet neither grows? What happens when, despite the chemistry, you’re left with the same old anxiety—will they leave me or trap me?

Here’s where fireworks meet attachment. Levine and Heller describe the anxious–avoidant pairing as a fireworks cycle: soaring highs, then crashing lows. When you love, you love hard; you chase, you disappear, you “prove” it through drama. If peace feels like nothing, chaos starts to read like chemistry. The anxious partner may try to manufacture fireworks through an explosive argument to feel closeness again; an avoidant-leaning partner may stonewall an anxious-leaning partner—unknowingly stoking the anxious person’s panic for more fireworks.

Billy and Daisy replicate those extreme highs (pun not intended for Daisy) before plunging into lows that threaten not just their dynamic but the entire band. Contrast that with Billy and Camila: a very different story. Camila is clear on who she is and what she stands for. She sets boundaries, communicates expectations, and follows through—even when the outside world judges her choices. She doesn’t coddle or enable Billy; she offers grace and accountability, and she advocates for herself and her family. She doesn’t offer fireworks—she offers forgiveness, boundaries, and a path to real growth.

The difference here is that Camila models a secure attachment style, while fully informed of the fireworks Billy desperately tries to replicate. She shoots down the attempts and engages exclusively through authenticity, no matter how boring or still their relationship appears to the outside world. She gives him the opportunity to change before enacting final consequences. She does not yell or scream, she establishes healthy contingency plans to Billy’s insecurities and decides whether she continues the active choice of working with their dynamic, or calls it off. Camila shows that relationships are not passive moments of infatuation, but rather a daily decision to keep the promise of commitment without doing the work for the other person. A lot of times, Camila is seen simultaneously as the rock, but also the one who is too boring for a life of rock-and roll, and Camila does not flinch in her sense of self– she does not want a life of rock-and-roll, and she is not a lesser person or partner for this fact.

I remember once hearing, “don’t aspire to be the coolest parent. Aspire to be the one who always has food on the table.” In the same vein, I heard someone else say, “if you are parenting correctly, your kids will view you as boring. But they will always know you are there.” When you are stable, when you are secure, your role makes a fundamental shift. You seek out peace. You treasure your peace. You know that too many outside factors will interrupt your peace, so you foster the moments of stillness when they arise. And you trust that it will return as naturally as the tides coming in. Camila demonstrates this security as both a parent and a partner. She is not catering to the adults’ desires for the next exciting moment, she is making sure her child has electricity and the same bed to sleep in every night. And the band sees this; they are naturally drawn to the anchoring role of Camila, even when they are too insecure to be that rock for themselves; and what is excellent about Camila is that she never compromises her peace for the sake of regulating the band without them doing the work themselves. She is steady, she is stable, and she is not doing the work for the other adults.

These other adults, especially Daisy and Billy, are in an emotional maturity level where they still behave rather childish. Children need an adult in their life to be their moral compass, and the emotional regulator. Eventually, children begin to learn how to self-regulate and listen to their conscience independent of their parents. But that process is scary, and some people, emotionally immature adults, often seek partners like parents. They can only regulate as much as the people around them. When the person starts to spiral, they look to the projected “adults” in the room for guidance on the best way to move forward. When you have two childish people seeking external validation and stability enter a relationship, you end up with something that can have the emotional highs of a childhood dream and the emotional lows of a burnt-out tantrum. This is what we call emotionally volatile.

Emotional volatility is not the cornerstone of a “passionate” relationship. Looking for the next emotional high is not experiencing security in your relationship– it is a sign of an anxious-avoidant dynamic. While those dynamics are not impossible to live through with your partner, it is extremely difficult: it often looks a lot like the relationship patterns of Billy and Daisy. It places us on a stage, surrounded by thousands, but feeling completely invisible because the one person we want to see us is in the middle of a low. This creates unease, anxiety, and building blocks of a relationship filled with resentment. So then, what boundary protects the quiet, steady love you actually want? When you choose your love based on stability rather than intense passions.

When given the opportunity, it can be a game-changer to either find your Camila, or work together to make shifts within your relationship to model a Camila lifestyle. It might not be for everyone, but anyone is capable of finding peace with a partner who truly loves them for who they are, while challenging them to be the best version of themselves. It takes work, rigor, and trusting that stillness is not a threat. It takes time to become comfortable with the notion of peace not equating boredom. 

With a Camila lifestyle, steady boundaries, honest repair, and a future you both protect can be wonderful. Chemistry isn’t lost, but it is fostered in an environment that does not equate explosive outbursts. Adult love is a choice, repeated. It’s the quiet soundcheck that makes the show possible. And once you find that love, the audience of thousands will be silenced down to the connection of your partner, looking at you with as much respect– not infatuation– as you have for them.

References

Levine, A., & Heller, R. (2010). Attached: The New Science of Adult Attachment and How it Can Help You Find—and Keep—Love. Tarcher/Penguin.