She’ll lie and steal and cheat
“Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers
And beg you from her knees
Make you think she means it this time
She’ll tear a hole in you, the one you can’t repair
But I still love her, I don’t really care.
…
It’s better to feel pain, than nothing at all
The opposite of love’s indifference
So pay attention now
I’m standing on your porch screaming out
And I won’t leave until you come downstairs.
Aside from the creepy John Cusack boombox scene from Say Anything vibes these lyrics give off, I think they fairly reflect the push-pull nature many of us believe is part and parcel to being in love. I’ve often believed that there’s a kernel of truth in the line about indifference being the opposite of love – or more accurately, that “hate” is not the opposite of love but is, in some respects, a response to love gone sour or disappointment on the grandest scale. Of the other lyrics, I’m more skeptical.
I can remember my wife listening to that song a lot in the final year or so of our marriage. She also listened to “Little Talks” by Of Monsters and Men quite a bit. It wasn’t until several months after we had separated that I too began listening to those songs. I don’t mean to imply any correlation between the lyrics and what either one of us were feeling – though it’s certainly possible. I share, here, as a way to root my thinking to a particular time, place, and set of circumstances. These were views and understandings I held of love. In those months and years following my divorce, I, like many people I encountered on dating sites, was looking for love yet hadn’t spent much time trying to define it for myself. I knew it had tension. I knew it had something to do with showing up and being present. I knew it had something to do with affection and caring and chemistry. Or at least I thought I knew. These days, I’m not so sure. These days, I suspect love has more to do with trying, sometimes failing, forgiveness, and acts of grace than it does with “tension.” These days, I’ve tried to replace my certainty with curiosity – with the openness and desire of vulnerable discovery. It seems that the most honest assessment I can offer of my understanding of love is that I am in a perpetual state of learning.
On New Year’s Eve, I went into town and bought a few books of poetry along with the book, all about love, by bell hooks. Chapter one of the book on love begins with a quote from Diane Ackerman. “As a society we are embarrassed by love. We treat it as if it were an obscenity. We reluctantly admit to it. Even saying the word makes us stumble and blush…” With it’s bright red cover and the title all about love in an italicized font, I felt some of that embarrassment – both at the cash register and walking through town with my naked books in my hand. I felt a little like I might feel were I buying tampons, condoms, wart cream, or anything else overtly relating to the messiness of human fragility, decay, or sexuality. Love is human fragility of the largest magnitude. It isn’t something we talk about, at least not honestly, openly, or with much vulnerability. For many men, it’s deemed as “not serious” or perhaps not worthy of our most focused attention. I think that’s a shame.
Over these past few years, I’ve tried to deepen my understanding of love – both as a practice and a pursuit. I suspect the book by hooks will prove deeply influential. I’m only an introduction and two chapters into the book, and I’m floored by its clarity and wisdom. Part-way through the first chapter I wanted to buy extra copies of the book and send them to my daughter, several exes, and anyone else I could think of who might benefit from, and be open to, a deeper understanding of love. I don’t say that in a mean-spirited way to suggest that they are lacking, but say it with the intention and intonation of, “man, this is good and challenging stuff, you should really check it out.” I believe we could all benefit from a deeper understanding and contemplation of how we view, define, give, and receive love.
Barely 40 pages in, and I’m finding myself uncomfortably questioning much of what I thought I knew. The very first sentence calls me out: “The men in my life have always been the folks who are wary of using the word ‘love’ lightly.” Good god, that’s been me. I’ve said I love you to very few partners specifically because I believe the word has a heft, volume, and a type of sacredness to it… as though it’s something that can or should be withheld either as punishment or reward – the fine china and the aged wine that isn’t for everyday use. I would like to be more liberal with the term, but I suspect that would entail broadening my definition and allowing for varying degrees and depths.
Borrowing from M. Scott Peck, hooks defines love as “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.” That’s good. That’s different. She later expands on this by calling genuine love a “combination of care, commitment, trust, knowledge, responsibility, and respect.” She suggests that most of us haven’t experienced this type of love because “an overwhelming majority of us come from dysfunctional families in which we were taught we were not okay, where we were shamed, verbally and/or physically abused, and emotionally neglected even as we were also taught to believe that we were loved.” hooks is very careful to recognize the nuance required in talking about love and dysfunction:
Initially, I did not want to accept a definition of love that would also compel me to face the possibility that I had not known love in the relationships that were most primary to me. Years of therapy and critical reflection enabled me to accept that there is no stigma attached to acknowledging a lack of love in one’s primary relationships. And if one’s goal is self-recovery, to be well in one’s soul, honestly and realistically confronting lovelessness is part of the healing process. A lack of sustained love does not mean the absence of care, affection, or pleasure.
That feels like a bold and brave statement. One that simultaneously risks alienating people who have dared to use the word love and a possible admission for having loved less than fully. In this respect, I think what hooks is saying is very similar to what Adrienne Rich says when she defines love as that process
delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.
It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation.
It is important to do this because in doing so we do justice to our own complexity.
It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.
hooks recognizes from her own experiences that she often mistook care and affection for love and that she was afraid of deeper intimacy.
Many of us choose relationships of affection and care that will never become loving because they feel safer. The demands are not as intense as love requires. The risk is not as great.
So many of us long for love but lack the courage to take risks. Even though we are obsessed with the idea of love, the truth is that most of us live relatively decent, somewhat satisfying lives even if we often feel that love is lacking. In these relationships we share genuine affection and/or care. For most of us, that feels like enough because it is usually a lot more than we received in our families of origin. Undoubtedly, many of us are more comfortable with the notion that love can mean anything to anybody precisely because when we define it with precision and clarity it brings us face to face with our lacks – with terrible alienation.
That hits hard. It makes me uncomfortable to think of how for most of my life, I’ve carried around small and/or partial definitions of love or that at other times, I’ve been all too willing to accept this notion that “love defies definition.” Perhaps these ways of thinking have been convenient ways of not holding myself or others accountable to the high standards that love demands.
I have always loved imperfectly. In my less-than-stellar moments, I have done so clumsily and carelessly. In my worst moments, I have done so selfishly. Like hooks, I have sometimes mistaken care and affection for love. Sometimes, I’ve convinced others to do the same. And like many people, I have confused having my needs met (or not having them met) as an indication of the presence or absence of love, respectively. In this regard we’re not terribly different from children who see gifts and rewards as a sign of love and withholding as a sign of punishment. My hope is to continue to move away from that type of thinking and behavior – or at least become more aware of it. For much of my life, I have focused on only one side of the equation (either giving or receiving) and in its most tumultuous throes I’ve tended to lose sight of the necessary and delicate balance between the two.
Like many people, I’ve understood that care and affection are important pieces of love, as are passion and respect and a host of other qualities. Embracing a definition of love in which spiritual growth is at the center seems like it could be more inclusive and also more demanding. Here, hooks suggest that we think of love as an action as opposed to a feeling. This runs counter to the more traditional belief that we know it instinctively or that we just fall into it. I’ll have to work to reconcile this with Buddhist thinking that suggests loves begins in innocence (a type of natural characteristic in all people). She suggests that in order for continued growth (spiritual), we must choose it, act on it, and create space for it. I’m liking where the book is going so far. It’s challenging and authentic in its wisdom. As I learn and practice, my hope is to try to get it mostly right (always a work in progress). And when I get it wrong to have the courage to own it and try to do better next time, to have the benefit of forgiveness and patience, and the continuing grace to accept and return that forgiveness and patience.