Some things I've learned about love--Part I

TL;DR
I’ve learned that loving someone is a skill, and like any skill, the more you practice--deliberately practice-- the better you can get.

I’ve been loving my wife, Bobbi, for nearly 50 years, my daughters a few years less than that. Add friends, sons-by-marriage and a few grandchildren, and I’ve been getting a workout. Lots of practice. And I’ve learned a thing or two.

I've also learned that if you wait until you've finished a long post that you care about, like this, that you never finish.

So here's part 1.

Love is a choice.

Some people believe that love is something that happens to you. Certainly that’s true for a babies; they are hard-wired to love any human being that they see regularly and treats them nice. Also puppies.

But adults have a choice. You may not be able to choose who you are attracted to, or who you lust after, love is a choice one you grow a rational brain. For me love has been a concious choice since I was in my teens, and thought about what love meant.

And love continues to be a choice. The only change: I’ve gotten better at choosing.

I love Bobbi. When I first started to love her, biology gave me a boost. She was a beautiful woman when I first met her, and she is a beautiful woman, still. That might have been part of why I chose to love her back then, but it’s not why I continue to choose to love her.

I could say I that I love her because she is one of the most thoughtful, considerate people I know. That’s true, but it’s not why. Or because she’s intelligent -- which she is. But that’s not why. It’s not because she’s a hard worker, though that’s also true. Or because she takes good care of me -- which she does. Or because she is the one person that I am absolutely sure will always be there when needed. Though that is true, and highly valued, that’s not it. Or because she’s incredibly reliable -- which she is -- and I am not. Nope. Or because she’s been a great mom and a wonderful role model for our daughters -- which she was and is. Or because she’s an accomplished poet and writer; also true.

My decision is influenced by all of these reasons, but in the end, it’s none of them. Some years ago I realized that I didn’t need reasons to justify loving her, and I stopped using reasons to justify my choice. I realized that I loved her because I chose to love her. And I’ve made that choice over, and over again. And as far as I can predict, I’ll keep choosing her the one I love most.

Likewise my kids. People expect you to love your kids just because they’re your kids. And there’s a lot of biology and social approval that gives you a push in that direction. But by the time we had our first kid I knew I would not be one of those parents who loved their kids just because they were their kids; I would choose. Fortunately, my kids made it an easy choice. They are awesome.

Love is a gift.

Love is also a gift. That means that once you choose to give your love, you don’t expect something in return. Not even love returned. Otherwise it’s not a gift, but a transaction.

That’s important to remember when loving teen-agers. You love them, and sometimes nothing is exactly what you get. Sometimes it’s worse. Nonetheless, I learned to keep giving.

Each of our three daughters got an initial birthday gift of love: undeserved, but by choice. I continued to love them they grew from being interesting babies (what’s not to love!) through troublesome teens (loving them was really hard sometimes) to hard-working, talented, ethical, and thoroughly admirable women (loving them is now effortless.)

My love is a gift and I don’t give gifts to people who don’t deserve them. My love is valuable and not because of the law of supply and demand. Market economics don’t work here (and many other places.)

So I don’t love the undeserving. Giving love to the undeserving devalues it.

But in the end, it’s a gift.

Love is a verb.

About twenty years ago I read a book by Steven Covey (author of Seven Habits of Highly Effective People) that stuck with me. Here’s the story he tells of a man, an attendee at one of his seminars, looking for advice on his marriage.

“...my wife and I just don’t have the same feelings for each other that we used to have, [says the man] I guess I don’t love her anymore, and she doesn’t love me. What can I do?”
“The feeling isn’t there?” I [Covey] inquired.
“That’s right, he reaffirmed. “And we have three children we’re really concerned about. What do you suggest?”
“Love her,” I replied.
“I told you, the feeling just isn’t there anymore.”
“Love her.”
“You don’t understand. The feeling of love isn’t there anymore.”
“Then love her. If the feeling isn’t there, that’s a good reason to love her.”
“But how do you love when you don’t love?”
“My friend, love is a verb. Love--the feeling--is the fruit of love the verb. So love her.”

Love is a verb. It’s something you do. It’s something that you can choose to do or not.

More than once when I didn’t feel the love that I once felt, I remembered Covey’s story. And I did some more loving.

My reward then was that loving feeling. My reward now is the life I've got.

I learned: do the work of loving, and you'll get your reward.

Love takes work.

Because love is something that you do, it takes work. Sometimes it’s easy work. Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s almost effortless. But sometimes it’s hard. And sometimes it’s really hard.

But easy or hard, it’s always some amount of work.

Work takes energy. You’ve only got so much energy and everything you do takes some amount of it. If you’re burning a lot of energy on your job, or if you’re little bit of energy on other activities--even pleasurable ones-- then you’ve got that much less energy available for loving.

(Hint: if your other activity is one that burns energy but reinforces love, then it’s a great two for one deal. That’s a good justification for kissing, cuddling, or sex--if you’re both inclined.)

Conflicts are energy burners, so loving in the face of conflicts is much harder than loving when things are aligned. Stress is an energy burner, too. It’s a lot harder to love when you’re stressed, even if the stress has nothing to do with the person you love.

Babies make things worse. They are energy sinks and stress producers. They take time and attention. They deny you sleep. You worry about them. And loving them reduces the energy available for loving your partner.

And they promote new conflicts. You have ideas on how to raise a baby. Your partner has different, incompatible ideas. If you both feel strongly, you argue. That takes energy and there’s that much less available for loving.

I learned that the times when I felt least loving--toward my wife or one of my kids--were the times that I needed to work hardest. I chose to do the work.

And the life that I have today is my reward.

Loving is a skill.

Because love is something you do, you can do it well or poorly. It’s a skill And as with any other skill: the more you practice, with deliberate intention, the better you can get.

Casual loving can help, just as mindless practice can help. But deliberate, conscious, knowing practice is the best.

Writing this essay I realized that loving the same woman for nearly fifty years, and working at it, has made me much better at loving her than I was our love was first blooming.

And love is a transferable skill. The better you get at loving one person, or a group of people, the better you get at loving others.

Deliberate practice is important. Some people just go through the motions. Then they get divorced. Going through the motions won’t get you where you can go if you put your mind (and your heart) to it.

Practice not only helps you do more, it helps you know more. You do things better and you know better what you’re doing. That can help when you are in unfamiliar territory. And it can help you transfer your knowledge so that others can love better.

Stay tuned for Part II.