When asked, “Why do you love me?,” we can’t just say, “I love everything about you.” As long as our answer is accurate, the other person will feel that our love is sincere. A good answer can strengthen and warm up the relationship, while a bad answer may bury it. To find out which aspect of the other person we really love, we need to give ourselves a little time. Finding out which aspects of each other we really love requires time.
Sometimes, and it often happens in bed, we face an acute test at the hands of a lover to whom we have pledged our affections. We are asked, with little warning, and in a serious tone: ‘What do you love me for?’ Few moments in a relationship can be as philosophical as this – or as dangerous. A good answer has the power to confirm and enhance the relationship; a bad one could blow it apart.
As we try to make headway, we immediately realize that we can’t just say “everything.” We’re being asked to make choices, and our love will be considered genuine only if those choices seem appropriate to the recipients. The fundamental assumption behind the inquiry is that some qualities are better than others to be loved for. It isn’t enough to be liked; the admiration must target our best qualities as we define them. This implies that some parts of our minds and bodies contain our “essential selves” more than others do.
We are – if we can put it like this – not equally present in all parts of ourselves. When it comes to the body, there appears to be more of ‘us’ in our hands than in our heels, and when it comes to the mind, more of ‘us’ in our sense of humour than in our knowledge of the seven times table. If a malevolent demon were to force us to give up a bit of our minds, it might be better – from the point of view of maintaining the continuity of our essential selves – to surrender our ability to speak a foreign language rather than to wipe out our taste in music – just as it would be more bearable to suffer a change in the shape of our big toe than in the profile of our nose.
To be told that we have a ‘loveable mind’ may be a good start, but not much more. There are likely to be many things that this mind can do quite well: lay a table, drive safely down a motorway, prepare a household budget, remember geographical facts. But such talents seldom feel gratifying when singled out, because of their rather generic nature. Someone who loved us for these skills alone would have few reasons why they might not equally well wander away and love someone else at another point, which is the very risk we are trying to ward off and are looking for the right compliment to appease.
The skills for which we want to be praised are those that reveal our uniqueness. For example, we want to be praised for the way we prepare birthday cake icing, pick songs for a drive through the desert, analyze historical novels, discuss friends’ love affairs, or tease frustrating colleagues without ruffling their feathers. When someone notices such details, he or she becomes a reliable candidate to whom we can become attached. Their love becomes specific rather than generic.
Ultimately, it is more gratifying for a lover to compliment us on our ability to cheer up a relative than to be told we are sensational for knowing the capital of New Zealand or how to calculate the diameter of a circle. However, adding further complexity to our demands, admiration alone isn’t enough. We also want a true lover to be kind to our vulnerabilities. No matter how competent we are, we are never far from moments of fear, ignorance, humiliation, childlikeness, and sadness. It is these moods, too, that we long for a lover to be generous toward.
While it’s nice to be seen as impressive, it’s more comforting to know that our vulnerability is met with kindness. It’s reassuring to be with someone who lets us be sad, anxious, and emotional, and who notices when we bite our nails or worry about work at night. We don’t just want to awe a lover; we want permission to be at our wits’ end every now and then. We want them to have enough faith in us that they won’t be frightened by our fragility. We need to know that the child in us has been seen and won’t be rejected. “I love you for being a hero” would be an eerie pronouncement. “I love you for being a child” would be equally alienating. However, something like “I love the sad child I occasionally glimpse in you, beneath your resourceful, adult, day-to-day self” comes as close as possible to the epicenter of love.
Our hopes for the role our body will play in eliciting love follow a similar pattern. Here, too, sweeping, generic praise feels like the work of someone who wouldn’t notice if our body were replaced by another’s in the night. While it may be true that we have “lovely eyes” or “soft hair,” these words could be said with equal accuracy to millions of others. Similarly, a host would prefer praise for the hint of dill in the lemon sauce rather than thanks for a “nice dinner.”
Some of the best kinds of body praise are psychophysical; that is, they praise a physical aspect to highlight a psychological quality. They reassure us that our physical forms are connected to our most lovable personality traits. For example, a perceptive lover might say: “I really like the way your smile is slightly different on each side of your mouth. You see? One side is warm and welcoming, while the other is thoughtful and melancholy. It’s not just a smile; it’s as if you’re thinking deeply while smiling. Or, what about this? There’s something charming you do with your eyelids when you listen. You half-lower them in a quizzical way. It’s as if you’re saying, “I don’t totally believe you,” but it’s actually encouragement. There’s an invitation, as if you’re adding: “But come on, give me the real truth. I know you’re holding back the best parts because you’re worried you won’t be understood, but you will be. You’re safe with me.” I’m also slightly in love with the freckle on your upper left arm. It’s a bit like you: quietly saying, “Here I am. I’m me. Nothing special, but I’m happy with who I am.” It’s poised, unassuming, and confident in its ability to attract those who understand it. I love that it was there when you were little, and I love that it’s been with you every day since.”
Similarly to the mind, it is often the vulnerability of these bodily details that charms. It is the little toe and little finger that are more seductive than the thighs or torso. It is the hand that curls up, as it did in childhood. It is the slender nape of the neck, usually concealed by a thick mane of hair. It is a delicate wrist through which run intricate greenish veins. In an otherwise mature body, hints of an endearing, more fragile earlier self emerge, prompting our sympathy, protection, and reassurance.
The question of what we have found to love in someone should not frighten us. We simply need to give ourselves the time to trace back our enthusiasms to their authentic sources, while remembering that love is liable to collect with particular intensity in the most vulnerable and improbably small nooks of the self.
