When I was very young, I believed I was in love with a man who did not love me. We were a couple (I am delusional but I am not insane) but I was sure I was losing him. Or, more probably, I never had him at all. I read and immediately became maniacally obsessed with an article in the Times that listed 36 questions, designed by psychologists, that two people could ask each other to fall in love. I was positive that all of my problems would be solved if this man and I could sit down for an hour and answer these questions. The experiment asks the participants to go through all thirty-six questions and then stare into each others eyes for a full four minutes. The eye-contact part felt like it would be a non-starter, I never found the nerve to bring up the questions at all. We broke up some months later and I found out that he had a second girlfriend for much of our relationship when their wedding was the featured one in the New York Times “Vows” column.
My roommate did the questionnaire with her long term boyfriend, eye contact and all. They’re married and have two adorable sons. I suspect that would have happened irrespective of the soul staring.
…
I somewhat recently sent my best friend a text, “I am sad, I want a family. :(”
“Me too.” She messaged back. And then, “But we’re a family too.” And, of course, we are.
To me, loving someone is trying to understand them, to accept their flaws and find comfort in the knowledge that they accept yours. A bond that isn’t instant. For my sisters, biological and otherwise, I will cancel plans to sit with them while they cry. We’ll laugh at jokes that are only shared telepathically, lie in bed together after a night out and say we’re so lucky we have each other.
…
I briefly dated a man who told me he loved me when he had known me for one week. A decade ago, when I was desperate for commitment, I would have married him. But he did not love me. He was obsessed with me. I suspect he also hated me (love and hate are easily confused). I broke up with him because I knew I would never love him. I knew I would never love him because he loved to argue and took everything I said literally when I almost always speak figuratively. I cannot spend my life screaming “I know that you know what I am trying to say” into the void. When I ended it, he said “but I love you” at least a hundred times. “You don't love me, you barely know me. And love isn’t enough.” I told him. He argued that love is the only thing that matters. I said, “I am divorced” and told my doorman to tell him to leave without speaking to me if he ever came by. I don’t believe that you can love someone after a week, though I very much believe that you can know that you could love a person after speaking with them for an hour or so.
I am in a place now where I could and would like to be in a serious relationship again, though I have no desire to force something that isn’t there. Better to let things happen as they will. I am a good partner, I am sweet and empathetic, I understand people’s motivations and know how to allow them the space to be human beings. I am an excellent cook, though we’ll have to outsource the laundry. I am silly and open and easy to speak to, rarely dramatic, almost never passive aggressive.
Love, to me, is a safe space. I want a partner who I can speak to but who I am comfortable sitting with in silence. Someone who is quick with compliments, who understands that I’m a little bit more insecure than I let on. A man who is generally supportive of, but not overly interested in my writing. Someone smart but sweet, stable. I want to make a man feel like he is enough when he is around me. I want to make someone feel secure and comfortable, I want him to know that I understand he is doing his best and that his best is worth more than doing things perfectly. I’d like the same in return. Someone who is comfortable around my sisters, who likes the beach and my humor. I’d like someone with empathy, who is able to hear that I am having a problem and who understands that sometimes “that sucks” and a hug is more valuable than advice. I think I’ll find him.
Love is wearing sweatpants all summer because your partner prefers to keep the house cool and you value their comfort over your own. It’s knowing he’ll bring you an iced latte when he comes back from his run, no need to ask.
…
A few months ago, I was feeling very insecure and I texted a friend of mine something hyperbolic and insane. A self-deprecating joke text about how I am too ugly and too complicated to ever find anybody. I expected a joke back, something about settling for someone who wants to live in Westchester. “You’re beautiful and you are too much fun to be single forever.” I felt seen. An act of love.
…
I looked up the 36 Questions to Fall in Love when I began writing this essay. I read the intro and I read the companion Modern Love column. I chose not to read past the first question, because I am still a romantic and perhaps one day I will sit on the couch with a man and we will answer questions back and forth for an hour and then stare into each other's eyes for two hundred and forty seconds. If that happens, I don’t want to know the questions in advance. Maybe we’ll marry or maybe we’ll just be in love that evening. In the column, the writer says the questions worked and she fell in love because she and the man she answered them with were both open to it. Both wanted love, a partnership, the safety of domesticity. That has value. Love isn’t cheaper because you picked it. I think it may be more valuable that way.
I love you,
Hannah Stella
Ahhh, Hannah! Love this and it’s perfect timing for me! In two weeks I’m marrying the man I did the 36 Questions with on our first date!
“love isn’t cheaper because you picked it” 💕 💕