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We spend our lives wanting to hear those adoring words, “I love you.”

But there is a problem here, and no easy way around it.  Someone has to say, “I love you” first.

We have no trouble saying, “I really enjoyed having lunch with you.”  We don’t hesitate to say, “I like you,” or, “I care about you.”

So why is it that our most exhilarating message often becomes trapped in the prison of our hearts?  Why do we conceal the words that matter most?  Isn’t the first “I love you” a compliment?

No. Not at all. Think about it. The first, “I love you” is almost always a request or, perhaps, a demand.

If I say, “I like you,” you say, “I like you too,” and we each continue our lives.

If I say, “I care about what happens to you,” then you say, “Thanks.  I care about what happens to you too.” We’ll both feel warm and fuzzy and we each continue our lives.  Nothing more is expected.

But when you hear those affirming, or terrifying, words, “I love you,” you know what’s expected in return.  And that something is not, “Thanks a lot.” What I want to hear you say is: “I love you too.”  Or a kiss.  If you don’t do either one I’ll know that you are immediately going to run screaming into the night, or you are first going to try really hard to say something nice like “I really like you as a friend,” and then immediately run screaming into the night.

When I was a teenager I decided that I would be first the one to say, “I love you.”  I was willing to take the risk of my date saying, “That’s really nice.  I’m getting out of the car now. Please don’t follow me to my front door.” In fact, I never did say, “I love you,” on a first date (or very often on any date).  I was often asked to stay in my car anyway.

But, regardless, I now have a better idea.

Before you say, “I love you,” eradicate expectations.  You are not seeking “I love you,” back. You’re not saying, “I want to marry you” or “I want to be physically intimate with you.”  You’re just giving the compliment of liking another human being on a deep level without looking for anything in return. No one has to either run away or move closer to you.  They don’t have to feel uncomfortable and they don’t have to reciprocate.

As a place to start, I’d like to suggest an experiment.  Try signing “Love” at the end of your texts or emails to close friends.  They may be surprised, but they shouldn’t feel uneasy.  If you’re uncomfortable with this first step, then perhaps you should work on your ability to tell another person that you love them, without wanting something in return.  “I love you” is fun, and a gift to those you care about.

I wish you the best of luck. Please let me know how it goes.

Love,

Alan

 Good advice can come from unusual places.

Last week my friends Joe and Barbara sponsored a charitable fund-raising event at a Comedy Club in Hermosa Beach, California, which, during rush hour, is a ninety-minute drive from my office.  They were surprised that I showed up, but I like to support my friends.

Dinner at the Club was surprisingly excellent, and I laughed out loud at the four opening acts.

The headliner was a woman in her 50’s who started slow but finished fast.  Toward the end of her 50-minute monologue, after talking a lot about relationships and her three divorces, she said, “I’m going to end with advice on how to live.”

Her advice made an impression.  It was:

1. Love Hard.
2. Forgive Harder.

I emphatically agree.  Assuming that I have only one life to live I want to make the most of it.  I’ve found that there is only one way to reap the greatest reward in life, and that is to take the greatest risk.  In the movie, ‘I Bought a Zoo,” Matt Damon is a father restarting his life after his wife dies.  Damon’s 15-year-old son likes a girl, but is afraid to reveal his feelings.  Damon’s fatherly advice, after telling his son how he met his mother at a coffee shop, is simply this.  “You know, sometimes what you need is twenty seconds of insane courage.”

And once I’ve taken the risk and started a relationship, I always want to improve it, to learn more about the other person and share myself more deeply.

I keep in mind the definition of love by the Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist Rainer Maria Rilke who lived from 1875 through 1926.  He said, “Love consists in this, that two solitudes know, and touch, and protect each other.”

Rilke also wrote, “For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.”

Love Hard.

The comedian’s second admonition, Forgive Harder, may be even more difficult to achieve than the first.  As the saying goes, “To err is human, NOT to forgive is even more human.”

Helen, a friend of mine, recently left her husband of twenty-five years. “He was angry with me for the last twenty years about a misunderstanding which happened the day our son was born.”

Twenty years is a long time to hold a grudge, even if it is about something which is really important.  Especially if it is about something which is really important.

When I don’t get something I want from someone, or when I do get something I don’t want, I feel my body shifting into anger mode.  That is normal, natural, and probably a survival skill.  If I hold on to that anger, however, I create a coldness in that relationship which, after two years, or twenty, is certain to result in personal permafrost. Holding onto anger isn’t healthy for the relationship or the individual. But the physical and psychological benefits of forgiveness have been well documented. Last Saturday evening it warmed my heart to see Roger and Glenda, two friends who divorced thirty years ago, tenderly embrace each other in a local restaurant.

If you want to live your life fully, take the comedian’s advice.

Love Hard.

Forgive Harder.

And support your friends when they ask for your help.

Alan

“Honey, do you like this dress?”

Danger!  Danger!  Rocky passage ahead!

For many reasons one of my strongest values is honesty, both in myself and others.

For many of the same reasons another of my strongest values is kindness, also in myself and others.

But what happens when these two ideals collide?

Any one of the following reactions to the question above might be entirely honest.  I wouldn’t hesitate to immediately use either one of the first two.  As for the rest, what do you think?

“That dress is gorgeous.  An absolute ten.  You’re the belle of my ball.”

“Very nice. Blue is definitely your color.”

“Hasn’t that dress been hanging in your closet for three or four years?  It might be past its prime.”

“If I were you I’d take it off.  Please.”

“It might be nice if it still fit you.”

“Ugly.  I’ve always thought you found that dress on sale at a thrift shop.”

My temptation, and I hope yours, would be to respond with kind, rather than brutal, honesty.  Often the tricky question is how to mix the two.

A simple solution is always best, and two principles come into play.  First, lead with a positive statement.  Second, soften any (honest) negative.

“Darling, I’m glad you asked.  I like the style, but that shade of cobalt isn’t my favorite.”

“Honey, you look beautiful in any dress.  But I think the red outfit suits you a little bit better.”

Or just be vulnerable.  Admit your predicament.

“Fashion isn’t my expertise, and I don’t want to offend you in any way.  I’m an accountant. Ask me ‘What’s two plus two.’”

“As you know, I’m sometimes not very diplomatic, but I’m happy to be seen with you no matter what.”

In our society we value honesty and directness.  I suggest, however, that when you cannot locate the channel between honesty and kindness you come down on the side of nurturing your relationship.  You might recognize that the actual question behind the words, “Honey, do you like this dress,” is really, “Honey, I’m a little insecure right now.  Do you love me?”  And the clear, kind, and authentic reply to the underlying question is simply this:

“Darling, I don’t have a helpful opinion about the dress, but I want you to know that, to me you’re beautiful, I’m happy to go anywhere with you, and I’m even happier to come home with you every night.  I love you.”

Alan