May 8, 2009

So Many Alone

Recently I had the opportunity to visit a state prison, functioning as the spokesman for a prisoner who was appearing before the parole board in the hope of obtaining parole after spending ten years in the care of the state’s prison system. Before we met with the board, I sat with this prisoner for nearly three hours, accompanied by his wife, his brother, his sister, his minister, a friend, a former cellmate now freed, and a former schoolteacher—all occupying one large table.

Much of the dining hall where we sat was occupied with tables like ours, filled with groups of family and friends, each group sitting with a single prisoner. The noise level was high, as people shared stories and talked excitedly about the possibility of these men being released from prison after extended periods of incarceration.

Because I was occupied with talking to my friend and his family, I didn’t notice for an hour or so that at one end of the large room was a group of prisoners sitting on folding chairs. They outnumbered the prisoners sitting at the tables and seemed to receive more attention from the guards.

When I asked my friend why the other group of prisoners was segregated from our group at the tables, he explained that the other men had no family or friends with them. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at this, but I still was. This was one of the most important days of their entire lives. After many years of imprisonment, these men were appearing before the State Parole Board, where a decision would be made about their release. Moreover, one of the factors weighing in this decision was the stability of the environment to which these men would be released, so often it made a difference to the Board when a man brought a group of family and friends who demonstrated their obvious support for him.

Despite the importance of family support on this critical day, however—emotionally and otherwise—the men on folding chairs outnumbered those at the tables five to one. There were fewer than twenty of us at the tables, while there were more than a hundred men who didn’t have a single soul who cared enough about them to show up on that day to offer support. Is it any mystery how so many people end up in prison? With such an obvious lack of love in their lives, they reach out for anything that will fill their emptiness, and it’s regrettable that so many of the things that fill that void—anger, violence, money, sex, power, and so on—stretch or break the limits of social and legal acceptability.

A great many of us feel tragically alone. But there is hope. We can learn to see this condition in each other, and as we reach out to connect, this deadly sense of separation vanishes. Our emptiness disappears, and we no longer act out in the ways that bring us before the courts and cause us to be taken to prison. Nor do we act out in the ways that destroy marriages and children. Wherever I go, whether I’m counseling couples or talking to children or visiting men in prison, I’m impressed with how consistently it is “always about Real Love.”


April 10, 2009

Asking for Help

Earlier today I received a call from a man, Bob, who is engaged and making preparations to get married. He and his fiancée both own their own homes, so they made a decision that he would sell his home and move into hers. In the process of putting his home on the market, however, he discovered that the foundation had significant structural cracks that would require expensive repairs.

He called to say that he was finding it difficult to ask for help from his fiancee, Shirley. It was killing him that he would need her help with more and more things as he worked with the realtor, the contractors, the redecorating of the house, and all the other details involved with repair, selling, and moving. He was overwhelmed in either direction: if he tried to do it all alone or if he asked her for help.

“Why does it bother you to ask her for help?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

When people say they find something difficult, they’re almost always using difficult as a code word for afraid. Rarely, however, do they realize this, much less what exactly they are afraid of. I knew this when I spoke to Bob, but I was asking the question just to get the conversation started.

“Let’s look at some of the negative things that could happen as a result of your asking Shirley for help, because as you recognize them, simply bringing them into the light may make you less afraid. The unknown is usually more frightening than what we can see. And we might be able to come up with a plan for overcoming some of these obstacles. So, think about it. Picture yourself asking her to help you with the decorating, the house selling, the contractor, everything. What could happen?”

He paused for quite a while before he answered. “It might not be the way I want.”

“Excellent,” I said. “If you ask for help, you might lose some control over things, right?”

“Yes,” he said, with a tone of surprise. “I never thought of it that way. I never thought of myself as a control freak.”

“We all like to control things to be our way to a certain extent. And now you get to learn a powerful lesson. Why are you getting married?”

“Because I love her.”

“Really?”

“I think so,” he said.

“And really loving her would mean to care about her happiness, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Which would mean learning a whole new way of doing things. It would mean learning to do things in a way that contributes to the happiness of the two of you, not just the way you want to do things, which is how you’ve been accustomed to living. Being married means doing things together as a unit. It means losing some of that control you just said you were afraid of losing.”

“Hmm.” He knew there was more coming.

“So, if you ask for help here, you’re concerned about losing control, but asking for help and losing control is exactly what you need to do. You need let go of control and let someone else into your life so you can learn to love, learn to be loved, and learn to be a couple. You already know how to be alone and in control, and that hasn’t made you all that happy. Understand what I’m saying?”

“Yesss . . .”

“There’s a but in there.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re still wondering if you let her start doing things, she might just screw up and make a mess of things.”

“Yeah.”

“She might actually do that on occasion. And that’s when the two of you will learn how to work together as a loving couple. These apparently minor occasions are actually critical. They begin to establish the pattern for the remainder of your relationship. Consider what is important to you. Do you want a particular thing done your way, or do you want to build the unconditional love in your relationship? If you control everything she does, you might as well live by yourself for the rest of your life. If you control her, you’ll just turn her into an extension of yourself, and that is not a partnership. It will kill any feeling of love between you. On the other hand, you don’t have to accept every form of help she offers. If she’s helping you in a way you just can’t live with, speak up and say something. Tell her you really would prefer she do whatever-it-is a different way. You will spend your whole lives together practicing the principles of Real Love, and you start right now, by asking for help. Making sense so far?”

“Sure.”

“Now let’s talk about a second fear you might have. What if you ask her for help, and she lets you down? You need quite a bit of help. What if she just isn’t there for you as much as you need, and you’re disappointed? Does that bother you?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“How many people in your life have consistently been there for you whenever you’ve needed them?”

“Zero.”

“So it would be a significant fear for you that if you asked for help you might be disappointed. But we all live with that. There just might be occasions when she’ll deliver less than you’d like. But until you ask for help, you also won’t get any help at all. You’ll be pushing away all the opportunities for her to demonstrate that she cares about you. You’ll feel alone and unloved. So why not let her try? Why eliminate all the opportunities for love, just because there might be a few occasions when she’ll love you less than you’d hoped? That would be like deciding to never eat again because you’re afraid that an occasional meal might be disappointing.”

“I get the point.”

“Here’s a third reason you might be afraid to ask Shirley for help, and it’s a variation on the first reason. You might be afraid that she would use this as an opportunity to control you, to tell you what to do. Shirley is pretty outspoken, while you’re fairly quiet, and this would give her a chance to intrude and control you.”

“You’ve got it.”

“Who else in your life did this?”

“My mother, every chance she got.”

“So, what could you do so that you could feel less afraid of being controlled?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just tell the truth about it. Always deal with the truth. When you ask for her help, tell her about this fear. Tell her that you’re afraid of being controlled. Tell her that it’s an old fear—not about Shirley—one that came from interactions with your mother. Then propose a solution, because you don’t want this to get in the way of the love in your relationship. It’s always about keeping and building love. If an occasion arises where you feel like she’s telling you what to do—whether she actually is or not—you’ll give her some kind of indication that you’re feeling anxious. You could agree on a hand sign (raising your hand like a stop sign) or a set of words (‘I need to pause here to talk about this step’) or something that would bring everything to a stop. At that point, whatever is going on needs to stop until you feel like you’re being listened to and a course of action is being taken that you agree with.”

“But then what would I say?”

“Easy. In a calm, non-defensive way, you tell her what you need from her in the way of help. If she persists in doing something her way—where she is not listening to you—you tell her that she has three choices: (1) She can help you your way and like it; or (2) help you your way and hate it; or (3) not help you at all. Remember, she is helping you, and you really do get to decide how she helps you, or whether she helps you at all. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“Oh yeah. I just never thought about all those options.”

“There’s possibly a fourth reason you would find it difficult to ask Shirley for help. When you were a kid and asked people questions, or asked people for help, did people ever make you feel weak or stupid?”

“All the time.”

“Is that playing a factor here?”

“Yes. I feel like all this is stuff I should be able to handle by myself, so if I ask for help, that makes me both stupid and weak. A real man should be able to handle all this, and I’m really feeling overwhelmed. I don’t like this feeling very much.”

“That’s a huge advantage of having a partner. You now have someone who complements you, which means someone who fills out what you don’t have, who completes you. How can you take advantage of that huge gift unless you ask her to help you? Not asking would be kind of stupid, wouldn’t it? That would be kind of like getting a new car and not turning on the key, because you were afraid that you might get a flat tire, or you might wear out the engine, or you might have other problems. Yes, you might have all those problems, but so what? That just goes with having a car. You can’t have benefits without risks. Relationships are like that. Love is like that. If you want all the rewards of love and a partnership—which are abundant beyond expression—you have to start taking the risks, and it starts right now. You have to start asking her for help. You have to start getting intimate, which begins with moments like this. Are you willing?”

Bob decided he was willing to take the risks.

As we seek closer relationships with others, it is inevitable that we ask for help, ask questions, tell the truth about ourselves, and inconvenience each other. In the process we will make mistakes—lots of them. Taking risks and making mistakes, in fact, is required, and if we are willing to make them, we will be showered with the sweet rewards of Real Love and the intimate relationships we seek.


March 19, 2009

The Nature of Disappointment

On many occasions I have defined Real Love as caring about the happiness of others without any thought of return for ourselves. It is not Real Love when I do what you want and you like me. That is simply a trading of Imitation Love. Rather, it’s Real Love when I make mistakes, when I’m stupid, and when I inconvenience you, but you don’t feel disappointed or irritated at me. It is disappointment and irritation that separate Real Love from all the pretenders.

I have been asked repeatedly, however, “Is all disappointment selfish? Isn’t a certain amount of disappointment normal? In some circumstances couldn’t disappointment be compatible with Real Love?”

The nature of disappointment varies from one situation to another. Sometimes it’s selfish and unloving, while on other occasions it is not. Let’s suppose I ask you to do something for me, say, spend some time with me. You refuse, and I am deeply disappointed. I carry this disappointment around with me for several hours, perhaps even days. In fact, I resent you a bit for refusing my “request” and feel somewhat less inclined to respond positively to any request you might make of me in the future. In this case my disappointment is selfish, and I have proven that when I “asked” you to spend time with me, I wasn’t making a genuine request. I was really making a veiled demand, with an attached expectation that you would give me what I wanted.

Now let’s imagine another occasion where I ask you to spend some time with me. Again you refuse and again I feel some disappointment, but this time my disappointment is both mild and short-lived. I also feel no change in my affection toward you, nor am I reluctant to grant any request you might make of me. This kind of disappointment is not selfish. When we don’t get what we ask for, some disappointment is natural. After all, the whole reason we ask for something is that we actually want it, so not getting it naturally involves some disappointment. But if we’re making a true request—as opposed to a demand—the disappointment we feel is slight and brief.

If we make a request, it is accompanied by a healthy hope that our request will be fulfilled. If that request is not fulfilled, it’s natural that we are mildly disappointed—although it’s possible that even mild disappointment will not be experienced. Our happiness is certainly not diminished. It should be noted that we are capable of making true requests only if we feel sufficiently loved unconditionally. If we are empty and afraid, we feel compelled by the desperation of our pain to make demands, with their attendant expectations and exaggerated disappointments.

Can we feel unconditionally loved and still have expectations? Of course. In business, if I pay you to deliver a package to my door by a specific date, I will expect you do make that delivery. Even in friendship, if you promise to meet me at a certain place at a specific time, I will expect you to be there. Both expectations are reasonable, but if I feel sufficient Real Love in my life, my happiness will not depend on your filling my expectations. Then if you should fail to deliver the package on time, or fail to meet me at the appointed hour, I would not be irritated or unhappy. I might feel disappointment, but it would be only superficial in character and brief in duration.

It is simply a part of life that sometimes we will not get exactly what we want. Because people are mortal and flawed, they often will break their promises, inconvenience us, and otherwise fail us. Sometimes our plans will be obstructed in ways that won’t involve people at all: a flat tire, rain on a picnic, a malfunctioning computer, and so on.

All of these deviations from our plans are potential disappointments, but with our preparation we can determine entirely how they affect us. If we have sufficient Real Love—which we can all find, with enough faith and a little effort—we can tolerate and even thrive with a great number of these occasions where circumstances go contrary to our plans. With enough Real Love, disappointments take their proper place as minor inconveniences, rather than sources of frustration and unhappiness. As always, it’s about love, not about the people and events around us.

February 13, 2009

It’s Real Love That Everyone Needs

With Real Love, nothing else matters; without it, nothing else is enough. People who behave badly are simply reacting with Getting and Protecting Behaviors to the painful emptiness and fear that result from a lack of Real Love. When people feel enough unconditional love, they have no need to lie, get angry, hurt other people, act like victims, or withdraw from the people around them. With sufficient Real Love, fear, anger, hate, and crime disappear.

Some people are skeptical of the central role of Real Love. They suggest that it would be unrealistic to believe that in the case of criminals, for example, we could look to Real Love as an explanation of, and possible solution for, the complex set of behaviors we see in that group of people. As just one of many possible illustrations of the importance of Real Love in everyone’s life, allow me to share with you a personal experience.

Each week, my friend Michelle serves as a volunteer counselor in a women’s prison. For several hours she helps them talk about their past and present problems, in the hope that they can acquire additional skills to deal with the situations and relationships they’ll encounter when they’re released. Some time ago I presented a seminar in the town where Michelle lived, and she invited me to speak to her prison group.

As these women filled the large room where we met their facial expressions and other behaviors painted a picture of anger, despair, loneliness, resentment, and frustration. Burdened and hardened by lifetimes of pain and frustration, they dared me to say or do anything that could make the slightest difference to them.

I began to talk about Real Love: How desperately we need it, how we behave when we don’t have enough of it, and how we can find it. As they began to understand the real reasons for the behaviors that had made them miserable all their lives—the behaviors which had put them in prison—they listened intently. And then the tears began to flow from everyone in the room, which is not the usual state of affairs in a prison, where weakness is often exploited. Individual women shared their life stories, and the women around them accepted and supported them. The anger and toughness and bitterness in their faces faded away, replaced with hope.

After I left, they organized into loving groups, where women could tell the truth about themselves and feel the love of those around them. They planned to share the love they found from each other with their families upon their release from prison.

There’s no excusing or dismissing the unacceptability of the behavior that put these women in prison, but we need to go beyond our criticism and understand how they got there, what they really need, and how very much we’re like them. We all need Real Love. We all behave in similar ways when we don’t have enough love. We all have a desire to tell the truth about ourselves and be accepted and loved by those around us. We also have a desire to hear the truth about others and to accept and love them. We just need to understand the process and begin to create those opportunities. As we do that, we’ll find the happiness we’ve always wanted.

January 31, 2009

A Tale of Two Victims

Allow me to tell you about two men, John and Michael. When I met them, they had both been married for more than ten years, and they shared the painful bond of each being married to a consummate victim. Despite being intelligent, articulate, and successful in many areas of their lives, these two men were utterly beaten down in their marriages and clueless about what steps they might take to change their condition.

Let’s begin with a look at Michael’s wife, Sandra, who began complaining with her first breath every morning: Michael didn’t wake her up, he woke her up too early, he woke her up too late, he didn’t fix breakfast, he fixed the wrong food, he didn’t say something nice enough to her, he didn’t get the children ready for school fast enough, he didn’t make the sun rise at the correct angle. There was always something wrong, it was always Michael’s fault, and she was always unhappy about it. This resulted in considerable disharmony between them and great unhappiness for Michael, who was beside himself. He had read shelves of self-help books without relief. He had even read Real Love, but he didn’t know how to apply what he’d read to his own situation.

First I talked to Michael a little about Sandra’s behavior, so he could understood her. I helped him see how she had always seen the world as a victim and manipulated everyone around her with guilt and anger to get what she wanted, which was mostly power and safety.

“Do you know how afraid you are of Sandra?” I asked.

“Afraid? I’m not afraid of her,” he said.

Most men do not like to be told that they’re afraid of anything, much less of their wives, so it was understandable that he would resist this notion.

“I apologize,” I said. “I didn’t mean to use the word afraid. I meant to say terrified. This woman snaps her whip, and you bark like a dog. She has a chain in your nose and pulls you anywhere she wants you to go. With a single word, she can stop a conversation, stop you from being happy, and pretty much make you do what she wants. True or not true?”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Why are you and I having this conversation. Did you come to me to report that you were happy with your marriage?”

“Well, no.”

“Absolutely not. You told me you were miserable beyond description. So, are you doing what you want in your marriage?”

“No.”

“So, if you’re not doing what you want in your marriage, there’s only one feeling that could be keeping you from doing what you want. When people really want to do something, but they don’t, what feeling stops them?”

“Fear?”

Yes!! And you were reluctant to admit that because you have a judgment that being afraid is somehow weak. I understand. But until you see what it true, you can never change. You are simply afraid of Sandra. Most people are afraid of their partners, and that is what keeps them from being truly intimate. You’re far from alone in this. What are you afraid of? When Sandra barks at you, you’re afraid to respond to her. What are you afraid could happen if you did try to respond?”

Michael could not answer that question, and I was not surprised by this. People rarely have a clear understanding of their fears, which often have deep roots in the past. Moreover, their fears distort their thinking, so fears make a mess of everything. We talked until Michael freely agreed with all of the following:

1. He was afraid that everything his wife was saying was right: that everything he did was wrong, that he was a complete screw-up, and that he was the cause of all her unhappiness. He had learned that if he tried to argue with her, she just proved in greater detail—she presented even more evidence—that everything she said was true.

2. He was afraid of not feeling loved. He was afraid of her disapproval. In virtually every interaction with her, she attacked him and loudly communicated the “I don’t love you” message, so he did whatever he could to avoid that message. He learned that if he backed down from her, she stopped blaming and attacking sooner, so the “I don’t love you” messages stopped sooner. It’s ironic that at every opportunity victims scream that other people are hurting them and are failing to love them, but in response to their pain they hurt other people and fail to love them—the very crimes they condemn.

3. He was afraid that their relationship would never change. Sandra had been acting like this for many years, and if he said nothing, at least he could hope that she might change with time. Each time he spoke to her, however, he received plentiful confirmation that she was on an undeviating course of misery and despair. It was very discouraging to him.

“Michael,” I finally said, “you don’t have a relationship with Sandra at all. You’re a prisoner—a hostage. Sandra just owns you.”

“I never saw any of this,” he said. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Of course you didn’t see it. It’s all been quite unintentional—for both of you. So if you didn’t see it, there’s also nothing to be embarrassed about. The question is, Do you want to continue like this, or do you want to change it?”

“Oh, I want to change it. I’m tired of it. But I don’t know how to change it.”

“Of course you don’t know how, or you would have long before now.”

I first explained to Michael that helping Sandra to stop her victim behavior would be a very loving act on his part. Sure, it would be a relief for him not to be attacked constantly, but it would also be an enormous benefit to her. As long as she was acting like a victim, she could never be happy. Victims are constantly buying Imitation Love with their behavior, so they can never feel unconditionally loved. If we can help them see their behavior and stop it, we introduce the possibility that they might begin to feel Real Love and genuine happiness.

Further, I wanted to demonstrate to Michael that he played a critical role in her behavior as a victim. “Michael, why do people behave as they do?” I asked.

At first he looked confused, but then he began a discussion about genetics and training and culture. I stopped him after a couple of sentences and said, “Let’s make this simpler. On the whole, people behave as they do because they get something from it. Babies cry because their parents come running and give them whatever they need. Thieves steal because it gives them a livelihood and a sense of power. In short, we behave as we do because our behaviors get us what we want, and if a given behavior begins to consistently fail to produce a positive result, we tend to give up that behavior. When we were infants, we cried to get what we wanted. When we became older, most of us were told that crying was no longer an acceptable means for accomplishing that end—in fact, many of us were punished for crying—so we gave up that behavior and learned other ways of getting what we wanted.”

“The same is true with victims,” I continued. “They continue their behavior because they GET something from it. When Sandra acts like a victim with you, she gets your attention, your time, your sympathy, your guilt, your cooperation, your frustration, your helplessness, and your complete involvement in her emotional drama. She becomes the queen of the hour, and in her distorted world, that seems like a lot. In the absence of Real Love, all that Imitation Love seems like it’s a lot better than nothing at all. But it’s really killing her. Somebody has to finally cut off her supply of Imitation Love. Somebody has to quit rewarding her for this game she plays. You can’t stop her from acting like a victim. You can’t control her, but you can stop rewarding her behavior.”

“How do I do that?” Michael asked.

Then I explained to Michael what he might do on the occasions when his wife acted like a victim and began attacking him (and I’ll paraphrase here).

1. First remember why she’s attacking you. She’s only responding to emptiness and fear. She’s just drowning. It’s not about you.
2. Remember that you don’t need her to love you in that moment. You never need any one particular person’s love. You have other people who do care about you. This will require that you tell the truth about yourself to other people who are loving you unconditionally.
3. As soon as she starts acting like a victim or attacking, interrupt her. This might sound rude, but it’s important not to let her go on and on. Why? The idea is not to prevent her from attacking you. It’s to help her. The more she spouts her venom without interruption, the more she stays in a pattern that keeps her from feeling loved and loving. In addition, she interprets your silence as agreement with what she’s saying, and then she feels even more justified in her victimhood—which again will keep her in this unproductive way of living.
4. First indicate that you have genuinely listened to what she was saying. This is very easy to do. Victims usually make their point in the first few seconds they speak, and then they repeat it over and over again, with only slight variations. That’s why interrupting them makes very little difference. I’ll give you some examples of what really listening to her looks like.
5. Point out to her what was true or not true about what she said, rather than responding to the emotions or attacking of what she was saying.
6. Describe the choices available to her—more productive choices in her behavior—the choices she obviously does not see. Victims feel victimized precisely because they feel as though people and circumstances have left them with no choice but to react with misery and Protecting Behaviors.

This is a general description, the application of which will become clearer shortly. I also told Michael that he couldn’t hope to experience any success with this if he didn’t feel loved himself. So I recommended that he tell the truth about himself to some friends, or that he participate in the conference calls on www.RealLove.com. If he didn’t feel loved himself, he would interact with Sandra in an unloving way, and then it wouldn’t matter what words he used with her. She would only feel attacked or manipulated, and she would respond with increasingly victim behavior.

Michael had been in a rut with Sandra for a very long time, so changing the way he interacted with her was not easy or smooth. The first few times Michael tried what I suggested, Sandra erupted like a volcano. She was not about to give up her long-established pattern of behavior easily. But Michael persisted, despite his fears, and within a couple of weeks he began to experience quite a number of successes.

One afternoon, for example, Sandra walked into the kitchen and launched into a loud and bitter tirade about the condition of that room. It was a “horrible mess,” it was “never clean,” Michael “never helped her with anything,” and so on.” The mess had been created by their two children, whose job it was to keep it clean, and she was upset by the mess, the fact that the children created it, and that Michael didn’t more closely supervise the kids to make them do their work.

After perhaps twenty seconds, Michael raised his hand and said, “I would like to see if I’m getting the message of what you’re saying. May I do that?”

Sandra looked surprised but said, “Okay, I guess.”

“The condition of the kitchen is unacceptable to you, and you’re quite unhappy about it. Does that pretty much sum it up?”

“Well, that’s not all,” she said. “You never—”

“Oh, I know you want to repeat what you said and drill it in, but I pretty much got the general message. Now, let’s look at some of the details. You said the kitchen is a ‘horrible mess.’ I certainly understand that it’s less than you’d like it to be, but would ‘horrible mess’ be accurate? I see a few things out of place on the counter, and a couple of places need to be wiped up. If there were an outside ‘kitchen critic’ here to judge the place, would this be called a ‘horrible mess,’ or would it be called ‘mildly untidy?’”

“Well, okay, so maybe not horrible, but—”

“Okay, so not horrible. Everything in life is a decision we make. You came into the kitchen and made a decision to call this a horrible mess and then, based on that assessment, to blow up—to thrown away your happiness. Now we’ve discovered that it’s not really a horrible mess. So, now you have a choice to make. Choice A: You could realize that your initial impression was a mistake and decide to give up your anger, since you’d be angry over nothing. Choice B: You could continue to be angry, even though the kitchen isn’t really a horrible mess. That doesn’t make much sense to me, since you’d be choosing to throw away your happiness when you could simply choose to be happy instead.”

Sandra made a horrible face as she could see her entire life of victimhood slipping away, and she was not about to let this happen without a fight. She said, “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t live with a mess like this. I do think it’s horrible.”

“Fine,” Michael said. “You have the right to decide what is horrible to you. So, we’ll back up and call the kitchen horrible. Doesn’t matter. You still have a choice whether to be happy or not. No matter what the condition of the kitchen, you can still choose to be happy and loving, or you can choose to throw it all away and be blaming and miserable.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If somebody makes a mess in my kitchen, of course I’ll be upset.”

“You say ‘of course’ as though there were no other choice, but it’s obvious that there is another choice, because I can describe other choices. For example, I am standing in the same ‘horrible mess’ that you are, and I am choosing to realize that our two children are just kids. They are learning to be responsible, and in the process they will make mistakes. If they haven’t learned to be responsible, in fact, it’s probably mostly our fault—that we haven’t taught them well, that we haven’t applied consequences consistently, and that we haven’t unconditionally loved them well. So I can hardly be angry at them for what I haven’t taught them. I also realize that I need to teach them lessons in responsibility, and they certainly won’t learn these lessons better while I’m angry at them. They’ll only feel unloved and defensive. Anger will only fill our home with a tension that will destroy love and any possibility of happiness and learning. Realizing all that, I choose not to be angry. I don’t know why you’d want to make the unhappy choice—being angry—but it’s there if you want it. I’m just pointing out that you always have a choice in all this. What choice do you want to make?”

Michael then went on to examine other phrases that she had used, such as “never clean,” and that Michael “never helped her with anything.” He freely admitted that the kitchen wasn’t as clean as she would like all the time, and then he asked her to look at whether the phrase “never clean” was accurate. It was not. He also admitted that he had often failed to be the loving partner that he wished to be, but he helped her see that “never helped me with anything” was simply not true. Then he outlined the choices available to her, which involved choices about happiness, follow-up with the children, and lessons with the children on responsibility during regular family meetings.

Sandra was somewhat confused and frustrated by this conversation, but she did stop her blaming and attacking on that occasion. Michael continued to have interactions like this with Sandra over the succeeding several weeks, and about two months after my first conversation with him he called me.

“It’s been five days,” Michael said.

“Since what?” I asked.

“Since Sandra had a fit with anybody over anything.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. How long has it been since she’s had a run of non-victim days like that?”

“Judging from what her family says, I’d say since she was four.”

Michael then described one event after another, easily a dozen occasions, where Sandra was inconvenienced and had had plenty of opportunity to express her anger, but she didn’t.

“What’s it like around your home now?” I asked.

“It’s so much happier that I can hardly begin to describe it. And Sandra is like a different person. Almost unrecognizable.”

Michael was afraid of the victim tools that Sandra had honed over the years, but he exercised the faith required to change the way he had always interacted with her—despite her initial resistance, which was intense—and the results were hugely positive. He removed her usual rewards for acting like a victim, and she responded by deciding that it wasn’t worth acting like a victim any longer. That required enormous courage on Michael’s part and a decision on Sandra’s part to stay in her marriage and try something different. She could have decided to become more of a victim and eventually leave her marriage, but she didn’t.

I mentioned earlier that I would be telling you about two men, so now let’s turn our attention to the second man, John, who was similar in age to Michael and married to a woman whose behavior was quite comparable to Sandra’s. Much as I had with Michael, I encouraged John to break the cycle of victimhood with his partner, so that Real Love and happiness could replace the blaming and misery that had long characterized their relationship.

But John was too afraid of his wife to do what I suggested. When he tried to interrupt her tirades, she became furious, and he immediately backed down. When he did that, she was promptly rewarded for her attacking and learned—once again—that victimhood was the way to survive in the world. John could not exercise enough faith that if he persisted long enough on a course of love and truth, the pattern of victimhood could be broken.

Why did John fail? Perhaps he couldn’t feel the love of others while he was being attacked by his wife. Perhaps he had just been wounded too badly in the past, so when his wife attacked him, the sum of the old wounds and present fears became too painful to bear. Perhaps he got enough reward from his own victimhood that he was reluctant to give that up. It’s hard to know the exact origins of fear in a given case, but his fears were understandable in a general way, because the onslaught of a victim is certainly frightening. Victims often terrorize the people around them, using every means at hand, until they get what they want.

The stories of John and Michael highlight the effects of victimhood, and also demonstrate that we can always make choices to change this behavior and to find happiness in our lives. Inconvenience, pain, and injustice will always occur. How we are affected by these conditions, however, is always a choice we make. We don’t have a choice about being victimized, but we always have a choice about feeling and acting like victims. Always.

Moreover, we can change the way we interact with the people who act like victims toward us. We must understand that we cannot stop people from acting like victims, but we can certainly change the way we respond to them, thereby freeing us from the bondage of these sick relationships. In many cases—like that of Michael—we can stop our interactions with victims and point out to them that they do have choices other than blaming and misery. With some victims, however—like with our bosses—it may not always be possible for us to point out their behaviors or their alternative choices. But we can always choose how we feel about the blaming of a victim. We can remember that the victim is empty and afraid and responding to a lifetime of not feeling loved. The victim is drowning. The victim’s behavior isn’t about us. In short, we don’t ever have to feel personally attacked by a victim.

It’s all about choice, isn’t it? Happiness is a choice. No matter what happens to us, we can choose to feel loved and loving and happy, rather than feel like victims or act like victims. And no matter how much people act like victims around us we don’t have to accept their invitations to be miserable with them. We don’t have to accept their blaming and accusations and guilt. We can choose to be happy instead. Why not make that choice?


January 20, 2009

A Matter of Life and Death

Not long ago a man—we’ll call him Bill—was talking to me about an argument that he’d been having with his wife, Melissa. After hearing people describe a few thousand of these conversations, I’m impressed with how similar they really are at their core. Bill was frustrated that she wasn’t changing to suit his needs more quickly, and Melissa was annoyed that he wasn’t more sensitive to her. Bill was absolutely certain that he was right, and I gathered from his comments that she was just as certain that she was right.

Now, to be sure, Bill was right about a number of issues. It’s true that Melissa was not listening to him, she was not being cooperative, and she was not being kind toward him, but he was entirely wrong about his conclusion: that what was needed in this situation was for Melissa to change her behavior. If he had managed to assert his will with her and control her completely—which probably would have delighted him in the short term—he would not have achieved a happy marriage, only a slave-owner relationship with a very unhappy wife. No, Bill didn’t need to change Melissa in this situation. He needed to learn how to become more loving toward her. Regrettably, the two of them had been battling for control—and defending each other—all the years of their marriage, despite the fact that this approach had never worked.

After listening to his complaints for several minutes, I asked him, “Bill, if Melissa had a heart attack right now, and her life were hanging in the balance, do you think you could stop complaining and simply take care of her?”

He was silent for a moment before he answered. “Yes, I suppose I could.”

“So, why can’t you do that now? Why can’t you spend more time now thinking about what she needs instead of complaining so often and loudly about what she’s not doing for you?”

“That’s different. If she had a heart attack, that would be a matter of life and death.”

“So is this, Bill. But in this case, it’s a matter of life and death for both of you. You two have been married for years, and for most of that time you’ve been angry, and complaining, and attacking each other, and acting like victims, and withdrawing from each other. Now pay attention to this next part: Each time you make one of these unloving choices, you’re taking a step toward misery and emotional and spiritual death.”

Bill looked skeptical, but I continued. “This isn’t some metaphor I’m using here. You two are literally dying inside, and eventually you won’t be able to step away from the darkness that’s consuming you. Death will just suck you in with a force you won’t be able to resist. The problem is, as you’re making these selfish choices, you’re still breathing and eating and walking and talking—nobody actually dies physically—so the consequences of your choices don’t appear to be as serious as a heart attack. And, between your arguments, you seem to recover emotionally, so you underestimate the seriousness of each conflict. But the effects of these conflicts accumulate—like toxic waste—and eventually they become overwhelming. Each choice you make today—each choice to be either loving or selfish—really is a matter of life or death. They may not be as obvious as the choices associated with a heart attack, but they’re every bit as serious. So, now I’m asking, When will you take these choices as seriously? If you don’t, you won’t just lose your marriage. You’ll lose the ability to be happy yourself.”

I emphasized to Bill that it was not my intent to scare him. This was not a hellfire and brimstone sermon. The goal of life is not to avoid pain, misery, and death. My intent was to demonstrate that he was barely enduring a life in hell when he could have been choosing to fully live a life of joy instead. Why should we choose to barely survive from one conflict to another, when we can choose to live spectacularly?

Bill got off the phone and apologized to Melissa for being selfish, not just on the occasion of the argument we’d been discussing, but for their whole marriage. He didn’t change his life and his marriage overnight, but from that moment he began to think more carefully about each of his choices—whether they were loving or not, whether they contributed to a life of happiness or a life of misery and emotional death.

And so it can be for all of us. So many of us wait until the end of our lives to consider the impact of all those choices we made. We look back and, with unspeakably tragic regret, think “if only.” Now is the time to be thinking of the life and death consequences of each of our choices, and, if we will do that, we can gradually learn to make the decisions that lead to love and happiness, now and for the rest of our lives.


December 10, 2008

Compacting the Soil

Recently I completed a plumbing project in my backyard, which necessitated my digging a ditch eighty feet long. When I had finished connecting all the pipes, and when I was certain that the water was flowing properly, I began filling the ditch back in with dirt. At one point in the process, a friend happened by and asked me what I was doing. At that moment I was pushing pieces of clay under a section of pipe and vigorously pounding the clay down with the end of a piece of wood.

“What are you doing?” my friend asked.

“Compacting the soil,” I answered.

“What?” He seemed perplexed by my answer, explaining that he had filled in many holes and ditches in his life but had never done anything like what I was doing.

So I explained to him the rationale behind soil compaction. When soil has settled for a long time, it becomes densely compacted, through the forces of gravity, water, and other influences. When a hole or a trench is dug, the soil that is removed is dramatically loosened—by way of the introduction of air pockets and irregular surfaces to the soil—such that the soil removed cannot begin to fit back into the hole from which it was taken.

In some cases, it’s not important—or desirable—that all the dirt taken from a hole first perfectly back into the hole from which it was removed. When I dig a hole to plant a small shrub, for example, I wouldn’t want to put all the excavated dirt back into the hole. If I tried to force all the dirt back into the hole, I’d injure the roots of the plant.

In many instances, however, it is important that we get as much of the dirt as possible back into the hole. Actually, what matters most is not the amount of dirt we replace but the way we do it. In order to get all the dirt back into the hole or the ditch, we must carefully and sometimes rather forcefully push the dirt against the bottom of the hole as we shovel it in—a process known as compaction—because as we do that, we eliminate the air pockets and return the soil to the dense, tight condition it possessed before we dug it out of the hole.

Compaction can be done with your feet, with the end of a board, with motorized devices, or any number of makeshift tools, and if it’s done properly, the compaction must be done every time four to six inches of soil is shoveled into the hole or ditch. But many people try to shortcut the compaction process. They will, for example, fill up a six-foot-deep hole and stomp on the dirt only at the end of the project, not realizing that compaction then happens only in the upper few inches of the hole. Over time, rain and gravity will compact the remainder of the dirt, and as the soil settles, whatever rests on the top layer of the soil—a house, a road, and so on—will sink, usually in an uneven and unpleasant way.

It is often because of poorly performed compaction that you see so many places in city roads where repair jobs have resulted in depressions in the road and bumps for all the drivers that happen by. Or you can look out over a cemetery, and you will see many monuments tilted this way or that—because of irregular or no attention to compaction during the replacement of dirt after digging. Many houses built on hillsides have had their foundations laid on dirt that was brought in to build up the ground for some part of the foundation. But if the compaction was improperly done, the dirt later settled and the foundation cracked.

And that was why I was compacting the soil under the pipes I had laid. My ditch was on a slope, and as I dug I found it difficult to keep the bottom of the ditch at exactly the same angle for the entire distance. When I laid the pipe, I therefore discovered that in some places the pipe touched the compacted dirt on the bottom of the ditch—as it was supposed to—while in other places there was a gap of several inches between the pipe and the bottom of the ditch. If I had simply thrown all the dirt into the ditch to cover the pipes, the soil would have settled over time and exerted pressure on those sections of pipe not touching the bottom of the ditch, bowing and distorting them, which would have created the possibility for breaks or separations at joints in the pipes. My compaction of the soil eliminated that possibility.

Building foundations of dirt is not entirely unlike building the foundations of our lives, which also must be laid carefully, layer upon layer, each properly compacted, or the entire structure may fail. I see the importance of these foundations as people come to me with the complicated problems in their lives, often conflicts with their spouses or children or co-workers or whoever that have burdened them for a long time. They want me to offer them a quick fix.

But there is no quick fix, and the problem is not complicated. Almost uniformly the problem is a basic lack of compaction. They’re having problems because the soil wasn’t properly laid down and compacted in the first place, and now they’ll have to do some work on the foundation before they can work on the walls or the roof. Before we can work on what we believe to be “complicated conflicts,” we have to learn to tell the truth about ourselves. We have to learn to find more Real Love in our lives. We have to feel more loved and become genuinely more loving. We must understand the Law of Choice and truly respect the right of other people to make their own choices because we really care about them. All this lays a firm foundation for genuinely loving relationships, and then conflicts simply begin to fade away. We discover that they weren’t really all that complicated, as we had supposed.

A man once came to me, eager to eliminate the anger in his life. He had been eaten up with anger for decades, inwardly fuming at the world for its many injustices and outwardly blowing up at everyone around him for all their many crimes against him. People were afraid of him, and he tended to isolate himself from them. He had virtually no long-term relationships, even with his family. He’d been through three divorces. He’d been to therapy, but his anger persisted. I suggested that we meet a few times.

I didn’t do anything complicated. I just loved him. We talked. I asked him to tell the truth about himself, and I just loved him. After a few meetings, he called and said that for the past week something had been happening to him, and he wanted me to explain it to him. He said that the same old stuff had been happening to him—his truck had broken down, his boss had yelled at him, the rain had washed out part of his driveway, some drivers had cut him off in traffic, and so on—but somehow he had “forgotten” to get angry. In the past all those things would have sent him into a rage, but now they just didn’t seem to bother him, and he couldn’t figure out what was different. Now he just didn’t care when those things happened, and he called to ask me why.

I explained to him that his foundation was now in place, so that each time it rained—each time somebody did some little thing to him—his foundation didn’t settle or wash out from under him, leaving him empty and afraid, after which he then reacted in the only way he’d ever known: with anger. He understood.

We have to compact our soil We have to tell the truth about our emptiness and fear and our Getting and Protecting Behaviors to people who will love us unconditionally. And then we have to practice sharing that love with others, so the love within us will steadily grow. And we have to do all that gradually, in steps, compacting the soil as we go, so that when difficult times come—which they always do—the entire foundation won’t wash away. And if we’re willing to do that, we’ll be able to build a loving home in which we’ll want to live, a place where we’ll want to invite others to share the love and joy we have. It’s quite a way to live.

November 28, 2008

Parents and Children as Legal Adversaries

On thousands of occasions now I have listened to parents describe to me the difficulties they have experienced with their children, and often they have expressed their frustrations at how hopelessly complicated their struggles have become. Parenting often seems to become a contest of wills between the parent and child, mediated by an increasingly complex set of rules that eventually becomes entirely unworkable.

Recently I came across an article in USA Today—June 13, 2007, p. 11A—written by Jonathan Turley, Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at George Washington University, which nicely illustrates the futility of this power struggle. Mr. Turley writes:

“All children are born with an innate sense of the law . . . You can actually track your kids’ development by the legal arguments they make. Take it from me, the best way to prepare for parenting is to take a law course at your community college.”

I understand Mr. Turley to be writing this with his tongue planted against his cheek to a certain extent, but what follows proves that his advice is mostly quite serious. He continues:

“Takings. The Constitution prohibits the taking of property without compensation by the government. Within their first two years, all children embrace this principle with a vengeance. Parents learn they must compensate for any item removed: a toy for the car keys; a cracker for the 12-inch butcher knife.”

The author actually advocates that parents participate in this practice of exchange with children. When parents fall into this practice, however, they teach their children that good behavior must be purchased and that everything in life is a trade. This is an unspeakably dangerous principle for a child to learn, and it virtually guarantees that children will turn into adults who are selfishly motivated in everything, thinking only of themselves. They learn to insist on some kind of trading in everything else and become miserable partners in marriage, in business, in their communities, and in other relationships. This parenting approach also ignores teaching the child that his or her original taking of the car keys or the knife—to use the example in the preceding paragraph—was simply wrong in the first place. Now, back to the lawyer:

“Contracts. By 3, negotiating with kids is like working with little teamsters on a labor contract. Bring a sandwich truck to the site; it becomes part of the contract. Likewise, once a parent buys a scone at Starbucks or allows cartoons in the morning, it is part of an unwritten but enforceable contract. This develops into a form of collective bargaining with the addition of another sibling: any benefit to one is instantly an expected benefit to the other. Break the contract and you’ll face work stoppages, unending protests and even sabotage that ranges from spilled milk to items in the trash can.”

The author suggests that parents become lawyers rather than real parents and that children become both litigants and their own attorneys. Imagine giving up your childhood by age three to take a job as a lawyer to represent yourself in contract negotiations? And yet that’s exactly what most children do. Mr. Turley:

“Due process. By 6, kids will insist on full due process in adjudicating their claims. Major penalties such as loss of Game Boys require something close to a full trial with two days of arraignment, jury selection and sequestration—and inexhaustible appeals.”

What a painful and utterly fatiguing way to live, both for children and adults. But I see this enacted in families everywhere I go. The attorney-author concludes:

“The final years of adolescence are filled with conflicts over search-and-seizure rules, and the monitoring of electronic communications without probable cause. Of course, by the time your child reaches the late teenage years, you have become the Alberto Gonzales of parents: continual surveillance, spontaneous searches, detention without appeal.”

Keep in mind that Mr. Turley is describing his own experience with adolescents, and it’s little wonder that he would have such experiences if he approaches parenting from the perspective of a lawyer. But children don’t need to be raised by a lawyer. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with having a parent who happens to be a lawyer, but children will not benefit from the environment of a lawyer’s office or a courtroom. What they need is to be loved unconditionally and to be taught what is right and wrong. On many occasions, loving them even involves telling them no. Children benefit enormously from that loving act.

When a child feels unconditionally loved, and when a child understands what is right and wrong, that child doesn’t need to be bribed to return what doesn’t belong to him. He doesn’t need to be forced by a contract to do the right thing, nor does he resort to work stoppages when occasional injustices arise. Children who feel loved don’t engage in endless conflicts with their parents, nor do their parents require—in the words of the article—“continual surveillance, spontaneous searches, or detention without appeal.”

Laws and contracts have never created happy people, in the same way that treaties have never created lasting peace between nations. Only love can accomplish these goals. It works the same with children. It’s our job as parents to learn to become loving ourselves first, so we can in a loving way teach our children how to become responsible and loving, the qualities that will ensure their happiness. That’s what we all really want as parents: happy children, not successful lawyers.


November 25, 2008

The Song of the Lark

I once met a woman named Andrea, who had been in one miserable relationship after another, and she was looking for help in breaking this unproductive pattern. As I described the principles of Real Love to her, she was relieved and excited to discover an explanation for the previously confusing events in her life. She understood that her behavior stemmed from a lack of Real Love, and I suggested that she spend time with people who could love her unconditionally. At first Andrea was enthusiastic in her response to my suggestions, but within a few months she had vanished from the conference calls and was no longer making any effort to reach out to people individually. Understanding Andrea’s behavior is important, because it represents the response of a great number of people to the principles of Real Love.

Andrea had never been unconditionally loved. When she was a child, her parents and others had demonstrated acceptance toward her only when she did the “right” things—when she was obedient, quiet, cooperative, and otherwise made them feel good. As an adolescent, she matured sexually and discovered that if she were sexually attractive and available, she could consistently feel even more accepted, important, powerful, valued, and “loved.”

But the pleasure of buying the affection of others was very fleeting, and it never made her genuinely happy. Surrounded by men who showered her with attention, she still felt alone and miserable, and her relationships were shallow, unfulfilling, and short-lived.

When Andrea began to tell the truth about herself to those who were capable of loving her unconditionally, she tasted her first morsels of Real Love, and at first she enjoyed this very much. But she was unaccustomed to this new experience, and before long she stopped her efforts to be genuinely seen, accepted, and loved.

In order to explain Andrea’s behavior, allow me to compare our initial experiences with Real Love to the distant song of a lark, soft and sweet. Unless we listen for it carefully, we may not hear it. The closer we get—and especially the more closely we listen—the more clear and beautiful it becomes. Similarly, Real Love is often a distant and subtle song, but with desire and experience this power can fill us and change us completely.

By contrast, the sounds and feelings of Imitation Love are usually loud, intrusive, and distracting, like listening to a rock concert at high volume. Under these conditions, we’re utterly distracted and can’t hear anything else. We can’t hear other people’s voices, approaching footsteps, or even a siren down the street. Certainly we can’t hear the distant song of a lark. While under the distracting—even overwhelming—influence of Imitation Love, it is virtually impossible to feel the comparatively subtle feelings of Real Love, at least initially.

When Andrea first experienced Real Love, she was intrigued. She even experienced some of the sensations of feeling unconditionally loved, but she remained distracted by the continued blaring of the rock band of Imitation Love in her life. She couldn’t fully sense or accept the Real Love she was being offered because her entire being was accustomed to a different feeling. She was “listening”—emotionally and spiritually speaking—for the louder and coarser sensations that she had always received from the praise, power, and pleasure of sex, for example. She was used to these feelings, like old friends. These feelings were like headphones clamped to her head on full volume, shutting out all other feelings. The feelings of Imitation Love in her life were so distracting that she couldn’t hear the song of the lark. She couldn’t feel the Real Love that was being quietly offered to her.

We can learn to hear the song of the lark. We can learn to listen for the “sound” and feeling of Real Love as we practice telling the truth about ourselves. We must also make conscious decisions to step away from the incessant banging and distractions of the Imitation Love around us, or we’ll never sense the life-giving chorus of Real Love even when it’s nearby. We must make conscious decisions not to manipulate people for praise, approval, money, sex, and power but instead to reach for the song that will bring us joy.

As we find the song of the lark, we also discover that it can become a symphony that has the ability to drown out the distraction of all other sounds. As Real Love fills our souls, we can teach others how to listen for it. Finally, we can learn to sing the song ourselves, each of us with our melody, harmonizing with those around us. It is a song of great power—with the ability to heal, to connect, and to bring unlimited joy.

November 11, 2008

The Simplicity of Conversations

Almost every day I talk to people in conflict: couples, parents and children, people in the workplace, and so on. On many occasions—perhaps most of the time—the people involved in these conflicts become so confused by the details of their arguments that resolution becomes impossible. The threads of their disputes entangle them like a consuming ball of yarn that sucks them in and never lets them go. Moreover, the sources of conflict can seem endless. Look at couples, for example, who argue over money, sex, housekeeping chores, children, mothers-in-law, ex-spouses, and so on.

People can begin to understand their conflicts much better—and certainly resolve them more effectively—when they distill the details and recognize the real meaning of the many words they speak in their dissensions. We become far too distracted by all those words.

In order to illustrate how we become distracted by too much information, imagine that we are traveling in the desert, and we discover a man collapsed by the side of the road. His skin is dry and hot. His temperature is slightly elevated. He is barely coherent and answers whatever questions we ask but volunteers no information. We take him to a nearby hospital, where we perform a number of tests. His SGOT and a number of other liver function studies are mildly abnormal. His serum glucose is low. His urine output is decreased. His visual fields are constricted. His MRIs show nothing specific.

We are puzzled as to his condition until the young daughter of one of the technicians ambles up to the bedside of the man and asks him if he is hungry. Finally, he perks up and nods his head. We bring him a tray of food and drink. Within an hour, he becomes a different person before our eyes, communicating freely with us. As we were concentrating on all the details, we had missed the meaning of all the information we were gathering. We had failed to understand that he was simply dying of hunger and thirst.

Every day—often every hour—most of us miss the meaning of the behavior of the people around us, as well as the meaning of our own behavior. In order to be happy, what we all need most—all of us, not just a few of us—is Real Love. When we understand that, interacting with other people can become quite fruitful and enjoyable. When we forget this important principle—or if we never knew it in the first place—human behavior becomes endlessly confusing and difficult for us.

When we understand the critical need that all people have for Real Love, we also realize that it is almost invariably the case that conflicts really boil down to people not having the love they need. Using the example of a couple, most conversations—no matter what the declared subject and no matter what the words that are spoken—therefore become relatively easy to understand. In the absence of sufficient Real Love the real meaning of the conversations can be understood as follows:

Him: Love me.

Her: Love me.

Him: No, you love me.

Her: No! You love me first.

Him: I said, Love me!

Her: Are you not listening to me? I asked you to love me!

Him: But I need it right now!

Her: But I need it worse!

When people don’t feel sufficiently loved, their conversations become increasingly demanding, and they simply can’t hear the demands of anyone else. It’s like watching two deaf people scream at each other. Rarely, however, do people without love realize that their conversations are about love. They believe they’re having a conversation about money or household chores or children or an ex-spouse, and they become hopelessly confused in those details.

By way of contrast, conversations where Real Love is understood and available go as follows:

Him: Love me.

Her: Okay. What do you need?

In the above example the speakers are partners in a conventional marriage, but that need not be the case. The speakers could be also be a child and parent, or an employee and boss, or a customer and sales representative, or two groups of people, or even two countries.

Not all conversations are about Real Love. When I go to the hardware store and order three two-by-fours, I’m only looking for building materials, but the moment people become animated in their discussions—the moment there is an investment of emotion—the subject of the conversation is Real Love. They’re expressing their need for it, their lack of it, and their immediate desire for it, and if we miss that message, our interactions with those people will go badly. When we understand the primal need that people have for Real Love, on the other hand, we can take steps to listen to them, show our interest in them, accept them, and otherwise care about their happiness. As we do this, we make a powerful difference in our relationships and in our own happiness.