Greg's Real Love Blog

I try to read a newspaper or a magazine every day. I do that in order to keep somewhat current about the events that surround us and to pick up threads about what some of the best minds in the world are thinking. I also have an opportunity—as I read articles from all over the world—to survey the attitudes of people from around the globe. I have observed that the level of anger in the world is steadily increasing and has reached alarming proportions. We riot in the streets, we go to war with each other, we scream at each other in our relationships—marriage, dating, parent-child, workplace, and others—we shoot guns at each other, and on and on. The ways we manage to be offended by each other—and to offend each other—seem to be endless.

Those who write newspaper and magazine editorials use the word offended—and variations on it—a great deal. They talk at great length about conditions in society, or about events that have happened to them specifically, and they state emphatically how offended they are, or how angry they are, or how appalled they are, and they strive vigorously to enlist everyone else to be offended, angry, and appalled with them.

Of course, the people who are angry and offended almost always offer a great many justifications for their feelings. Invariably they have been sorely mistreated by a person or by a group of people or by an entire society. They may complain of social inequities or judicial injustice or racism or the personal insensitivity of a partner or any of a broad variety of seemingly unrelated violations, but all of these crimes can uniformly be distilled into a single complaint: These people are angry because they believe that someone didn’t care enough about them.

I cannot remember the last time I heard the complaint of an angry person when it couldn’t be summarized by this statement: “I didn’t get the love I wanted or expected.” It is one of the great ironies of life that angry people consistently demand love in an unloving way, which usually makes it very difficult—if not impossible—for the people around them to give them the love they want and need. How horrifyingly and unintentionally counter-productive it is that we almost always create for ourselves the greatest obstacle to our search for the love we sorely need.

In our defense, our unproductive behavior is quite understandable. When we feel unloved, empty, and afraid, it’s natural that we become desperate, and in that condition we tend to become demanding toward the people around us, insisting that they supply us with the love we need. Regrettably, the behaviors we use to demand love almost always provoke in other people their least loving behaviors, and then we don’t get the love we want.

In short, when we are afraid, the reactions that come naturally rarely produce the results we really want, and this is true in many situations outside the arena of finding love. In the forest, for example, if you come across a wild grizzly bear, the natural reaction is to become afraid and to run like the wind, but wildlife experts agree that this is exactly the wrong thing to do. We can’t know what a bear is thinking when we turn and run, but we do know that when people run, the bear usually chases them down and injures them. If we want to survive a bear encounter, therefore, we must learn a more productive behavior, one that does not come naturally. Experts tell us that if a bear comes toward us, we must stand as tall as we can, not look the bear in the eye, and make loud noises by clapping our hands, shouting or banging anything metal, such as pots and pans.

The value of this kind of preparation—learning a more productive behavior to replace a natural, harmful one—can be additionally illustrated by the story of Rick Rescorla, who was the chief of security for Morgan Stanley, an investment banking firm and the largest tenant of the twin towers of the World Trade Center at the time of the terrorist bombings on September 11, 2001. For years prior to the attacks, Rick had been preparing all the Morgan Stanley employees for just such an attack by running them through repeated and time-consuming evacuation drills. He did this despite many other people disagreeing with his assessment of the likelihood of such an event occurring.

When the first plane slammed into Tower 1, the employees in Rick’s firm in Tower 2 could see the building burning, and a Port Authority official—representing the owners of the buildings—came over the P.A. system and urged people to stay at their desks. But Rescorla quickly asserted his authority and began pushing Morgan Stanley people out of the building. When Tower 2 finally collapsed, only 13 Morgan Stanley employees—including Rescorla and four of his security officers, who were continuing to find and help their people—were inside. The other 2,687 employees were safe.

When the planes hit the twin towers, many people died instantly, and many others were located in offices where escape was impossible, but many others had a real choice about living or dying. Some chose to stay at their desks and do nothing. Others chose to go up the stairs toward the roof, hoping for a helicopter rescue. Others calmly and immediately made the choice to walk down the stairs to freedom of the street—like the employees trained by Rick Rescorla—rather than stay in the buildings, which collapsed, killing everyone still inside.

I suggest that in our personal lives we live with emotional Twin Towers that are perpetually at the edge of collapse, and the consequences are more serious world-wide than the consequences of the collapse of the World Trade Center in 2001. When people are unkind toward us—or cause us inconvenience or injustice—they slam their aircraft into our first emotional tower, which is labeled, Offended, or what some people call Hurt. Once that building catches fire, the second tower, which stands immediately adjacent, invariably goes up in flames also. It goes by the name Angry.

Once these buildings are ablaze, of course, we make quite a show of the affair. We call the fire department, the television stations, and everyone we know. We point fingers at everyone we believe responsible for the fire, and, if possible, we set fire to their buildings in return. After all, they deserve to burn for what they have done to us.

In all of our crying and complaining, however, we invariably fail to realize that we are living in the Twin Towers, and no matter how much we complain, the end result of each round of complaints is that the towers fall, and we are crushed under their collapse. Why do we forget the consequences of our actions? Because we get so much from our complaining. It’s all a great show played out on the Field of Death, where people are using Imitation Love and Getting and Protecting Behaviors, and where they all die—emotionally, spiritually, and often physically. People on the Field of Death act offended and act miserable, but in truth it’s just that—an act. They actually love to be offended, because it gives them an opportunity to get attention and sympathy and power. But from all this they never feel genuinely loved, so they end up alone and miserable, doomed to act offended once again.

It is most fortunate that we can learn to get out of the Twin Towers of Offended and Angry, and we can even learn to avoid them altogether, much as Rich Rescorla trained his people to save their lives on September 11. We can learn to understand the behavior of other people, so that we can see them with insight and compassion, at which point we will not be offended by them nor be angry at them. We can learn to find sufficient Real Love in our own lives that we don’t demand Real Love from individuals and groups around us, and then we are not offended when these individuals and groups don’t give us what we need.

As we train ourselves in this way, the world around us literally becomes a different place. We discover that we are no longer trapped by situations that we once found impossible. We can easily avoid the burning Twin Towers, for example, and can help others do the same. Our marriages become safe havens rather than endless sources of conflict. Our children come to us for love and guidance instead of avoiding us and becoming offended by us. We become a source of comfort and calm to individuals and families all around us, literally saving emotional and spiritual lives, in much the same way that Mr. Rescorla saved physical lives on September 11. The value of our preparation—to ourselves and to others—is incalculable. It is in this way that we will bring peace to the earth, not with armies and navies, not even with treaties and agreements.

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.

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.

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.