The Mark of True Love: Simplicity

We humans have an immense appetite for complicated things. Neuroscience, astrophysics and molecular biology of course. But also barely decipherable books, abstract works of art and avant garde pieces of theatre without plot or character – all of which perhaps evoke the primordial puzzles of the universe and our own always ineffable existence within it.

But our veneration for complexity can reach a most painful, time consuming and futile zenith in one area in particular: relationships. It is here that we find otherwise discerning and hard-headed people exhibiting extreme patience – often lasting over a succession of tormented years – for what we can call ‘complicated situations.’ The complexities may arise from some of the following dynamics:

— A beloved partner who wants to commit and surely will one day, but not quite yet (on account of this or that factor) or not entirely (because of certain psychological fears) or not conclusively or at least not without certain important caveats (they may need space, freedom or what they call ‘a chance to explore’ – though quite what, we’re still not wholly clear, though we have asked them on many, many occasions).

— A partner with whom there are a lot of misunderstandings; around whom words often lose their standard meanings, around whom we may have to spend hours untangling what was truly meant and around whom gestures or deeds that we previously thought uncontentious suddenly become the occasion for major surprising aggravations.

— A partner who in principle is there for us and in theory loves us very, very much, but in actuality (like last week and the week before that) is constantly remarkably busy, unable to respond to messages, out with their compelling friends or concentrated on their extremely demanding job.

— A partner with whom we sit up late at night on many occasions, with a pad and paper to hand, attempting to determine where the issues are coming from, what is at play and how things might be handled before – baffled and upset – we finally retreat to bed a little after 1am, feeling fragile and tearful.

— A partner whom we find ourselves discussing at almost every turn with our close friends and our therapist, speculating with concentrated energy on what drives them, who they might really be, why they do what they do, how their childhood could have affected them, what their attachment style is, what their most recent antic might truly ‘mean’, all the while peering at them as if they were a mysterious nebulae in an outer galaxy whose workings would concentrate the minds of the most erudite and sophisticated astronomers. 

— A partner who leaves us wondering whether we are not fundamentally daft and broken and pouring over all that we may have done wrong without meaning to: Have we offended them? Are we too demanding? Have we exhibited too little patience for their way of thinking? Perhaps, as they have told us, we want too much, maybe – as they hint – we are being unreasonable. We may never have felt more odd or damaged to ourselves than around this target of our affection.

All this – society sometimes seems to tell us – can just be what love is. No relationship is easy; no human is simple, everything needs hard work. 

It is precisely because this is so often very true that we can omit to notice when, on other occasions, it has in any way ceased to be so; when certain sensible mantras about effort have subtly and dangerously turned into excuses for patience with people entirely unsuited to the business of mutual love.

To dampen some of our risky enthusiasm for emotional complexity, we might remind ourselves of a broad principle operating in relationships that we could term grandly The Rule of Simplicity. This states that in two people who are adequately mature, who have what it takes to function emotionally, who are feasible propositions, love will – overall, taken with perspective – be simple. Yes, there will be certain difficult conversations to be had every now and then, a few tricky moments and a constant requirement for practical effort. But, in essence, there will be a simplicity at play because of a few fundamentals at the heart of the union: they know how to, and want to, love us. And we know how to, and want to, love them.

That’s why they will pretty much always show up on time, answer messages promptly, communicate clearly, be proud of us, tell their friends about us and leave us feeling wanted, calm, sure of our position and able to go to bed (without checking our phones once more) at a sensible hour. Anything less is – we might generalise – a strong indication of something else. Quite what may be a matter for speculation lasting several centuries: it could be a childhood trauma, a mental condition, a consequence of our own misfounded appetites or the result of a tricky bond with a mother or father. But maybe we don’t in the end need to know precisely what is at work. Maybe we can (to follow the rule) just read the complexity as an indication that we shouldn’t be here.

It might be time to stop glorifying questions: where were they? What do they mean? When will they call? If they love us, we will know it. If they want to be there, they will show up. There is only so complicated a relationship ever needs to be. When it is viable, love is – all told – fairly obvious.

If we find ourselves in a union in which were are up all night writing journal entries or peering through our telescope at the latest ambiguous signal, it might be nothing more or less than proof that we have outrun the patience that we should fairly be exhibiting towards any human being. Or, to follow the Rule of Simplicity and to speak more directly, we may just need to get out now.