When You Feel Lost

I was warned.

I was warned about bad neighborhoods when I began to explore the world. Relatives portrayed it as an unkind place where bad karma, bad luck, and bad people lurked.

They seemed to mean they waited for me alone.

Parents ought to warn, but not so much as to form a fearful youngster. In time I took my chances and dared to explore.

Not only the city, but myself, the uncovering of my self: exposure to condemnation and humiliation, rejection, and all the common disgraces uncommonly hurtful when they happen to us.

How else, I reasoned, can I be known?

We need to get lost a few times to make our way. We must be disappointed in our fellow man to distinguish those worthy of trust from those who are not.

Our job is to fall down but not stay down. To enlighten ourselves not just from books, but the game, the ladder, and the heart.

Lewis Carroll wrote, “If you don’t know where you are going, any road will get you there.”

He advised us to make goals.

But isn’t taking unknown trails to uncharted destinations also an essential message?

How about “The Road Not Taken”?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Is the verse grim? The poet, Robert Frost, wished us to smile: “My poems … are all set to trip the reader head (first) into the boundless.”

If we take him by the two last words — “the boundless” — perhaps one meaning is to fill life with experiences, adventures, and explorations of the world without and the world within.

Might we reveal to ourselves who we are by searching the unfamiliar places, the avoided challenges, the prospects we fear? How else shall we overcome them and recognize our flourishing resides in growing mastery?

Perhaps misdirection and disorientation lead to unexpected joy.

The admonition “know thyself” cannot be fulfilled without discovering our choices in unaccustomed circumstances, with people different from ourselves, attempting skills not yet expert.

Until we are swept away and carried aloft how can we know where to land?

Enlargement of life comes from living it, unless you enjoy confinement.

Possibility awaits outside the box, outside the lines, outside. Beauty, too.

When I was a boy, I recall older kids saying “get lost” to those young ones they didn’t want nearby. They meant, “stay away.”

But might a wise mentor say to a young man, “lose your way,” as a strange kind of guidance?

Every so often, “getting lost” might be just the thing. Early enough, when time is on your side, before dark.

Until you trod the unpaved, unplumbed, unfamiliar off ramps a few times, you won’t ever discover your hidden resilience.

Perhaps only by getting lost on occasion can we find ourselves.

——-

The first image is Lost Bird Logo by Tánh Nguyễn. Next comes Arnold Böcklin’s Isle of the Dead in its 1883 version, followed by Blossoming by Paul Klee. All are sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

What Your Therapist Didn’t Tell You

Many therapists spend most of a session without uttering a sound. The more they talk, the less they are heard. The more they speak, the less the patient does his own emotional processing.

The more they offer answers, the less the client claims ownership of his happiness, responsibility, and control.

When treatment works, the seeker isn’t passive but active. The new thought is taken, not given. He grasps the reins, a voluntary effort.

Clinicians should rarely propel the train, though they may clear some of the tracks. Persuasion and insistence have limits. A parental, authoritative position creates a struggle for power or dependency.

Repetition is tiresome. Some people won’t change. They sought a remedy with the wish for someone else to do something.

We are not surgeons who administer an anesthetic so you can be redesigned while unconscious. If we possessed a storeroom full of magical potions, we’d be drinking them ourselves.

The counselor asks questions, points in a direction, and monitors the strength of the resistant wind. He manages the temperature and allows hope to enter the room.

Who will reach for it? Not all do.

Like marriages and friendships, there are signs of trouble. The sessions drag, the medic becomes a debater, misunderstandings occur. The analyst drains his life force; perhaps he dreads the next appointment. The psychologist tries too hard, his counterpart too little.

Though the lesson is unwanted, the other’s life is not ours to reshape. The patient has the right to stay where he is, no matter the suffering.

The only adult we can alter is the one in the mirror. The man reflected in the silvered glass must reflect, claim his own agency, and act.

Mallets won’t hammer others to the shape desired. We are not sculptors or portrait painters. Sometimes the best we can do for another person is to give up on our capacity to do him good.

At least this permits him to take back his life.

Some people, including a few “helping professionals,” listen to be heard, to make pronouncements. They do better to listen to understand.

We all have limits. We all have goals and choices. Regarding the latter pair, here are mine for 2020:

To better understand myself and others. To discover an enlightening idea, an unexpected sight or sound.

I choose to search for these; and perhaps to change the world.

Hurdles to Healing: Dissociation, Self-Distraction, and Forgetting the Therapeutic Conversation

I noticed something surprising as a young clinical psychologist. A few of my patients forgot the most significant topics discussed in the previous visit. The client’s memory had been wiped clean as soon as he took a sidewalk step outside.

Let’s break the experience down. We are dealing with various methods of avoidance:

In behavioral avoidance, we stay away from or delay something. Not attending a party, not making a phone call, and side-stepping confrontation all fit the category.

Now think of the failure to recall segments of a penetrating conversation, a separate class of dodging. It is a kind of return to the state of ignorance we inhabited before the talk with the doctor, with an emphasis on the word ignore. This type of avoidance is a more internal, mental event.

Here are examples of the latter:

Dissociation:

One of the signs of dissociation is the fracturing of recollection. Parts of an individual’s lived-experience are compartmentalized, detached, put into a psychic safety deposit box. The mind drifts from ugliness, anxiety, or grief. In effect, the person walks for a while in daylight darkness. “Losing” the feelings and ideas raised in-session is an illustration of the phenomenon.

The occurrence doesn’t signify intention. The “disappearance” is automatic and unconscious: daydreaming, for example, to the point of losing awareness of time passing.

We all “space out” on occasion, but the recurrent loss of the therapeutic thread between sessions is noteworthy. A treatment obstacle exists.

Self-distraction:

Those who take on the unbuffered fury of every problematic life episode become like an unbending tree in a gale, lacking the flexibility to endure its impact. Self-distraction can be a way of moving aside from the indomitable force, at least for a while. Imagine it as akin to taking a breath, gaining strength, and coming back prepared to manage whatever taxes you.

Even so, because psychotherapy must unsettle the client’s internal climate enough to help him change, he mustn’t distract himself most of the time. If after-session contemplation of the therapeutic issues passes in a breeze of internet surfing, work, or socialization, so will the chance for progress.

However much these psychological defenses might be needed, they can also enact a cost. The fraction of the world we evade or forget leaves a smaller world for us to inhabit. Moreover, our acceptance of a miniaturized comfort zone implies a fear that we lack the abilities, resilience, and toughness to stand up to the larger cosmos.

The individual thus shrinks from all the glorious, dazzling, and frightening complexity of the real world. The universe of what is possible contracts: all the foods, adventures, types of people, behaviors, and opportunities for learning vanish. Existence is narrowed and diminished. Walls are built.

Here is an example. I treated many men who didn’t want annual physical examinations. They avoided physicians because they wished to block bad news (illness).

Quite a few of these men demonstrated bravery elsewhere in their lives. In this situation, nonetheless, they escaped reminders to lose weight, stop smoking, exercise, restrict their diet, and reduce drinking. They ignored troublesome coughs and chest pains. Any real malady was no less present, but the fantasy of make-believe health was maintained.

These people willed themselves “blind” rather than taking responsibility for their well-being.

Such individuals evaded conversations reminding them of their mortality and bodily vulnerability. By making a decision not to submit to medical evaluation, they reduced the freedom to know whether they were ill, defeat illness, and display courage in confronting the limitations and hardships connected with disease.

Excuses hid the truth of their existence, the truth of their avoidance of truth:

  • “I’m too busy to go to the doctor.”
  • “He’s just going to tell me X, and I already know it.”
  • “Doctors only want your money.”
  • “My insurance won’t cover the appointment.”
  • “Yeah, I’ll go, but not until next month.”

Whenever we duck taking responsibility for our welfare, we give up a portion of the capacity to shape the world to a different and more pleasing form. Whether alert to what we are doing or not, a choice occurs: to claim as our own the disturbing recognition of our inner and outer world or to bury it.

New knowledge, once aquired, always offers us a question: what are you going to do now and in the future in light of what you know?

As the existential philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre wrote, “If you want x, you will have to (do) y.”

These awarenesses and choices are disagreeable. Otherwise, everyone would make them with ease. They are thrust upon us by the condition of being human. If we keep recognition of our current and past evasions underground, we thereby enlarge the risk of unseen catastrophes, as we do if we walk across the street without looking both ways.

Then, with our eyes ignorant of danger, we are inclined to consider these calamities a matter of hard luck or destiny. External forces appear to have destroyed our dreams. We tell ourselves we couldn’t have changed the outcome.

Maybe, but maybe not.

No one escapes trouble, but some number of calamities are preventable given enough time to prepare. That is, if one chooses to see and accept the freedom to push the boundaries of our knowledge of our psychological world to something closer to full size.

Therapists are wise to take sensitive issues slowly, lest they overwhelm the client, and trigger the tendency to “put away” enlightenment (insight) revealed in the office. Even so, no healer believes he can instill fortitude in another person to face his dilemmas where sprouts of courage don’t exist to be nurtured.

If buds are present, however, the counselor becomes something like the gardener who tends to his plants. His job is to enrich the soil and shelter them from part of the wind and cold.

Then, in the best case, the developed vegetable life — now independent — uproots itself, discovers it has legs and walks into a fuller animal life on his own.

In the end, freedom — the path to growth — is not free.

Whatever our life is to be, whatever it was, whatever historical harm we suffered, the life now and ahead is ours.

We must forever choose to make it.

———

The first image is Papagenato, imported by Archive Team. Next comes Gaze -3, an oil painting by Rajeskharen Parameswaran. The bulldog is called Barlow in Hiding by Andrew Smith. Finally, a Hide Pose by Peter Trimming. All were sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

An Unconventional Therapist in “The Booth at the End”

His “office” is unconventional. The gent’s appearance ranges from casual to shabby. Be assured, however: he provides a potent therapy.

The man’s consulting room is a diner. He doesn’t advertise. Nor will the “counselor” give you his name or say much about himself.

The offered service is free, but not without cost.

A woman finds him in “the booth at the end.She’s heard about the gentleman, been informed he can “do things.

The interview begins. The lady belongs to a religious order, though she dresses in everyday clothes. Her residence is a convent where she lives with others like her.

Sister Carmel’s faith vanished. She no longer hears God’s voice, the Almighty’s call. She wants the fellow’s help to get it back.

The “helper” starts by listening. He writes what she relates in a book. Once the Sister states her goal, he flips through the pages for a prescription:

You must become pregnant.

The nun is startled, horrified. Her vow of chastity would be violated. She doesn’t fathom whether or how to proceed.

Can she bargain for another way?

No.

The stranger is eating as they talk. He doesn’t insist anyone take on the remedy he suggests. The decision to go ahead with the required task is always “your choice.

I can’t do anything. You have to do it.

Little guidance is presented as to “how” to manage the job. Achievement of the chore requires the seeker’s own ingenuity. Those who come with desires often ask for alternatives, something less demanding, dangerous, or harsh.

There are many different resolutions to any given problem. I offer only one. I’m a messenger of opportunity.

Questioning him is unavailing:

Do you believe in God?Answer:I believe in the details.

When they hesitate, he reiterates, “It is up to you.

Additional sessions continue the dialogue. Those who want the help of the person at the diner’s last table are obliged to report their headway. They are promised that once their assignment stands completed, they will receive what they want.

The treatment makes each individual uncomfortable. Their job is difficult, complicated.

Sounds similar to therapy, doesn’t it?

Like psychotherapy, “What one begins one must finish,” an article of faith in the universe of healing, though no one will be forced to complete the process.

Some worry that their actions will harm others. Those repercussions can be severe.

They also wonder how their benefactor accomplishes his work:

There are things I do not know about this world, about people, about how things will turn out. But I know this: there are consequences.

When you start changing the world, you don’t know when the changes are going to stop. No matter what you choose to get, you will be breaking the world as it is.

Indeed, like conventional therapy, the alterations you make in yourself will impact your social network, your family, and your friends.

As the meetings in the restaurant progress, we discover that some of the guru’s visitors hope for the wrong thing. Psychologists call this “miswanting.” They make the mistake of believing if only they could have something — say a dream job or a new baby — life would be transformed for the better permanently.

We are poor affective forecasters — weak at predicting the emotional residue of our choices. Daniel Gilbert and Tim Wilson tell that as time passes, most losses prove less devastating than we first imagined. Equally, most hoped-for gains lose their capacity to sustain the temporary euphoria they offer.

The café “magician” doesn’t say this to his seekers. Yet even without asking, existential dilemmas reveal themselves in the course of their table talk: the shortness of life, the terror of disease and loss; the desire to be prettier, more talented, happier.

The therapist’s business is trading, but it is his clients who must decide what they are willing to trade for what the want. Not just their effort, but their safety, honor, conscience, or freedom.

A detective who is his client gladly goes to jail, though incarceration was not a stated part of the proposed arrangement. The officer was told to find and protect a “corrupt cop.He has learned of his own corruption and expresses gratitude for the knowledge.

Not all are so satisfied with the work they agree to take on in the diner.

This cable TV series ran for two seasons. It is available on Amazon Prime Video and elsewhere, as well as on DVD.

Though the episodes are quirky, therapeutic truth resides in each of them.

I suggest you tune-in, but remember the words of the man in the eatery:There are no guarantees.Just as in the counselor’s office.

Should you watch?

That would be up to you.

Understanding Your Parents

We can blame, accuse, or praise our parents. These acts come to many of us with ease. A more complicated task is to understand them.

An old friend told the following story. His mother was waiting for a baby sitter when he was little. Like all tots, he was attached and needed the security of mom’s nearness.

Having nothing better to do, she decided to hide behind a sofa. No warning was given to her son, no announcement she’d be playing a game of hide-and-seek.

When he called out, she didn’t answer. He ran around the apartment looking. The boy’s search turned into a frenzy. Soon came his screaming breakdown into tears.

Mom jumped out laughing. As my buddy asked me many years later, “What was she thinking?”

Here are some suggestions to help you understand your own parents: what they do, what they don’t, what they think, and how their particular brand of humanity came about:

  • Talk to your grandparents if you still can. Try to find out how they raised their children. Ask them to remember what their small ones were like before and after school arrived in their lives. Observe how these elders connect with their offspring today.
  • Look at old family photos. Ask your folks about them. Who are the unrecognized friends and relatives? What became of the relationships with them?
  • Are the people in the photos happy? If you are captured there by the camera, what was your mood? Was the youthful version of those who parented you remarkably more attractive before time’s transformation? What effect might the change have had?
  • Uncles and aunts are sometimes essential sources of illumination.
  • If you have children of your own, watch how mom and dad interact with them. People do alter, but not everyone does. Their behavior is the closest visible example now available of how they brought you up.
  • One by one, do life history interviews if your father or mother cooperates. Some oldsters will be flattered; others will say no. The reason for their choice might be enlightening.
  • Learn the background of their early years: the places, neighborhoods, and economic circumstances that impacted them. Did they change residences and schools often? With what consequences?
  • Find out about significant life events, the downs and ups of love, vocation, and health. How did they respond?
  • Ask about religion, including movement toward or away from the faith. Do they expect you to “believe” as they do? What values do they hold?
  • How do your caregivers talk about their progenitors? Look at their faces for evidence of emotion. Listen to phone calls between them and your grandparents.

  • Attitudes toward money, status, and material things are useful to know.
  • Friends of the family can supply relevant information if they offer you a factual account. Do your parents maintain long-lasting friendships? Why or why not? When buddies depart or are banished, who gets blamed? Do they make new friends?
  • Research the educational and employment time-line of mom and dad. Did they achieve what they hoped for? How do they explain their success or failure? Do they live to work or work to live?
  • If your folks hold racial, ethnic, or religious biases, attempt to uncover the origin of such beliefs. How do you explain their embrace of diversity or its absence?
  • Do you remind either one of somebody from their past? Were feelings toward those individuals transferred to you because of your likeness? Transference grows not only in a therapist’s office.
  • How do your begetters get along with each other? Who is in charge? Does one criticize the other in your presence or privately express spousal grievances to you? Did you ever occupy the role of a confidant or consoler? Was the keeping of secrets required? Was your well-being considered when they overshared?

  • Do mother and father accept responsibility for their actions? How affectionate are they, how distant?
  • Might they play favorites among their children? Are the ones who gave you life reliable and honest? Do they display preferences among their grandkids? Why?
  • How do these guardians deal with their physical issues, as well as illnesses or injuries you have?
  • In what ways are you like those who cared for you? Don’t say there are no similarities, there always are.

Consider this a start. The understanding of another (not to mention yourself), comes from thinking like a therapist. I’ve offered you questions as a launching pad for your inquiry.

Your understanding will change as life proceeds. Until you reach the stage another person passed through, you lack the knowledge such passage provides.

Attaining a complete grasp of the nature of any life is never achieved in full. In the meantime, remember to live not just a good life, but one enriched by experiences. The clock on your time here is always in motion.

—–

The above images in order: 1. Willem de Kooning, Untitled XI, 1975. 2. Pablo Picasso, Head of a Woman, Summer 1909. 3. Paul Klee, Blossoming. Jackson Pollock, one of his untitled, numbered paintings.

The Risk of Emotional Openness: Of Therapists and Their Pedestals

Most of us in the West assume a stance of “openness” to a degree my parents and immigrant grandparents thought shameful and dangerous. Yet our casual ease in talking about “the personal” still has limits: lines not to be crossed.

On the dark side of that border, one finds all of us who are not “known.By this, I refer to the hidden aspects of who and what we are. In Notes from Underground, Dostoevsky wrote about the parts of ourselves kept below the earth:

In every man’s memories there are such things as he will reveal not to everyone, but perhaps only to friends. There are also such as he will reveal not even to friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. Then, finally, there are such as a man is afraid to reveal even to himself, and every decent man will have accumulated quite a few things of this sort.

I had a taste of my mother’s notion of the proper place of privacy in repeated statements like, “What would the neighbors think?Her family’s advice for what was and wasn’t discussed came from a generation whose education was Eastern European and specifically Jewish.

Amos Oz, the late Israeli novelist, born in 1939, offered this commentary on those who fled Europe for Palestine before the genocidal erasure of their families and friends by the Nazis:

They had no difficulty at all in expressing communal feelings — they were emotional people and they knew how to talk. (But) the moment they tried to give voice to a private feeling, what came out was something tense, dry, even frightened, the result of generation upon generation of repression and negation ... They could never be certain that they would not utter something ridiculous, and ridicule was something they lived in fear of. They were scared to death of it.

Here, perhaps, is a partial answer to why so many of our friendships and romances fail. We want to experience the freedom and comfort of another’s knowing approval, but hesitate to leave more than a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the secrets Doestoevsky mentions.

No signpost to our camouflaged essence directs the curious to know what we want to be known, but dread will be known. The ridicule that terrified Oz’s parents is thus avoided.

Obstructions to external acceptance of our innermost selves are still more numerous. Unlike those mentioned, these come from the deficits in the ones whose respect we crave.

Few potential friends and lovers know how to enter our protected internal spaces or realize they misunderstand us without so doing. Much work is involved in achieving a depth of awareness of another person, time thinking about more than how to win someone’s friendship, or get naked with them.

Our observers see only the surfaces we present. I’m speaking of qualities like our appearance, intellect, or quick wit. We blind people with our externals, intended or not. What is obvious is like the topsoil of a garden, suggesting little of what lies underneath.

Beneath the stereotype applied to their veneers, the beautiful and smart, the handsome and wealthy, are always harder for an observer to see as they wish to be seen.

As amateur analysts of the human condition, we imagine most compatible acquaintances offer no challenges to comprehension. They are thought to be like us in nature, philosophy, and motivation, with perhaps a few variations due to age, gender, race, nationality, and religion.

Not always.

Whatever uniqueness exists in their clandestine attitudes and behaviors often defies stereotypes. The more unique they are, the less likely they will fit our usual classification system.

One group is skillful in lifting the veils of those who might dance away from in-depth exposure of who they are: therapists. With enough talent and experience, they uncover much of the shrouded but exceptional humanity missed by so many.

This quiet recognition astonishes the ones who are now, perhaps for the first time, recognized. The power of the event and the wizardry often attributed to the counselor confers a significant part of the appreciation and, sometimes, the love directed toward him.

The healer’s discovery confers on him a weighty obligation, as well. While he treats many patients and might feel great affection for them, he does not (if playing by the rules) share the same extent of meaningful attachment to them that he receives from them.

Whenever any of us recognizes the inner-truth of an unknown, defended soul, we are placed on a metaphorical pedestal. How do we manage the esteemed position conferred upon us because of our x-ray vision into his heart?

How much care and carefulness, how much gentleness, ought to be given to someone who believes we (and only we) hold the secrets of his universe? 

Regardless of whether one is a therapist or not, we now receive a responsibility we did not seek, ownership of a particular station in the life of the one stripped of his mask. Therapists, close friends, parents, or lovers — almost all of us sometimes take on the weight of this — or walk away in disregard.

No simple directions exist for managing the unsought for status. Comments on therapy blogs make clear that the best mental health experts can leave an indelible imprint. The memory of them may long occupy a living space in the minds and hearts of former clients, not quite a first kiss but still on a high shelf of importance.

In such cases, counselors are inclined to believe they have done their job. While they opened the patient to possibilities, that openness comes with the sometimes painful knowledge that much of their future will be lived without visits to the individual who did the unmasking.

Helping professionals think the toll is worth the reward, but only the client can say this with certainty.

I’m convinced not all do.

We live in a world of love and loneliness. Most of us have experienced both. The impact of being known is extraordinary enough to change the life of the one so revealed and accepted — accepted despite revelation of the dark treasure within their confidential, invisible fortress.

Not everyone you meet risks traveling to this place. Not everyone locates somebody who might hold the key to their closeted existence. No wonder Vincent van Gogh wrote the following in a letter to his brother Theo:

Many a man has a bonfire in his heart and nobody comes to warm himself at it. The passers-by notice only a little smoke from the chimney and go their way ...

The stakes are considerable for the unseen. Their smoke signals disappear in a moment unless repeated. Even then, not all follow the vapor and welcome what they find there.

What else can the undiscovered one do? Will he speak the words and uncover his feelings before a stranger?

The risks echo. Is the hazardous path to “becoming known” a wise adventure or a dangerous one?

Perhaps both.

—–

All of the images above are the work of Mark Rothko. In order, Untitled, 1968; Untitled, (Light Over Grey), 1956; Untitled, (Light Cloud, Dark Cloud, 1957); No. 12, 1960; and No. 17 (Greens and Blue on Blue) 1957. I encourage you to take more than a few seconds to look at any one of these and discover what is beneath the surface impression, a visual analogue to the subject of this essay.

Can the Honeymoon be Saved? The Ultimate Relationship Challenge

If someone tells you what love is, do not believe him.

Thus having given you good reason to ignore me, I shall pretend you’re still reading and provide a possible answer.

First, I’m writing about being “in love” and “swept away,” not a sedate, loving, and less ecstatic attachment. More the honeymoon than the place down the road where engines slow and the fire truck in charge of routine overtakes the couple and douses the flames. Here the dead hand of habit makes an unwelcome appearance.

Before I get to how to forestall that undesirable event, let me speak more about it.

Madness describes the state of new love — “the full crazy.”

Some call it obsession. The idea of the other floods your being with face, form, touch, scent, voice, intelligence, and laughter. Sex, too.

Love makes the world new: everything sparkles. Perception is enhanced, like the change from black & white to colorized, 3-D.

One day ago, you were a sleepwalking, beclouded person. With the sunrise of a new romance, each day is broken open the way a child attacks the gift wrapping on his Christmas presents. You come alive to what it means to be alive.

Love is foolishness and wisdom, silliness and joy, slavery and escape. The bewitched circumstance is so perfect that we make the arrangement a 24-hour cohabitation and risk killing it. “More” is not necessarily better. In a world where we adapt, adjust, do the laundry, and pay the bills, the mundane moves in and makes it a threesome.

Love is falling, but believing you won’t hit the ground. Reason plays little part. Friends question your judgment and warn you. Even astute ten-year-olds witness your rolling eyes. They fear for your safety. Unsolicited words of advice make abstract sense but appeal to a brain taking a smoking break.

This state of euphoria is heedless of tomorrow. One cannot imagine the emotion fading, the beloved aging, troublesome relatives, and quarrels over money. Intensity and gratitude are all.

Whenever amour is the real-deal, you are changed, enlarged. The personal, permanent passport of your existence gets stamped with the name of another, a human possessing an addictive flavor.

Thought alters. You conceive anew what is possible in life because you experienced a sliver of the impossible.

Love, when authentic, inflates your humanity, the capacity to give to another, and the knowledge that the world possesses mountain tops of rapture and well-being. No wonder an abrupt end to this journey rips your insides out.

This glorious condition rarely lasts. Time tends to mold the relationship into a different shape of love. The rip-your-clothes-off, rhapsodic fervor becomes more episodic, a tune you notice less often, assuming it is played at all. Heretofore unseen personality incompatibilities intrude.

The arrival of children enriches a marriage, but also stresses it. For most duos, the grinding of frenzy gives way to the rubbing of friction and familiarity.

Sometimes the marital pair discovers a challenge in their conflicting motivations. People live for love, for the kids, for money and objects, for fame, to live-on in artistic or scientific works, etc. Moving in tandem over a lifetime requires lots of coordination, tolerance of the other, and sacrifice.

Being crazy-in-love doesn’t demand much except a shower and a fresh set of clothes. A life together does.

Much writing offers guidance on perpetuating the enchantment. The list of suggestions includes effort, imagination, surprise gifts, date nights, sexual experimentation, playfulness, and remembering why you fell in love. Kindness, apology, and respect are essential, as is an absence of condescension. The therapist, Esther Perel, believes infidelity with the consent of the mate can also enhance the marriage, though I have doubts.

For the candle of courtship to remain lit, both parties must grow and transform. They otherwise offer nothing new to their partner. Boredom out of the bedroom is a killer of passion within it. While renewed love is not so effortless as the new kind, recapturing a time when you were an explorer to an undiscovered country is worth another safari.

Sensitive conversation is required. Some people listen only to fashion a reply. Instead, the husband and wife must hear to understand.

The wise pair benefits from balancing time together and apart, hours without the spouse, and solo interests as well as activities they share.

If the lovers do not bring fresh ideas into their interactions, nearness becomes a dreadful repetition. Each might take comfort knowing every thought before their companion thinks it, but dullness makes an extramarital affair appear enlivening.

I know a magician, a specialist in racing with the moon when not nursing the rabbit in his hat, who conjured a way to keep marital bliss rolling forever. The plan requires the sweethearts to live in different cities and meet every few weeks, traveling back and forth, sometimes to places beyond their homes.

Habit wouldn’t play any part, but a vacation atmosphere of excitement and adventure would. No children were offered a role in the trickster’s equation. He recommended regular phone calls, however. The wizard guaranteed a “Saturday Night Date” aura to every encounter, no matter the place and time.

Of course, few have the resources or vocation to permit this. Moreover, the urge to join together — the want for “more” — still presents an ever-present risk.

Relationships change like everything else in the world. Youthful newlyweds are endowed with a spark but don’t yet possess the history awarded by age alone. Nor do many of us realize the one-we-can’t-get enough-of lacks the magic to make us whole. That heroic task is a never-finished solo assignment.

The clock takes away but also gives. If grating and the sense of imprisonment in a two-person chain-gang are what remains of the dyad’s past ardor, these souls missed a great opportunity.

Yes, long romance always finds its way to conflict. But shared challenges, mutual support, tragedy endured, joyous memories, acceptance of shortcomings, pride and love for offspring, aligned values, and countless moments of tenderness compensate for the diminished presence of the enkindling thing that brought their hearts together.

The lucky older couple has encountered the absurdity of life as a team, sometimes in laughter, sometimes in tears. In the best of cases, their love is now different, in part because of what they lost, in part because they have transcended the honeymoon.

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The images above in the following order: The Family by Gustav Klimt, Upward by Paul Klee, White Line by Kandinsky, the Red Balloon by Paul Klee, and Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne (aka In Fronto of a Door) by Modigliani.