Why Love is the GOAT

OUR ADDICTION TO COMPANIONSHIP

Several months ago, Peter and I made our way up to a friend’s farm in Lodi, CA to see her baby goats. As we lay in bed the first evening, we excitedly prattled on and on about our past few days, updating ourselves on what the other had missed. We had only been a week apart before our hircine tryst. A gentle silence eased its way in as we both finished our thoughts. Seemingly abrupt, Peter softly spoke aloud the three words I always thought I’d be the first to share. With a smile, I borrowed those same three words, but repaid him back with four. In that moment, and ever since, I’ve been thinking about this concept of “togetherness,” and what it means to authentically and intimately relate to someone.

Throughout pop culture and media, so often we are confronted with the question “What is love?” As a corollary, one might start defining it by the ways in which we express love, an answer to “How do we love?” But as of late, I started wondering about why we love, an esoteric question that crossed my mind as I was reading through one of my favorite psychotherapy texts by Dr. Irvin Yalom. As it pertains to our daily lives, the question admittedly does not yield a very practical answer. However, by pondering this question, it brought forth some insights and enrichment to my own life.

Love exists in so many forms including for individuals, community, country, and even material items. The ability to give and receive love can be understood as two separate processes despite being so closely related. The need and hunger for love arise at a much earlier and more premature stage in development.

Throughout childhood and adolescence, we are often receivers of love. But in an upbringing bereft of such, even in adulthood we can find ourselves needing love more than we can readily give it. And thus, the infantile love—that is, I love you because I need you—prevails and can besmirch our most intimate adult relationships. Conversely, the ability to love is characterized by the opposite—I need you because I love you. It is the unbounded selflessness that marks one’s capacity for loving another.

But why do we love? In the absence of love, there is the austere pit of loneliness. This loneliness, though similar, is not simply interpersonal in that we long to be around others as a social means, but a macabre reminder of our very lonesome existence. After all, we enter the world as we each would leave it: alone. And try as we might, our “selves” can never be as one with another—we are alone.

One may wonder: is love the default mode for our existence, with the experience of loneliness being it’s fallen form—born of a maladapted and undernourished state of being? Or is the ultimate fate of being human actually one of isolation, with love as the ultimate shield to defend against this reality? I’m inclined to believe it is the latter, with love existing to absolve ourselves of the distress that comes with isolation, a panacea to the pain and terror of the overwhelming isolation.

It’s a human desire to exist as part of something or someone else. We exist only as we are remembered by those around us. Indeed, this is one of the most pervasive fears around death itself: the impermanence of our existence, both in physicality and in memory. This frightening realization speaks to and explains our need for love; it is the primary way in which we soothe our primordial angsts. Love from others acts as a savior for the anxieties surrounding loneliness and ultimately death. Thus, one can see how receiving love is wonderful, but what purpose does giving love serve?

In loving others, we soften for them the harshness of this existential isolation. In giving others our love, it is the tacit acknowledgment that we, too, face the same isolation. Ironically, it is only through the experience and understanding of one’s isolation that one can finally transcend it. Because in this process, we cultivate compassion and empathy for the loneliness of others. Compassion and empathy, regarded as some of the most mature defenses, are mutually beneficial to both parties in finding solace.

Though we all need love, I often think about what it would be like to be driven entirely by this need and with no capacity for giving love. An individual consumed by this hunger views others as a resource: a function to serve their needs. This concept is, in part, recapitulated throughout pop psychology: think the “anxiously” attached, a term that is now loosely thrown around on TikTok and Instagram. (That topic deserves its own dedicated logorrheic post).

Because of the intense fear of being alone, these individuals are commanded by their vociferous appetite for the love of others. In treating others as a service, consciously or unconsciously, this ultimately repels and stunts the very relationships that could sate such an appetite. It is a great irony that those who need love the most find themselves having the most difficult time engaging in love.

Peter and I are very comfortable in our relationship. I think we are well-balanced in our affection and love for each other. The comfort that we experience stems from the mere fact that we understand one another. We understand what makes the other happy or sad, how the other responds when under distress, what makes us tick, and why we get out of bed everyday. The more time we spend together, the more we come to understanding each other’s drive, purpose, and internal worlds.

In close and intimate relationships of any sort, there is a dissolution of ego boundary. That is, we adopt parts of the other into ourselves over time. This internalization of the other—day by day and piece by piece—assuages the overwhelming isolation that we face. To experience the world with a sense of togetherness is beautiful, but we realize we cannot abolish entirely the aloneness that comes with life. Co-dependency comes with its own pitfalls. Perhaps this adds to the importance we place upon individuality and the ability to navigate the world on our own. But for the time being, we will be happy companions in this journey.

XOXO,

Howard and Peter