New benefits

All that said, I’m hugely grateful to be living and loving today. For new order brings new benefits. Our partnerships are now our own, rather than those imposed on us by family or proscribed by community. More dating ‘windows’ throughout life means more go-rounds to discover which relationship decisions help us thrive. More arenas from which to choose mean more ways to find partnership outside traditional boundaries – across culture, belief, class and age range. More freedom to walk away if we pick wrongly means not being trapped for life in an unfulfilling half-death.

And the current challenges are gradually finding solutions. Increased need and decreased opportunity are being met by a battery of ways to meet potential partners. My mother and her generation didn’t imagine using dating agencies or matchmakers, but nowadays they often represent the elite level of the partner-choice range. My grandmother and her generation had never heard of the now ubiquitous speed dating – though I suspect she would have found it all great fun.

Then there’s new technology. In the past two decades the internet has extended choice from the few in one’s ‘village’ to millions worldwide; has given us a plethora of extra ways to reach out to partners through websites, apps and social media; has transformed the courtship process – albeit with the downsides that any newly born innovation brings. The landscape of relationship decision-making has changed for ever; where in the early 1990s, 1 per cent of couples met through technology, now an estimated 33 per cent do and there are claims that by 2040 this number will reach an astonishing 70 per cent.

This enormous social shift is being supported by the development of new knowledge, new insights, new resources. My mother – who was a school teacher as well as an incredibly wise woman – often bemoaned the fact that ‘how to love’ was not on any classroom timetable; her wish is now reality, with the growing crop of relationship courses, workshops, coaching and counselling that has sprung up to meet the need. Love may never in history have been so challenging, but perhaps never before have we been so resourced to meet that challenge.

Being grown-up

The final, tough-love question about readiness is this. Are we yet ‘grown-up enough’ to pick a partner? Mischievously, that very wording is a test; if we’re willing to even consider the question, we’re probably on the way to ready, for success in partner choice often lies in the ability to question ourselves with mature and undefended honesty.

On this point, we turn to philosopher and social psychologist Erich Fromm, whose master work, The Art of Loving, is arguably the seminal statement of our contemporary view of what love can and should be. Fromm outlines in detail what he sees as the supremely ‘grown-up’ task of partnering another human being. In his view, mature partner choice needs the self-belief that we are worth loving, the self-insight to know what we need and the self-control to let go of our needs where necessary. Plus, the ability to teach a partner how to love us, the humility to learn from a partner how to love them and the insight to know that love doesn’t just consist of partnership but constitutes, in Fromm’s words, the ‘only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence’. At which point, most of us will run screaming from the room, thinking that for this weight of responsibility we’re not only unprepared right now but will always remain so.

Let’s not panic. If we can realize that the ‘art’ Fromm speaks of is not one we’re born with but one which, like any art, we learn, then the challenge becomes more manageable. Love is surely not a single act but an ongoing course of lessons. Which means that at this point, as we choose a partner, all we really need to ask ourselves is whether we’re ready to fill in the enrolment form.

Of course, it isn’t only we who need to be ready for love, but also the partner we choose. So it’s more than a good idea to also do due diligence on a potential partner’s readiness. We’re not talking here about the relentless first-date quizzing that makes the person on the other side of the restaurant table reach for the bill after the first course, but a compassionate awareness of whether the person we are beginning to care for is truly free. Do they have time and room in their life for love? Are they over their past relationship or actually still yearning? Are they reaching out to us through genuine attraction or to fill a life gap?

If the answer to any of these questions is ‘unclear’, we may be wiser to step back and allow them the time and space they need. And allow ourselves to find a partner more ready to be chosen.

Moving on

All the above works both ways. For our partners too the ‘past is prologue’, as Shakespeare wrote, and what happened in a partner’s life before the scenes they write with us affects not only who they are but also who they are when with us. Partners steer their course by their own love maps, make their own transferences, have their own stream of negative or traumatic characters and episodes from their own lives. So they may choose us because our ways of being wonderful remind them of wonderful people and events in their past, or because our ways of being difficult remind them of difficult people and events in their past. They too may need to align their expectations, to work through the difference between their hallucination and the reality that is us – and to cope when we deliver the pain that they unconsciously wanted to resolve through being with us. If a partner seems to be reacting in a way that says more about their history than about the present reality of our relationship, it’s worthwhile paying close attention.

It is not all bad news. Though it’s tempting to believe that everything that comes to us from the past is detrimental, it’s not so. Normal, kind, human love from those around us – whether given in childhood or in adulthood – not only provides us with solid ground for loving but goes a long way to redress any harm that comes our way. And while single intense experiences of betrayal can wound us, similar experiences of happiness, acceptance, success and security can emotionally vaccinate us against mistakes. For most of us, past bad experiences are not a car crash on the relationship road, but simply a bump on the way.

Plus, we don’t have to bring the past with us into the present. We can keep the bits that seem more helpful and most healthy; the others we can throw overboard. To which end, you may want to look back at all the lessons you’ve ever learned about love. Which messages are horribly outdated and need to be junked? Which are irrelevant to you now you’re a grown-up? Which messages are so idealistic or perfectionist that no one has the slightest chance of matching up to them, and by continuing to try to match up, you are simply feeding your guilt monkey? Which were taught to you by people whose experience is not yours, whose word you no longer believe, or whose life you have no intention of living? Which lessons did you learn through events that were so painful that you need to cull them from your memory bank?

We can cull. With new awareness we can unbelieve our past beliefs, let them go and take on board a new and more helpful set. And if we can’t do that alone, it’s entirely possible – and utterly wise – to get help; there is a wealth of knowledge and guidance to help us overcome relationship issues. So if you suspect that some events or people have left you vulnerable to wrong choices or misguided decisions, let me encourage – even beg – you to see a professional. We can’t change the life we’ve lived, but we can rethink it, understand it differently and so resolve the pain.

Confucius said that the past needs to be studied in order for us to define the future. Once studied, though, we may want to complete the lesson and move on.

Trusting chance

I’m not suggesting that abandoning choice altogether is either a good or a bad idea. But it is a possibility. What you may find useful is to think about what degree of abandonment you’ve used in the past without even realizing it. Have you ever started chatting to someone near you at the theatre, during a party, on a train – then spent a delightful half-hour even though that didn’t lead to romance? Probably. Have you ever met a partner by chance, circumstance or sheer happy coincidence? Again, probably. Have any of your intimate relationships been 100 per cent predetermined and predicted? Probably not. Start to gauge the extent to which you’re comfortable with serendipity and you may feel more inclined to accept it as another tool in your decision-making kit.

Coin-tossing, random chance and a belief in fate are all quite risky. But handing over some of the burden to others is certainly worth considering – so perhaps let online dating sites screen the undesirables or let matchmaking services do the legwork. Allowing ourselves to widen our initial love-search beyond our personal preference is also useful – so perhaps make a deliberate effort to contact (or start talking to, or agree a date with) someone who on the surface doesn’t seem like a possible. Gathering emotional support is vital to get us through the process – so perhaps actively enrol trusted friends and turn to them for guidance, consolation and celebration.

Above all, when it comes to choice, be prepared to occasionally take a risk, accept uncertainty, let go of control. As ex US president Jimmy Carter once said, ‘Go out on a limb. That’s where the fruit is.’

The funnel of love

All this pre-sorting is helpful. But the bottom line is that, however small the partner pool we fish in, there’ll come a time when we need to do our own, more individual eliminations, partner by partner. My favourite metaphor here is one offered by the late Israeli psychologist Ayala Malach Pines. She imagined a kind of ‘funnel of love’ – her pun, not mine – into which we pour everyone we meet. But just as a funnel gets narrower as it deepens, and lets fewer and fewer elements through, so our criteria naturally get more and more focussed as we eliminate potential partners, until we eventually accept only the ones who really suit. (The criteria we use to create and operate our funnel form the substance of the following chapters of this book.)

What often stops us from using the love funnel effectively is a kind of fear of focussing: a nervousness about elimination, a wariness of being choosy, a belief that we shouldn’t – for which read ‘aren’t entitled to’ – dismiss partners who mismatch, or partnership options which don’t appeal. ‘I need to spread the net wide or I won’t find anyone’. . . ‘If I set the bar too high no one will want me’. . . ‘I can’t say no to her/him, they’ll feel so rejected’. This panic is totally understandable if we’ve had – as we all have – past heartbreak. But it’s nevertheless misguided; we do need to focus on what we want rather than going with the flow. I’m not a believer in ‘The One’, but unless we start saying no to those who aren’t right for us, we won’t get anywhere near those who are.

If you suspect that fear of focussing is holding you back, then try this. Imagine yourself sitting somewhere you feel most comfortable, and knowing that your ‘right for you’ partner is nearby. You’re happy because he or she is there, you know that they care for you and you for them and you allow yourself to want them and to want the relationship you have with them. (If you’re tempted into caveats or qualifications of the ‘nobody loves me’ or ‘that’ll never happen’ kind, set these aside for the moment.) Now imagine your partner arrives. Imagine seeing them, hearing their voice as they speak to you, feeling their touch as they reach out for you. Allow yourself to experience their attention fully and know that you deserve that attention.

The point of this exercise is not to imagine what a future partner might actually be like. It’s to have a mental experience of wanting that partner, feeling entitled to want them and being wanted in return. As explained at the very start of this book, partner choice is a quest, and as with all quests it’s good to have a bit of feisty courage – courage to believe in yourself, courage to believe there are partners out there you can choose, courage to believe that there are partners out there who will choose you. Given that belief, you’ll find it much easier to keep setting aside those you don’t want and keep heading towards those you do.

. . . how they look?

. . . what they say?

. . . what they actually do in practice as opposed to what they say?

. . . what their general reputation is?

. . . what the important people in your life think about them?

. . . how you feel emotionally when you are with them?

. . . how you feel emotionally when they are not there but you are thinking about them?

. . . your sexual contact, if any?

. . . what their friends and family are like?

. . . how they interact with their friends, family, colleagues?

. . . how they interact with your friends, family, colleagues?

. . . their previous life in general?

. . . their relationship track-record in particular?

. . . what your gut reaction tells you?

Try dividing the elements into those you would always check, and those you’d never bother with because they seem unlinked, irrelevant, impossible to judge. Next, put the list in chronological order, according to those checks you pay attention to first, those you usually leave for later, and those you never attend to. Are there any surprises there?

Then think back. How has this decision-making strategy of yours actually played out? If less than perfectly, how could you improve? Perhaps you could prioritize the elements that until now you’ve left until later. Perhaps you could place less reliance on some kinds of evidence and more on others. Perhaps you need to extend, to use a wider range of checks and balances so your decision-making’s more effective.

An interesting thought about initial moments: one of my early psychology tutors suggested that the first experience we have of a partner provides a snapshot of our entire future relationship, sets the scene, writes the script for later plot development. So, if in their initial meeting Mary finds herself listening to Tom hammer on about his ex, she could find that Tom’s past dominates their future relationship. If in their initial meeting Tom and Mary find themselves agreeing easily about where to go to eat, they’re likely to have a cooperative time ahead.

So have there been any first meetings that, in hindsight, should have told you to turn and flee? Have there been any first meetings that, in hindsight, you should have taken as the starting point for something important? No regrets – the past is over – but maybe such meetings can be a touchstone as you go forward.

People-growing

But despite these examples, love doesn’t make us happy all the time and every time. Maybe an adorable partner has a less-than-lovable phase, an easy relationship starts to feel like hard work, a future that was glorious slowly becomes ordinary or even disagreeable. In Dickens’s novel, David Copperfield finds it hard to come to terms with Dora’s naivety and impracticality, while David Beckham’s marriage has reportedly not been without its ups and downs. Faced with dissatisfaction, it’s not surprising that we start to question our judgement. Does our unhappiness mean we chose the wrong partner? And what does it mean about how we made our decision and whether we should renege?

Here’s the thing. A relationship is what psychologist David Schnarch, in his book Passionate Marriage, calls a ‘people-growing process’. It invites us to flourish by learning to overcome not just the problems of everyday life, but the specific problems that our partner and our partnership present. It invites us to step up to the challenge of becoming more tolerant, more patient, more loving than we were before, in order to cope with the one we love. (If this seems unfair, be reassured. It cuts both ways; a partner has to step up in order to cope with us.)

This challenge of people-growing is never going to be a constantly happy one. It can’t be. Poet David Whyte, in his work The Three Marriages, offers the metaphor of buying two houses in order to join them together – but instead of being able to simply knock down the walls, we have to demolish both houses completely so we can rebuild, and ‘from the razed foundations of our former individual [selves] make a new home’. Schnarch picks up on this metaphor but with an extra emotional challenge: that in order to do this we must become more loving not only to our partner, but to ourselves as well. We must be strong, self-contained, ‘secure’, comfortable in our own skin – for we need to feel ‘at home’ in ourselves in order to have ‘a good place to invite a spouse to visit’.

Dante and Beatrice. Sometimes, there’s nothing more comfortable than focussing our choice on a prospect who, because we will never have them, will never disappoint us or be disappointed by us.

However unfulfilled a relationship – Dante loved Beatrice for life, but only met her twice – not being chosen is a blow. If, or when, it happens to us, we shouldn’t underestimate the impact; studies have equated this loss to an actual physical attack, a trauma, a bereavement. Then we need to cling to the fact that – given some weeping and wailing, but also given time, human support and a sense of perspective – we will likely move through the suffering.

But if we don’t move through rejection, we can land in deep trouble. For sometimes the label ‘non-available’ spurs us to even more commitment; surely if we can be different, woo more successfully, offer more resources, deliver more favours or simply try harder, we will get what we want.

Here the cautionary tale from literature is the Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s millionaire hero who invests everything he has in trying to rekindle the love of Daisy Buchanan’s ‘beautiful little fool’. He takes a luxurious mansion directly across the bay from her marital home, spends endless nights staring over at the green light at the end of her dock, throws hugely extravagant parties to tempt her to come to him.

It’s clear from the start that there will be no happy ending here; Daisy’s self-absorption makes it almost inevitable that, while she does restart her affair with Gatsby, she will in the end abandon him. But Gatsby himself creates his own tragedy by sacrificing all to win the love of someone who cannot truly love him, squandering his fortune in relentless decadence, abandoning his values and in the end losing his life to protect Daisy. The whole story is shot through with the pointlessness of clinging on in hope.

If our love story ever approaches that of Gatsby, the answer is not to twist our hearts and our souls out of shape as he did, but conversely to be even more authentic than usual. If after a while we are still not loved, then however much we mourn, it’s been a lucky escape. In the same way as it’s best to free up a partner we don’t want, it is also best to be freed from a partner who doesn’t want us. We deserve more than that.

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