The wrong roller coaster?
The problem is that thereafter we may get stuck. For though I hate to be the bearer of bad news, none of that wonderful falling-in-love experience is guaranteed to produce long-term compatibility. Literature is riddled with stories of how initial adoration translates badly into ordinary everyday life: Anna Karenina and Count Vronsky; Madame Bovary and Rodolphe Boulanger; even Romeo and Juliet, if we believe Shakespeare’s hints that had they actually set up house together in Mantua, the result would have been something of a car crash.
It’s best to choose a roller-coaster ride that brings you back down to earth both safely and without nausea.
Giving more cause for concern – for literature does dramatize for the sake of a good yarn – there’s little scientific research showing a link between short-term attraction and long-term compatibility; Arthur Aron himself points out that while the closeness produced in his studies is similar to romantic passion, ‘it seems unlikely that the procedure produces . . . commitment.’ ‘In love’ might turn into a loss-leader for something deeper, but there’s no absolute correlation between the two.
There is, however, correlation between ‘in love’ and anxiety. Here’s another Arthur Aron experiment, this one involving eighty-five male subjects and a wobbly footbridge. Result: the men were significantly more likely to be charmed by a female researcher if they’d previously been scared out of their wits crossing the deep canyon at Capilano, Vancouver. (In case you’re suspecting gender bias here, the experiment was replicated some years later with women as subjects and male researchers; it produced the same outcome.) What both groups experienced was a dynamic that’s classic in the early stages of a relationship; our whole body is in a peak state of nervous tension, not only from wanting our beloved but also as a result of not knowing whether our beloved will want us. This arousal then provides the motivation to do exactly what we are genetically programmed to do, cling on to each other. Even the most delightful bonding involves some level of anxiety, and, in turn, anxiety often leads to bonding.
You can probably see where I’m going with this. We can easily confuse the strong emotion of the ‘in love’ kind with the strong emotion of more unhappy kinds. We may even find ourselves likely to bond in any uncertain situation, with any uncertain partner – one who is emotionally unreliable (‘I’ll phone you’ syndrome), one who is seriously uninterested (‘s/he’s just not into you’ syndrome), one who is terminally unavailable (‘it’s complicated’ syndrome). In fact, when we keep choosing unsatisfying partners, that might be not despite the fact but because of the fact that they are unsatisfying. If you recognize yourself in this scenario, don’t self-blame; there’s a very small distinction between an emotional roller coaster that makes us squeal with delight and one that makes us shriek with horror, and most of us at some time choose the wrong ride.
The earthquake of love
There’s something else we need to remember about ‘in love’. It’s date-stamped. That original flurry of addicted monoamines will in the end give way to a lower-key flow of the ‘cuddle hormone’ oxytocin, designed to give us a more secure connection and get us not just pushing the pram but setting up house and home until the kids have grown and flown. There’s a natural switch from high arousal to low-key stability, from excitement to steadiness, from absolute adoration to loving respect: as Louis de Bernières writes in his novel Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, ‘a temporary madness . . . an earthquake . . . then it subsides.’
Given this non-correlation between ‘in love’ and compatibility, it’s therefore wise to avoid making choices from the earthquake zone, wise to wait until the earth has stopped moving before we pitch permanent camp. As de Bernières suggests, at that point there is a decision to be made about whether we are so compatible, so committed that even without ‘in love’ we want to stay together. This stage beyond ‘in love’ may not feel as intensely exciting, but it’s what makes a relationship stay the course. ‘Love itself,’ says de Bernières, ‘is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’ If we want a partner for the long term, we need to discover what is ‘left over’.
Here’s an exercise to help in the discovery. Pick three friends you’ve known for a while and are emotionally at ease with. Now think of what makes them your friends; think of what you get from them that has maintained your connection over time. Fix in your mind that feeling of being comfortable with them, relaxed in their company, authentically yourself, simply content. And there’s your point of reference, the touchstone to use when you fall in love. If you feel with a partner that same sense of comfort, relaxation, contentment – and if you sense that feeling could endure – then you are on safe ground.
Good navigation
Which unfortunately doesn’t mean that the ground will stay safe for ever. Yes, we’re always told that when we love we will not only live ‘happily’ but will do so ‘ever after’. We’re assured that, apart from when it’s absent, denied or ended, ‘love is a many-splendoured thing’, ‘love lifts us up where we belong’, ‘all you need is love’. And so we tend to set our compass for partner choice by the pole star of joy . . .
Often, that’s good navigation. If we choose a partner who complements us, who completes our jigsaw and adds their skills and strengths to the ones we lack, we’ll live a more effective but also a more contented life. In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennet, having spent most of the novel thinking that Darcy is ‘the last man on earth’ she would marry, realizes at last – and possibly too late – just how complementary they are and how happy their relationship could be. ‘It was a union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.’ (If you’ve never read the book, be reassured: they get together in the end.)
Similarly, if we choose a partner who supports us, who by their attention and responsiveness heals our emotional wounds and makes us whole, we’ll live a more fulfilled but also a more joyful life. Here is another Elizabeth, this time Elizabeth Barrett, writing to fellow poet Robert Browning after he has expressed his love for her: ‘To receive such a proof of attachment from you not only overpowers every present evil, but seems to me a full and abundant amends for the merely personal sufferings of my whole life. [My tears] went away in the moisture of new, happy tears. Henceforward I am yours.’ (If you don’t know the history, they married; he then helped her to not only bear lifelong illness and a family estrangement, but also fulfil her promise as a writer.)
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?