“Once you have learned to love, you will have learned to live.” -Unknown

My high school vocal teacher said that “love” is the most beautiful word in the English language, so I should let it roll off my tongue like honey to make it thick, sweet and poignant.

So I did. I sang it deeply, slowly, and soulfully, though I never spoke the word. I came from a family that didn’t really express emotion, so I filed it away with all the things I wanted to say but didn’t.

When I started dating, I couldn’t wait to profess my love, long before I actually felt it. I said it at every chance I could get because that’s how often I wanted to hear it.

I wanted it to constantly roll like honey toward me, so I could feel warm, safe, and unconditionally accepted. I whispered it, mumbled it, yelled it, and even cried it, all while having no idea what it really felt like. It was my gift and my curse, wrapped in fear, insecurity, and need.

Over the years, I’ve put a lot of effort into learning to love myself and others; and in the process, I realized I wanted to say “I love you” a lot less and a lot more often. I wanted to say it less when I didn’t really mean it and more when I actually did.

I wanted to stop reciting it like a parrot to men who weren’t good for me, and start expressing it deeply, slowly, and soulfully to the people I really cared about.

So often in life, we avoid expressing our feelings in fear that it will be awkward. The first time I said I love you to my eight-years-younger brother, the word felt almost foreign. I felt uncomfortable mostly because I was afraid I’d make him feel that way.

Now I tell him every time we speak. I do the same with every other family member. And many of my friends. And even many of the people I engage with through this site. Why? Because life is too short to feel love and not express it.

Love is the most beautiful word in the English language—when it comes from a place of genuine care, affection, and appreciation.

Who do you love in your life, and when is the last time you told them?

Photo by Saucy Salad

“Love is not love until love’s vulnerable.” -Theodore Roethke

Sometimes people submit posts and I swear I could have written them myself. In reading their stories—learning about the emotions they’re feeling and the pain they’re healing—I feel close to them; and I also develop a better understanding of myself and what I need to do to keep growing.

Other times, I can’t relate to their experiences, but suddenly I feel compassion for behaviors I may formerly have misunderstood.

This, I believe is the power of vulnerability. When we open up to each other, we invite people to understand us, and let them know we want to understand them. We break down the barriers of judgment and fear and, in doing so feel safe, connected, and supported.

I came to Tiny Buddha from a far different place. Formerly, I lived in a world where security meant solitude, and connection meant pain. I saw everyone as someone waiting to hurt me, if I didn’t keep my guard up.

It’s easier to let your guard down when other people do the same. But the reality is someone has to go first. Intimacy doesn’t happen spontaneously. It’s something we have to create by choosing to be authentic.

That can be a scary thing—especially since we never know how we’ll be received when we put ourselves out there, or if other people will respond in kind.

Over the past few years, I’ve put a lot of effort into building solid friendships. This is something that’s always been challenging for me; or perhaps more accurately, something I always made difficult. Sometimes I tried too hard, or created drama, or pushed people away.

I wanted so badly to be loved and accepted, but in my fear of not receiving that, I set myself up to be feared and rejected.

I know now that meaningful, intimate relationships start when someone dares to be genuine; and that happiness is accepting the possibility of rejection and choosing not to reject ourselves in response.

My genuine truth is that I would prefer to live in a world where everyone else let their guard down first.

But if intimacy is seeing ourselves in each other, maybe it starts with understanding that other people may feel that way too.

Today I commit to going first—both to give love and acceptance and create the possibility of receiving them. Will you?

Photo by Christian Haugen

“Anger always comes from frustrated expectations.” -Elliott Larson

Before I left for my two-week holiday family visit, I asked my boyfriend to wash our sheets before I returned. I hoped to come home to a clean, organized apartment, with everything as I left it. That is not, however, how things panned out. Instead, I came home to a somewhat disorganized space and a pile of dirty towels—along with an empty refrigerator.

My boyfriend told me he’d been busy, and he didn’t have time to do all the laundry or go food shopping. I translated “I didn’t have time” to mean “I assumed you’d do it when you got back.”

At first, I felt annoyed. I thought, “I wouldn’t leave laundry for you,” “I would have bought at least some staples in case you were hungry,” and a few other righteous gripes about his domestic shortcomings.

I was going to let him know it’s not okay to take me for granted, but then I realized something: I was assuming his actions meant that, when they may, in fact, have only meant exactly what he said—that he got backed up and didn’t have time.

So instead of expressing my dissatisfaction with the expectations he didn’t meet, I expressed exactly what I felt: “When you say you don’t have time to do things around the house, I sometimes assume you expect that I will do them.”

He responded, “I don’t expect that at all. I expected I would do them later tonight. I know you’re busy too.”

This right here, I suspect, is the cause of most conflict in relationships: one person does something or doesn’t do something, and the other makes assumptions about what it means.

I have done it many times before—assumed the worst in someone I love because they didn’t do what I would do. But this rationale fails to consider that other people have different ways of doing things, and they have no idea what meanings we’ll assign when they choose to do things their way.

They also can’t know precisely what we expect unless we express it. I asked my boyfriend to wash the sheets, and he did. But more importantly, he’s a thoughtful, considerate person on the whole, and this one incident was not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

We have a right to communicate when we feel hurt or offended, but maybe love is learning to be hurt and offended less often. The people we care about are generally doing their best—love is recognizing that instead of assuming the worst.

*I added this to the comments, and I decided to add it here: For anyone reading this who feels an overall sense of over-compromising–and as a result sacrificing their needs and losing touch with their values–please know this post is not for you.  This post is for anyone who, like me, is in a happy, healthy relationship, romantic or otherwise, but gets annoyed by little unmet expectations here and there. 

Photo by torbakhopper

“Before someone’s tomorrow has been taken away, cherish those you love, appreciate them today.” -Michelle C. Ustaszeski

Familiarity can sometimes seem like permanence. Oftentimes the more comfortable we are with someone, the less effort we put into our time with them.

As I’ve mentioned before, I visit my family on the east coast several times each year for two weeks at a time. Every time I leave California, it’s bittersweet because I’m leaving my boyfriend Ehren to go see people I love.

And every time I leave Massachusetts, I’m leaving my family for even longer to resume my life with someone else I love.

Because I spend more time with Ehren, I go through phases where I don’t fully see him for the gift that he is. I might assume that I know what he’s talking about instead of fully listening. Or fail to fully appreciate the qualities that drew me to him, because I’m accustomed to them.

I don’t always recognize when I’m doing these things, but when I do, I remember the airport.

In that transient state between there and there, I’ve learned a lot about what it really means to be here—to recognize that everything changes and appreciate it all while it lasts.

When Ehren drops me off for a flight, I look him in the deeply in the eyes and realize how fortunate I am for the time we get to spend together. When my family brings me to Logan, I do the same with them. And while I’m in the air between them, I remember to appreciate the time I spend with myself.

The reality is that nothing in life is permanent–not even our closest relationships–meaning this moment is the ideal time to pay attention to each other, understand each other, forgive each other, and be honest with each other.

Occasionally, we may take each other for granted, or get caught up in little squabbles that we wouldn’t choose to hang onto if we knew our time together was running short. We never get to know when that will happen; we only know it eventually will.

Every moment we have together is valuable. Whether or not it feels that way is entirely up to us.

Photo by Luciano Meirelles

“We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.” -Herman Melville

We spend so much time trying to improve ourselves and our lives. Is it possible that maybe we could accomplish those things more effectively if we focused on improving the quality of our relationships?

This is the question I posed when I spoke at the Wanderlust Yoga and Music Festival this past summer.

I just received the link to my presentation, Authentic Connections in a Networked World, and I’m excited to share it with you! It’s roughly 20 minutes long, with 10 minutes of Q&A. (Email subscribers, click through to view the video!)

“You validate people’s lives by your attention.” -Unknown

For as long as I can remember, wanting attention has seemed like a shameful thing.

“She’s only doing that for attention.” “He’s only telling that sob story for attention.” “She only volunteered to help for attention.”

Have you ever said or heard something like this? I know I have. Many times throughout my life, I’ve analyzed people’s words and actions and essentially judged whether or not their intention was to hoist themselves into the spotlight.

Every time I’ve done this, somewhere inside me I’ve thought, “It’s bad to be desperate for attention.” And somewhere underneath that, “I hate that I’ve been desperate for attention.”

Call it second child syndrome, but I came out of the womb screaming, “Look at me!” And then “What are you looking at?”

That’s the thing about insecurity—you simultaneously crave an audience and fear what they might be thinking.

I have a healthier sense of self these days, but I can still be triggered by (what I might believe is) attention seeking behavior—and it’s generally because I’m subconsciously judging many of my former choices.

Not everyone acts out to gain approval, but no matter how you slice it, the desire for attention is a call for love. What would happen if we started seeing it that way, instead of turning attention into a four letter word?

I’m not talking about enabling people when they’re doing dangerous things, or condoning disrespectful, inconsiderate choices.

I’m talking about shifting our perceptions so that we’re less apt to judge and more likely to understand. That doesn’t mean we need to be pulled into drama. It just means we look a little below the surface to empathize before responding–and in this way, we’re better able to recognize when attention seeking is actually a cry for help.

We all look for validation every now and then. We’re all people who want attention. And we can all choose to be compassionate when we see a call for love instead of judging the need.

Photo by sarniebill

“Praise is like sunlight to the human spirit: we cannot flower and grow without it.” -Jess Lair

There was a time when I could turn almost any positive feedback into something negative.

I don’t know if this was my attempt to confirm my unworthiness or my belief that people were usually hurtful, but I had a knack for distorting people’s words to avoid accepting praise.

If someone found me after a play and said I was a talented singer, I wondered if she was really thinking about my subpar dancing.

If a teacher told me that I showed promise and reminded him of my sister, I assumed he meant that I was a second rate version of the student he met first.

In short, I thought very little of myself, and constantly looked for proof that everyone else did, too.

You might not be able to relate to the low self-esteem that I once had, but maybe you’ve also negated praise before. I hear people do it all the time—and sometimes I find myself doing it, too—with phrases like, “It was nothing,” and “I just got lucky,” and “He was just being nice.”

We all like and need to feel valued and appreciated, so why is sometimes so hard to simply smile and say “Thank you”?

I suspect there are times when we disbelieve what others say; after all, people occasionally say flattering things just to be kind. Other times we may question their motives or downplay our achievements because we’re fishing for more confirmation—or attempting to appear humble.

But it might also have to do with vulnerability. Accepting a compliment is akin to receiving validation, and no one wants to reveal that validation is something they want or need.

Whatever the case may be, when we reject positive feedback, we rob ourselves the opportunity to feel valued and appreciated, and deny the other person the joy of honoring us.

We all need to be on both sides of that coin. We need to see and be seen for the light we have to offer the world—so why not give that gift to ourselves and other people?

So today I propose a challenge for you and for me: receive all compliments without questioning them, analyzing them, or negating them. Simply accept it, and know that you deserve it.

Photo by ingridtaylar

“Love does not care to define and is never in a hurry to do so.” -Charles Du Bos

Love is a tricky thing because it’s something we both give and receive—and yet it’s so much easier to dwell on the love we’re not getting than to recognize the love we’re not giving.

I used to have a simultaneously broad and narrow definition for love. Broad, because it encompassed a vast number of idealistic guidelines, and narrow because these limiting rules quickly labeled most relationships loveless.

If someone didn’t seem to offer me their unconditional understanding, or if they appeared to judge me, or if they somehow fell short of my rigid expectations, I assumed I was getting the short end of the love stick.

That wasn’t love, I’d reason. Love is patient, love is kind, and so on.

But just how loving is it to view people through this kind of microscope, dissecting their every action and measuring them against some impossible ideal?

How can we expect people to love us how we want to be loved if we’re too busy judging them to extend that same courtesy?

I’ve written and published many posts that define and quantify love—what it looks like in actions and exactly how we can express it. To some extent, I think this is helpful because it reminds us how to act kindly, compassionately, and non-judgmentally.

It takes something abstract and it gives it form and function.

But maybe real love is recognizing that love is never perfect. That every day, we all teeter between love and fear, wanting to give, but sometimes being less than understanding and kind; wanting to receive, but sometimes being less than vulnerable and open.

I haven’t always given the people I love the benefit of the doubt—or the best of me. At times, I’ve been so busy looking for signs that someone doesn’t care that I made it nearly impossible to show them how much I do.

Today I choose to love less rigidly—to give, to take, and do both with less judgment. How will you love today?

Photo by mattieb

“A person’s world is only as big as their heart.” -Tanya A. Moore

Last week, I wrote about John Robbins, who presented at Bonfire Heights. He and his son Ocean shared a number of stores about loving fully and unconditionally. Sitting in the audience at their presentation felt like participating in a massive, 45-minute group hug. They were just that openhearted–and the audience that receptive.

This got me thinking about my capacity for vulnerability. Though I write a lot about the benefits of being open, I’ve noticed I have a limit, so to speak–a point at which I inevitably shut down a little.

For example, if I’ve spent an afternoon baring my soul to someone or a group of people, I retreat into myself afterward, almost as if to regenerate after giving away so much of myself.

I’ve learned it’s healthy to spend time alone and turn within. But as a former hermit, I try to recognize patterns that lead me to shut people out, as this can create walls where they would otherwise be opportunities to give and receive love.

I suspect we all shut down from to time, particularly when we feel emotionally raw and exposed. But the minute we close ourselves off from other people may be two minutes before a life-changing connection or experience.

So I propose a challenge, for me and for you: keep your heart open a little longer than you’re tempted to today. Stay accessible, for even just a few minutes more than you ordinarily would. Keep engaging, even if you’ve shared a lot. Keep listening, even if you heard a lot. Let yourself linger in that vulnerably open place.

Sometimes we learn and gain the most from the moments that are the most uncomfortable.

Photo by angrylambie1

“The most important thing in this world is to learn to give out love, and let it come in.” -Morrie Schwartz

There are some people we feel we’ll never understand. They make choices we’d never make, they don’t understand why we do what we do, and they don’t give us what we need in our relationships with them.

Vegetarian author and advocate John Robbins had a man like that in his life. That man was his father, and the thing he didn’t know to give was love.

I saw John speak this weekend at Bonfire Heights, the retreat I mentioned yesterday. His father, Irv Robbins, co-founded the ice cream company Baskin Robbins, and lived a life dominated by the pursuit of more.

Irv believed children should be seen but not heard, and fathered with an authoritarian coldness. In fact, years later, after Irv held his autistic grandson—the first time he ever held a child—he asked John, “Do you think all children need love, or just those kind?”

John could have unleashed a lifetime of bitterness for a childhood without warmth and affection. But instead he saw his father for who he was in that moment—an old man from a different time, who was open to learning a different way.

Years later, when Irv was on his death bed, John repeatedly kissed his forehead as morphine dulled his final pain. Irv asked John why he did that, and he responded, “Because I’m showing my love.”

Irv responded, “That’s been important to you, huh?” Followed by, “Less pain!”

To which John responded, “More love.”

Then Irv said, “Less pain!”

To which John responded, “More love.”

When John kissed his forehead one more time, Irv released and fully accepted it, even saying, “That felt good.”

John said, “Less pain?” The last words he ever heard his father say were “More love.”

Sometimes the people who need our love the most are the ones we may feel deserve it the least. We can make that judgment and stay bitter—or we can actively contribute to making the world a more loving place. Less pain, more love.

Photo by Mara Earth Light