Why Saying “I Love You” Is Not Enough.

After someone dies, social media posts often call everyone to “Hold your loved ones close tonight” or “Tell your partner you love them.” 

And yes, I agree, we should!

But these declarations have become, to me, at least, bromides as trite as “thoughts and prayers.” They fall far short of what we should regularly give to our loved ones.

Telling someone that you love them is a wonderful, life-enhancing gift; telling someone why you love them is more profound and longer-lasting.

On January 18, I lost a dear friend to cancer at the young age of 52. Paul La Farge was inventive, imaginative, witty, hilarious, deeply kind, and unsparingly generous. He was also a stunning writer and a master wordsmith. His books are all worth a read (see the list at the bottom of this post)

In the weeks following his death, his friends and I have been sharing his work and remembrances on a group chat. His students have emailed me to say how much he meant to them and why. One of them asked me, “Do you think he knew what he meant to me?”

The answer is yes and no.

Without being told, we can only make things up. Or, in my case, I often imagine I make no mark whatsoever and that I’ve been forgotten as soon as I’m out of sight (youngest child syndrome).

What (I love you) is valuable; of course, it is. But why holds the what of love aloft, enriching and deepening one's experience of themselves. We don’t get to experience ourselves as though we were a story told in the third person.

We don’t know what we look like when we walk toward another; we don’t know the energy other people absorb when they’re with us. We can guess. We can assume. But hearing it aloud from someone who already means so much to us helps prop up and fill out our identity, adding dimension to our lived experience of being a self.

Being a human is often lonely. We have one mind for our entire lives; we look out from behind the same inch-and-a-half wide windows; we are stuck inside one body; our gestures will always belie our intrinsic set of idiosyncrasies, and no matter how much we might long to look or act or talk or sing or be like someone else, we never will be anyone but ourselves.

What enriches this monologic experience of being a single human being is learning how we impact others and hearing how we have added to the lives of others. When we tell our friends and loved ones how they impact us and why, we open up portals they may not have realized existed in them, which can expand their world and yours.

So, can we start now? Can we tell those we love why we love them, what they mean to us, how they’ve enriched our lives, what they’ve taught us, and how the experience of being in friendship with them has made our lives immeasurably better?

I’ll start.

I appreciate your emails telling me why and how this newsletter makes a difference in your life. I am even grateful when you take the time to tell me that a particular piece made you mad.

I am honored that 30,000 people subscribe to this newsletter and that a few dozen of you have chosen to support me and this newsletter through donations.

Your readership has taught me that I am not alone, no matter how truly alone I often feel.

Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts and engage with my work.

Until next week, I remain,

Amanda

📬️ Email me at: [email protected]

Nope, I'm not a therapist or a medical professional; I’m just a human trying to figure out how to live.

Books by Paul La Farge: Haussman, or the Distinction; The Artist of the Missing; Luminous Airplanes; The Night Ocean; The Facts of Winter

Any books brought through these links may earn me a small commission. That small sum will be donated to an artist residency in Paul La Farge’s name.

Article cover art by Sarah Walton