Learning To Love

Many years ago, when I was just beginning my tenure at a horticultural therapy program in Hawai’i, the mother of one of my teenage clients gifted me a book.

It was a simple, thoughtful gesture, with still rippling effects.

I accepted it warmly, unknowing of how deeply the lessons within its pages would stir about my soul.

Some books are like that. They arrive quietly, unassuming, without fanfare or acclaim.

The kind you carry with you, pull from a shelf when something in the air tells you it’s time, and open to a passage that somehow speaks directly to the moment you’re in.

A companion of sorts. A kind guide.

One lesson, in particular, resonated such that I have read it and reread it and returned to it time and again–especially as of late.

Its essence is this:

The author, Mark Nepo, offered this as one of love’s most profound invitations.

To love in this way, he contended, we must be present enough to listen, patient enough to understand, and courageous enough to love in a way that may not come naturally to us.

At first, this seemed simple enough.

Of course, we should love people in the way they need.

But the more I sat with it, the more I saw how often we assume that loving well means loving as we know how to love.

We offer what feels like love to us:
We give words of affirmation when what they need is silent presence. We try to provide solutions when all they want is to be heard. We extend space when, in actuality, they’re longing for closeness.

We give what we would want.

And though it is undoubtedly well-intended—because we assume that love, when given in earnest, will always be received—our attempts at love, too often, miss the mark.

To love someone—truly, fully, in a way that deeply nourishes from soil to soul—requires more than offering love in the ways we are most familiar with.

It requires listening.
It requires patience.

It requires the humility to set aside our assumptions and the courage to meet another where they are, not solely where we are.

This is the work of mature love.

Nepo suggested that the Golden Rule—to treat others as you wish to be treated—is simply the base of love’s expression, not its summit.

Because what if the way I most need love is not the way you most need love? What then?

As a poet psychologist, I’m compelled to consider the multitude of meaningful frameworks that try to guide our understanding of such discerning love.

Most famously, Gary Chapman explored this in The Five Love Languages, showing us that while some people feel most loved through words, others may feel it through acts of service, through touch, through quality time, or perhaps through gifts.

Ancient Greek philosophers named love in its many forms—Eros, Philia, Storge, Agape—reminding us that love is varied, moving differently between lovers, friends, families, and kindred spirits.

The great bell hooks reminded us that love is not a passive emotion, but an active practice—one that requires care, commitment, responsibility, knowledge, and respect.

And Barbara Fredrickson, in Love 2.0, challenged the idea that love is confined to grand moments. She found that love is built in micro-moments—in small, fleeting acts of warmth, attention, connection, and shared presence.

Each of these frameworks points to a singular truth:

Not all flowers thrive in the same soil.
Not all roots take to the same depth.
Not all trees need pruning in the same season.

To truly nurture something—or someone—we must be willing to observe first. We must learn whether they require more light or more shade. Whether they need steady rain or thrive in drier soil. Whether they bloom in the spring or need longer seasons of quiet before unfurling.

We must be willing to learn, again and again, that love isn’t always in the giving—it’s in the giving of what is needed most.

To love well is to be present.
To be patient. And to pay attention.

To listen to what is needed, rather than assuming we might already know.

To love not just in the ways that come naturally to us, but in the ways that will truly reach them and teach us how to transcend what we’ve known so that, together, we may grow.

Reflections for Growth

• Transcending What We Know: Loving well sometimes asks us to step beyond our default ways of showing care. Where in your relationships might you be invited to expand the way you express love—to stretch beyond what’s familiar into what is truly needed?

• Loving Beyond Assumption: Think of a time when you offered love in the way that felt most natural to you, but it wasn’t received as you had hoped. Looking back, what might the other person have needed instead?

• The Love You’ve Longed For How do you most desire to be loved? Have you clearly communicated that to those closest to you? If not, what holds you back?

Invitations for Practice

• Observing from Love: For one day, practice observing more than acting. Pay attention to how the people around you express joy, frustration, connection, or longing. What does their way of receiving love look like? How do they express care to others? What subtle (or not-so-subtle) cues do they give about what truly makes them feel seen, valued, and loved? Take note of what this reveals about how they might wish to be loved.

• Listening for Love: Ask a close friend, partner, or family member: “What makes you feel most loved?” Listen fully. Ask follow-up questions. See what you learn.

• Small Acts, Big Shifts: This week, take one small action that aligns with how someone in your life needs to be loved, rather than how you typically express love. Maybe it’s offering presence rather than advice, or planning quality time instead of sending an encouraging message. Notice how they respond.

As you practice, please jot down your thoughts and experiences. And as always, feel free to share your reflections directly with me.

With ever-learning love,

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