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Love for Strangers

By Michael Lemonick Monday, Aug. 02, 1999

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,991640,00.html

I have no statistics on this, but conversations with friends and dozens of person-on-the-street interviews I saw and heard last week convince me that a lot of Americans felt a sense of personal loss at the death of John F. Kennedy Jr. Their grief was palpable and clearly genuine. Yet I couldn't help wondering how many would have reacted this way to the death of a relative. A mother or father, sure. But what about Uncle John, who lives across town; or Cousin Tara, who moved to another state; or even Grandma, whom we see once or twice a year, from the other side of the country?

For many of us, the concept of family is a lot narrower than it used to be. Today children go away to college, and take up careers wherever opportunity seems greatest. So instead of growing up in an extended family, with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins involved in our day-to-day lives, many of us are truly connected only to our parents and siblings. Many kids today know little of the lives of relatives outside the nuclear family, and don't care deeply about them.

Whether we're aware of it or not, this estrangement creates a void. "People have an inherent need to feel connected," says Joy Browne, a clinical psychologist and nationally syndicated talk-show host. "And they'll do it in whatever ways are easiest for them." When family members are distant, what could be easier than forming a connection to celebrities--especially glamorous, public-spirited ones like the Kennedys?

This sort of false intimacy isn't new, of course. People wept when Rudolph Valentino died in 1926 and when the Lindberghs lost their baby in 1932. It's natural and in most ways harmless to identify with the famous. But today's combination of busy lives, fragmented families and saturation media coverage of celebrities means this is the only intimacy many of us experience outside our immediate family. And that's unhealthy, because these celebrity relationships are not two-way.

For that, we need to stay connected to our own families. Elsewhere on this page, we report that older Americans who attend weekly religious services live longer than those who do not--a result of the "social support" they get, say researchers. I'll bet the researchers would find similar benefits among those who get support from extended families. We'll never turn back the clock to keep families from scattering. But parents can help by telling their kids stories about their grandparents, aunts and cousins, and by keeping the relatives informed of the kids' latest activities and interests.

Technology can encourage more frequent, more casual contact. It's no chore to dash off an e-mail to Granddad. Inexpensive new machines like Cidco's Mailstation ($149 at cidco.com allow anyone who can use a phone to enjoy e-mail. And computer-top video cameras like Logitech's Quickcam ($100 at quickcam.com can turn your desktop into a virtual video telephone.

Better yet, take a vacation with members of your extended family--and not at anyone's home. A week or so of relaxed interaction can be a great way to tune up family ties. And when tragedy happens, there's no substitute for family. Because no matter how much we cry for the Kennedys, they can't be there to cry for us.

E-mail Michael at timfamily2@aol.com For more ideas on staying connected to family, visit our website at time.com/personal

How to Find True Love

6.In my mind, love was something behind a tinted window, part apparition, part shadow, definitely unreachable.

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How to Find True Love

By Lois Brady

Love used to an unsolvable puzzle to the writer ever since her girlhood. She had often wondered about love. It was not until she had dealings with a number of couples that the truth began to dawn on her.

    I began to learn about love in dancing school, at age 12. I remember thinking on the first day I was going to fall madly in love with one of the boys and spend the next years of my life kissing and waltzing£¨Ìø»ª¶û×ÈÎè).

     During class, however, I sat among the girls, waiting for a boy to ask me to dance. To my complete shock, I was consistently one of the last to be asked. At first I thought the boys had made a terrible mistake. I was so funny and pretty, and I could beat everyone I knew at tennis and climb trees faster than a cat. Why didn¡¯t they dash toward me?

     Yet in class after class, I watched boys dressed in blue blazers£¨Ô˶¯¼Ð¿Ë£©and gray pants head toward girls in flowered£¨Óû¨×°Êεģ©shifts whose perfect ponytails£¨Âíβ±è£©swung back and forth like metronomes£¨½ÚÅÄÆ÷£©.1 They fell easily into step with one another in a way that was completely mysterious to me. I came to believe that love belonged only to those who glided, who never shimmied£¨»Î¶¯£©up trees or even really touched the ground.

     By the time I was 13, I knew how to subtly tilt£¨Çãб£©my head and make my tears fall back into my eyes, instead of down my cheeks, when no one asked me to dance. I also discovered the ¡°powder room¡±, which became my softly lit, reliable retreat. Whenever I started to cry, I¡¯d excuse myself and run in there. 2

     I finally stopped crying when I met Matt, who was quiet and hung out on the edges of the room. 3 When we danced for the first time, he wouldn¡¯t even look me in the eyes. We became good buddies£¨»ï°é£©, dancing every dance together until the end of school.

     I learned from him my most important early lesson about romance: that the potential for love exists in corners, in the most unlikely as well as the most obvious places.

     For years my love life continued to be one long tragicomic£¨±¯Ï²¾çµÄ£© novel. In college I fell in love with a tall English major who rode a motorcycle. He stood me up on our sixth date ¨C¨C an afternoon of sky diving£¨¸ß¿ÕÌøÉ¡£©. 4 I jumped out of the plane alone and landed in a parking lot.

In my mid-20s I moved to New York City where love is as hard to find as a legal parking spot. My first Valentine¡¯s Day there, I went on a date to a crowded bar on the Upper West Side. Halfway through dinner my date£¨Ô¼»á¶ÔÏó£©excused himself and never returned.

     At the time, I lived with a beautiful roommate. Flowers piled up at our door like snowdrifts£¨Ñ©¶Ñ£©, and the light on the answering machine always blinked in a panicky£¨ÒýÆð¿Ö»ÅµÄ£©way, overloaded with messages from her admirers. Limousines£¨ºÀ»ª½Î³µ£©purred£¨·¢³öºäÉù£©outside, with dates waiting for her behind tinted£¨²ÊÉ«µÄ£©windows. 5

     In my mind, love was something behind a tinted window, part apparition£¨»ÃÓ°£©, part shadow, definitely unreachable. 6 Whenever I spotted happy-looking couples, I¡¯d wonder where they found love, and want to follow them home for the answer.

     After a few years in the city I got my dream job ¨C¨C writing about weddings for a magazine called Days. I had to find interesting engaged couples and write up their love stories. I got to ask total strangers the things I¡¯d always wanted to know.

     I found at least one sure answer to the question ¡°How do you know it¡¯s love?¡± You know when the everyday things surrounding you ¨C¨C the leaves, the shade of light in the sky, a bowl of strawberries ¨C¨C suddenly shimmer£¨Î¢Î¢·¢ÁÁ£© with a kind of unreality.

     You know when the tiny details about another person, ones that are insignificant to most people, seem fascinating and incredible to you. One groom told me he loved everything about his future wife, from her handwriting to the way she scratched on their apartment door like a cat when she came home. One bride said she fell in love with her fianc¨¦ because ¡°one night, a moth was flying around a light bulb, and he caught it and let it out the window. I said, ¡®That¡¯s it: He¡¯s the guy.¡¯ ¡±

     You also know it¡¯s love when you can¡¯t stop talking to each other. Almost every couple I¡¯ve ever interviewed said that on their first or second date, they talked for hours and hours. For some, falling in love is like walking into a soundproof£¨¸ôÒôµÄ£©confessional booth£¨âã»ÚÊÒ£©, a place where you can tell all.7

     Finding love can be like discovering a gilded£¨¶Æ½ðµÄ£©ballroom£¨ÎèÌü£©on the other side of your dingy£¨åååݵģ©apartment, and at the same time like finding a pair of great old blue jeans that are exactly your size and seem as if you¡¯ve worn them forever. I can¡¯t tell you how many women have told me they knew they were in love because they forgot to wear makeup£¨»¯×±Æ·£©around their boyfriend. Or because they felt at ease hanging around him in flannel£¨·¨À¼È޵ģ©pajamas. There¡¯s some modern truth to Cinderella¡¯s tale 8¨C¨C it¡¯s love when you¡¯re incredibly comfortable, when the shoe fits perfectly.

     Finally, I think you¡¯re in love if you can make each other laugh at the very worst times ¨C¨C when the IRS 9 is auditing£¨ÉóºË£©you or when you¡¯ re driving a convertible£¨³¨Åî³µ£©in a rainstorm or when your hair is turning gray. As someone once told me, 90 percent of being in love is making each other¡¯s lives funnier and easier, all the way to the deathbed.

     Seven years ago I started writing about love and weddings for the New York Times in a column called ¡°Vows¡±. And now that I have been on this beat for so long, a strange thing has happened: I¡¯m considered an expert on love. 10 The truth is, love is still mostly a mystery to me. The only thing I can confidently say is this: Love is as plentiful as oxygen. You don¡¯t have to be thin, naturally blond, super-successful, socially connected, knowledgeable£¨ÖªÊ¶Ô¨²©µÄ£©about politics or even particularly charming to find it.

     I¡¯ve interviewed many people who were down on their luck 11 in every way ¡ª a ballerina£¨°ÅÀÙÎèÅ®£©with chronic£¨ÂýÐԵģ©back problems, a physicist who had been on 112 (he counted) disastrous blind dates£¨´ÓδÎîÃæµÄÄÐÅ®ÓɵÚÈýÕß°²ÅŵÄÔ¼»á£©, 12 a clarinet£¨µ¥»É¹Ü£©player who was a single dad and could barely pay the rent. But love, when they found it, brought humor, candlelight, home-cooked meals, fun, adventure, poetry and long conversations into their lives.

     When people ask me where to find love, I tell a story about one of my first job interviews. It was with an editor at a famous literary magazine. I had no experience or skills, and he didn¡¯t for one second consider hiring me. But he gave me some advice I will never forget. He said, ¡°Go out into the world. Work hard and concentrate on what you love to do, writing. If you become good, we will find you.¡±

     That¡¯s why I always tell people looking for love to wait for that ¡°I won the lottery£¨³é½±£©¡± feeling ¨C¨C wait, wait, wait! Don¡¯t read articles about how to trap, seduce£¨ÒýÓÕ£©or hypnotize£¨Ê¹×ÅÃÔ£© a mate£¨Åäż£©. Don¡¯t worry about your lipstick or your height, because it¡¯s not going to matter. Just live your life well, take care of yourself, and don¡¯t mope£¨ÒÖÓô²»ÀÖ£©too much. Love will find you.

     Eventually it even found me. At 28, I met my husband in a stationery store£¨Îľߵ꣩. I was buying a typewriter ribbon, and he was looking at Filofaxes. 13 I remember that his eyes perfectly matched his faded jeans. He remembers that my sneakers£¨Ô˶¯Ð¬£©were full of sand. He still talks about those sneakers and how they evoked his childhood ¡ª bonfires£¨óô»ð£©by the ocean, driving on the sand in an old jeep ¡ª all those things that he cherished. 14

     How did I know that it was true love? Our first real date lasted for nine hours; we just couldn¡¯t stop talking. I had never been able to dance in my life, but I could dance with him, perfectly in step. I have learned that it¡¯s love when you finally stop tripping over your toes.

A year after we met, we married.

     I have come to cherish writing the ¡°Vows¡± column. 15 With each story I hear, I have proof that love, optimism, guts£¨ÓÂÆø£©, grace, perfect partners and good luck do, in fact, exist. Love, in my opinion, is not a fantasy, not the stuff of romance novels or fairy tales. It¡¯s as gritty£¨¼áÈ̲»°ÎµÄ£©and real as the subway, it comes around just as regularly, and as long as you can stick it out on the platform, you won¡¯t miss it.

http://218.192.175.182/courses/course_1/1-7/Band3/unit04/lesson10/index.html

Love will Find You

I began to learn about love in dancing school at age 12. I remember thinking on the first day I was going to fall madly in love with one of the boys and spend the next years of my life kissing and waltzing.

During class, however, I sat among the girls, waiting for a boy to ask me to dance. To my complete shock, I was consistently one of the last to be asked. At first I thought the boys had made a terrible mistake. I was so funny and pretty, and I could beat everyone I knew at tennis and climb trees faster than a cat. Why didn't they dash toward me?

Yet class after class, I watched boys dressed in blue blazers and gray pants head toward girls in flowered shifts whose perfect ponytails swung back and forth like metronomes. They fell easily into step with one another in a way that was completely mysterious to me. I came to believe that love belonged only to those who glided, who never shimmied up trees or even really touched the ground.

By the time I was 13, I knew how to subtly tilt my head and make my tears fall back into my eyes, instead of down my cheeks, when no one asked me to dance. I also discovered the powder room, which became my softly lit, reliable retreat. Whenever I started to cry, I'd excuse myself and run in there.

I finally stopped crying when I met Matt, who was quiet and hung out on the edges of the room. When we danced for the first time, he wouldn't even look me in the eyes. But he was cute, and he told great stories. We became good buddies, dancing every dance together until the end of school.

I learned from him my most important lesson about romance: that the potential for love exists in corners, in the most unlikely as well as the most obvious places.

For years my love life continued to be one long novel. In college, I fell in love with a tall English major who rode a motorcycle. He stood me up on our sixth date. In my mid-20s I moved to NY where love is as hard to find as a legal parking spot. My first Valentine's Day there, I went on a date to a crowded bar on the Upper West Side. Halfway thru the dinner, my date excused himself and never returned.

At the time, I lived with a beautiful roommate. Flowers piled up at our door like snowdrifts, and the light on the answering machine always blinked in a panicky way, overloaded with messages from her admirers. Limos purred outside, with dates waiting for her behind tinted windows. In my mind, love was something behind a tinted window, part apparition, part shadow, definitely unreachable.

Whenever I spotted happy looking couples, I'd wonder where they found love, and want to follow them home for the answer.

After a few years in the city, I got my dream job writing about weddings for a magazine called 7 Days. I had to find interesting engaged couples and write up their love stories. I got to ask total strangers the things I'd always wanted to know.

I found at least one sure answer to the question, "How do you know it's love?" You know when the everyday things surrounding you - the leaves, the shade of light in the sky, a bowl of strawberries - suddenly shimmer with king of unreality. You know when the tiny details about another person, ones that are insignificant to most people, seem fascinating and incredible to you. One groom told me he loved everything about his wife, from her handwriting to the way she scratched on their apartment door like a cat when she came home. One bride said she fell in love with her fiance because "one night", a moth was flying around a light bulb, and he caught it and let it out the window. I said: "That's it. He's the guy."

You also know it's love when you can't stop talking to each other. Almost every couple I've ever interviewed said that on their first or second date, they talked for hours and hours. For some, falling in love is like walking into a soundproof confessional booth, a place where you can tell all. I can't tell you how many women have told me they knew they were in love because they forgot to wear make up around their boyfriend. Or because they felt at ease hanging around him in flannel pajamas. There's some modern truth to Cinderella's tale - it's love when you're incredibly comfortable, when the shoe fits perfectly.

Finally, I think you're in love if you can make each other laugh at the very worst times. As someone once told me, 90% of being in love is making each other's lives funnier and easier, all the way to the deathbed.

I've interviewed many people who were down on their luck in every way - a ballerina with chronic problems, a physicist who had been on 112 blind dates, a clarinet player who was a single dad and could barely pay rent.

But love, when they found it, brought humor, candlelight, home-cooked meals, fun, adventure, poetry and long conversations in their lives.

When people ask me where to find love, I tell a story about one of my first job interviews. He gave me some advice I will never forget. He said: "Go out into the world. Work hard and concentrate on what you love to do, writing. If you become good, we will find you." That's why I always tell people looking for love to wait for that "I won the lottery" feeling - wait, wait, wait! Don't read articles about how to trap, seduce or hypnotize a mate. Don't worry about your lipstick or your height, because it is not going to matter. Just live your life well, take care of yourself, and don't mope too much. Love will find you.

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