Greek Love

Elspeth Diederix

In (late) honour of Valentine's Day, a meditation on different types of love.

Eros (sexual passion): Of course, our first entry is the one about sex. Most of my romantic relationships have been built on a foundation of sexual attraction; in the end, that attraction hasn't ever been quite enough to carry us over the times when Eros goes missing. When I was younger, sexual passion was a proxy for romantic connection: if he wants to get freaky, it must mean love. (As you can imagine, it has taken a lot to unpack that particular assumption, both in my own brain and in regarding the expectations I put on others.) And while I like and enjoy sex, there have been times, such as during the immediate postpartum and deep stress, when my sex drive is nil. When the times get tough and the sexual passion goes out the window, is there enough genuine affection and connection to maintain a bond?  What of eros then? When the fire of sexual passion banks down, are we left with glowing coals or ashes?

Philia (deep friendship): I met my bestie on Day One at the University of Toronto; we had a whirlwind friendship for a few months, a falling out that lasted another few months, and then a reconciliation that has stuck us together ever since. I met my bestie when a mutual friend connected us so I could help her with a sticky knitting project, and then we discovered that we have the same creative priorities. I met my bestie in the back of a school bus during a school trip to Toronto, and reconnected a few years at a local bar (me, drinking; him, serving). I met my bestie when our kids were in the same class, and I showed up crying at her house the day my marriage ended. I met my bestie in grade nine, and we have the same laugh about the same things. My top-tier, longstanding, deeply textured friendships? My god, my god, how lucky I've been. 

There is overlap between romance and philia, of course: the number of people who say "I'm marrying my best friend" is...a lot. Friendship, deep affection, deep love for the person as they are should be at the core of every relationship, but I don't think it's always there. The opposite of eros is revulsion; the opposite of philia is contempt. One-third of all marriages end in divorce. Make of that what you will.

Philia deserves a longer meditation from me, because it's truly been the through-line of my life. While, in my 20s, I yearned for a romantic partner, my friends were the ones who brought me the best joy. The heaviest griefs in my life have been around friendships gone sour—I mourned those for years, and still sometimes do. I am not downplaying my boyfriends and ex-husband, because those were important and often very good relationships, but my friendships ask different things of me, and deliver different things in return. Friendships don't have the relationship escalator that romance often includes; if you're very close, you might travel together or have a weekly standing coffee date, but most of the time, you're not trying to get to the next stage of friendship; you're just loving and enjoying each other. 

Ludus (playful love): This is the love I feel for my kid when they're being extra sweet at bedtime, and the love I feel for my cat when she plays fetch. This is laughing with my sister about the Connections at 11:47 on a Tuesday night. This is memes all day long. Deeply and meaningfully unserious.

Agape (love for everyone): Every so often, I have an experience that can only be called "being alive on this planet," and it fills me with awe, wonder, and a sense of cosmic connection. It's brought on by highlight-reel events like the solar eclipse or the aurora borealis, sure, but also by particularly beautiful sunsets and seeing fireflies at dusk. It's being in a dark room listening to music, or walking beside a body of water where I can't see the other side. It's the absolutely fed-up cashier taking a breath and saying "how can I help you?" when all she wants to do is hit the break room. It's walking through a gallery and seeing what we make with our hands, or the feeling of cashmere sweater, or listening to my dad laugh in another room. It is the sense that we're all in this together, on this little planet, and we are connected through sound and memory and touch and care. It's not particular, no me and them, just us, all together. It's earthy and sacred, just like we humans. 

Storge (family love): My last name means beloved in Polish. I've sometimes wondered when that was adopted or bestowed—what particular family was like, "Yes, we are beloved, it is who we are." I like being from people, my lineage of family members stretching back over time and space. I like my immediate family very much: the comfortable jumble of shared history, old grudges, half-remembered advice, hand-me-downs, jokes, affection, secrets, and connection. I like being a mother (but I will admit that single parenting is a sensory nightmare). I miss my grandparents and great-aunts and -uncles. I love when I am deemed an honorary auntie. The family bond is a sometimes weird one—would we choose these people? not always—but it has given me a place to learn what love is and what it can do.

Mania (obsessive love): When I met my first serious boyfriend, it was a love song: I had the physical sensation of falling, of electricity in my body, of feeling sick with it. I was not unprepared—I had been waiting to fall in love since my first encounter with Sweet Valley High—but I was not ready for the totalizing physicality of it. I was in love like it was a place. He was more experienced in relationships, and did not feel the same way—he liked me, yes, and we traded "I love you"s—I was into him in a way that was not totally rational. I loved loving him. When we broke up a year later, I was devastated; he moved on quickly. Obsessive love is not romantic; it was like being caught in a trash compactor. Reciprocal? Total insanity. One-sided? One-sided insanity. I don't know what my brain sparked on that made me feel this way—and I haven't felt it since—but that first boyfriend was my heroin and it fucked me up.

Pragma (longstanding love): Pragma obviously shares a source with the word "pragmatic," a matter-of-factness that defines the type of long-term partnership that comes after the fires of eros have burned down a bit. Pragma can feel a bit bloodless, focused more on rational action than emotional connection. But also: what is love, if not an verb? As in: who is picking the restaurant and booking the babysitter? What do you mean, you watched an episode without me? I will take out the trash if you finish the dishes. I got you a Fresca because I know you like it. You're a great partner. I'm proud of how far we've come. I'll drive for a while.