​I sat there watching them in that alcove in Venice before I asked permission to take their photo. They told me they were recently engaged.

They looked like they were part of a movie set. So intimate, the lighting just right, their elegant clothes, the way they leaned into each other as if the world had agreed, just for a moment, to hold everything still. A couple who had arrived. Not just in magical Venice, but at a feeling, a knowing. This is it.

Later, my friends and I joked about it. The kind of joking that tries to puncture something a little too perfect before it starts to feel like it might matter. "Don't do it," we wanted to call out across the canal, half laughing, as if love were something you could intervene in before it takes hold.

But underneath the humour was something less comfortable. A recognition I didn't fully want to name: that what we were reacting to wasn't just them. It was something they were activating in us.

And I found myself wondering: why do we fall in love with how it feels, rather than what it is?

In the beginning, the feeling is the experience. You notice everything. The way they speak. The way they look at you. The small details that, later, become almost invisible. Nothing has been repeated enough times to fade into the background.

And in a place like Venice, attention feels effortless. Life slows down. There's nowhere else you need to be. The connection feels complete, almost self-sustaining.

We fall in love under conditions almost designed for attention, and then try to sustain that same intensity under entirely different ones. When it changes, it's easy to feel like something has been lost.
But what we often miss is this: it's not always love that disappears. It's the attention that once made love feel so vivid.

What we mourn, more than we admit, is not the end of love. It's the end of effortless noticing.

In the beginning, attention arrives on its own. It is carried by novelty, by curiosity, by the simple fact that you are still learning someone. You don't have to try. You're just looking.

Over time, that changes. Not because love is gone, but because the conditions that fed it are. The novelty settles. The distance closes. The lack of imagination fills in.

So I watched them in their alcove and thought: the real question isn't whether love lasts.

It's whether we can keep turning toward each other once circumstances stop doing it for us. Whether we can choose to notice, again and again, a glance held a beat too long, a hand reached for without thinking, a moment made slightly more deliberate, on an ordinary Tuesday.

Because Venice will not follow them home. And neither will this version of themselves.

But attention, if it is chosen, might.
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Lately, in my work with couples, one thing becomes clear almost immediately: the way one person expresses love is not always the way the other receives it. They are both trying, but they are speaking different dialects of the same language. And when those dialects do not match, love gets lost in translation.

The good news? Once couples start to recognize these differences, something shifts. They begin to see that love may already be present in the relationship; it is just being spoken in a language the other person does not quite hear.

Understanding those differences is one part of what I teach. Another is keeping love alive through curiosity, playfulness, and creativity. These are qualities I come back to with every couple I work with because they turn a language into a living, breathing conversation—and, not to mention, they strengthen what all of us want...connection!

The Five Love Languages

Gary Chapman’s love languages framework offers a useful map for how people give and receive love. According to Chapman, people tend to experience love most strongly through one or two of these five “languages”:

1. Words of Affirmation – Feeling loved through verbal expressions of appreciation, encouragement, or compliments.
2. Acts of Service – Feeling loved when someone helps, supports, or eases your responsibilities.
3. Receiving Gifts – Feeling loved through meaningful, thoughtful gifts and gestures that say “I was thinking of you.”
4. Quality Time – Feeling loved through focused, undivided attention and shared experiences.
5. Physical Touch – Feeling loved through hugs, hand-holding, or intimate closeness.

Most of us love our partners in the language we ourselves speak. It is completely natural, but it is also how two well-meaning people can end up talking past each other for years.

A few examples from the couples I work with:

• One partner cleans the kitchen (Acts of Service) while the other longs to hear, “I appreciate you” (Words of Affirmation).
• One partner brings home thoughtful gifts while the other just wants an uninterrupted evening together (Quality Time).
  

No one is failing. They are just speaking different emotional dialects, and nobody handed them a phrasebook.

Even when you are speaking the right love language, connection requires something more: curiosity, playfulness, and a willingness to keep the conversation fresh. Esther Perel calls it “attention to novelty.” I call it staying genuinely interested in the person across from you—and adding your own creative spark.


Learning Their Dialect

Learning your partner’s love language is not a one-time exercise; it is an ongoing practice. Here’s how to start:

• Observe – Notice the moments when your partner lights up emotionally or seems quietly touched.
• Ask and Listen – Try: “What makes you feel most loved?” Then listen without explaining, defending, or correcting.
• Experiment – Try expressing love in different languages and notice what resonates.
• Check In Regularly – People’s needs evolve. A gesture that worked a year ago may need refreshing today.

Bringing Curiosity, Play, and Creativity

Love languages give us the map, but a map is only useful if you keep exploring. Relationships are always evolving, and love thrives not just through the right gestures but through how we show up when we make them.

• A playful note, an unexpected hug, or a spontaneous act of service can feel far more powerful than predictable ones.
• Moments of curiosity—asking about your partner’s inner world, remembering small details, exploring something new together—build intimacy over time.
• Creativity doesn’t have to be dramatic. Small surprises and thoughtful gestures keep desire alive and remind your partner: I still see you. I’m still paying attention.

A Reflection Exercise for Couples: 

Try this together:

1. Each partner identifies their top two love languages.
2. Share specific examples of what helps you feel loved.
3. For one week, intentionally offer one daily gesture in your partner’s love language.
4. At the end of the week, talk about what felt different, what you noticed, and what you appreciated.

This is not a test. It is a conversation, with curiosity, playfulness, and creativity built right in.



In the end, love is never about perfect gestures; it is about generosity. It is always more about presence than just presents. Think of it as learning your partner’s dialect. Even the tiniest hug, or a sticky note that says, “You rock,” can say, “I see you. I love you.”
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Boom, translation complete! 

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As another year turns, we feel it again—the push to “do better”. You know:

Lose weight.
Get in shape.
Earn more.
Save more.
Get organized.
Declutter.
Fix what’s broken.
Get a life!

By January, it’s everywhere—the familiar rhetoric of self-improvement. And sure, I get it. Habits can be tracked. Goals can be measured. Closets can be decluttered. But here’s the thing: what actually shapes our lives rarely shows up on a spreadsheet.

Last week, my husband was telling me something important. And I…wasn’t really there. My body was, but my attention had drifted somewhere between the peanut butter jar and whether we were out of olive oil. I only realized it when I blurted, “Wait, what?” …and I completely realized I’d missed the heart of what he was saying.

Yes, this is me! The one who teaches and writes about empathy and presence. And there I was, nodding at the right moments while mentally composing my grocery list. Oops!

Presence Over Perfection

If we pause long enough, another kind of work comes into view—quieter, less measurable, and far more demanding. In our relationships, it’s the work that actually matters:

Empathy.
Presence.
Curiosity.

Empathy asks something simple:

• To notice what it’s like to be someone else right now.
• To sense what they need, even when it isn’t spoken.
• To make space for their experience without rushing to correct, fix, or dismiss it.

It’s selfless work. We can’t control what someone else feels or does—but we can show up. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when we’d rather be thinking about something else.

During the holidays, I saw this pattern play out several times.

A friend was talking about a tough family decision. Halfway through, I interrupted: “Oh, that reminds me of when I…” and launched into my own story. By the time I finished, she had gone quiet. The moment had passed.

Another friend shared some exciting news about a long-awaited promotion. My first thought? “Wow, does that mean longer hours away from your family?” Her face fell. She hadn’t asked for analysis—she just wanted someone to be genuinely excited with her.

And of course, my husband provides daily practice. While he speaks, I mentally calculate what else I have to do that day, nodding in all the right places while my brain runs in a different room. I call this multitasking. He calls it not listening.🫢Being a relationship educator doesn’t mean I’ve mastered empathy; it just means I get to notice how often I miss it.

My dog, by the way, is better at this than I am. She notices everything. When I’m sad, she sits on my feet. When I’m anxious, she leans against my leg. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just shows up. Ever notice “dog” is “god” spelled backward? I think they’re far more evolved than we are. 🙂

These moments are humbling reminders for us all: even those of us who teach empathy slip into distraction, comparison, or problem-solving. And that’s because presence isn’t automatic; it’s a choice, repeated endlessly, one small act at a time.

This work exposes our patterns:

• Do we meet one another with generosity—or retreat into transaction?
• Do we truly listen—or offer advice too soon?
• Do we allow someone else’s joy to shine—or dim it with comparison?

It’s uncomfortable because it asks us to feel what someone else is feeling.
Easier to offer solutions than sit with sadness.
Easier to scroll than hold space.
Easier to interrupt with our story than stay curious about theirs.

The work of empathy doesn’t come with progress bars or achievement badges. It accumulates quietly, in small, often invisible ways:

• Putting down your phone while someone speaks.
• Remembering a detail they mentioned weeks ago.
• Choosing curiosity over judgment when behaviour confuses you.
• Even noticing the beings who rely on you—pausing to meet your dog’s gaze, noticing your cat’s presence, honouring the trust and dependence they place in you.

This kind of attention takes courage. Not the courage of goal-setting or self-optimization. The courage to stay present. To bear witness without trying to solve it. To risk discomfort. To choose connection over convenience.

And when we get it right—when we really listen, make space, stay—people remember. Not because we did something grand, but because we made them feel seen rather than tolerated, loved rather than managed.
So maybe the question at the start of a new year isn’t how to become better—but how to be more present.

• How can we listen with curiosity rather than waiting to reply?
• How can we offer attention without keeping score?
• How can we remain in difficult conversations instead of withdrawing?
  

This work is quiet, humble and often invisible. And yet, it is what sustains intimacy over time. It’s also what I often get wrong…which is oddly comforting. It means I’m still learning…practice makes perfect, right?☺️

Empathy isn’t a trait; it’s a practice.
Attention and care are skills we can cultivate, strengthen, and choose daily.
This is the curriculum of love—not romance, not sentiment—but the steady commitment to showing up for each other.
And it can happen at any age, in any relationship, at any time.
Even when you’ve just blown it. Especially then.

So, where can you pause today?
Or listen a little longer?
Honour someone else’s story?
Or just be present for the lives that intersect your own?

I’ll be over here, trying to remember what my husband just said.
Putting the grocery list away for ten minutes.
And practicing presence, one baby step at a time.😉

​How will you practice presence this week? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Happy 2026!

There are some people you will love forever—no matter what they did, no matter how much it hurt.
Not because you’re weak, but because your soul saw something in them:

a light,
a wound,
a truth.  

And letting go doesn’t erase that.

Have you ever loved someone like that?
Someone who couldn't meet you in your truth.
Someone who deceived you, then disappeared—without an apology.
Someone who, you’ve come to understand, may carry pain even deeper than yours.

He or she may never return. They may never say sorry.
And still... you love them. You want them to heal.

Not because you’re waiting…
But because you’ve stopped needing closure to offer peace.

Letting go doesn’t always mean cutting someone off in anger.
Sometimes, it means releasing them softly— with a heart that still trembles but stays open.
It means choosing to love without attachment…
To offer a blessing without expecting anything in return.

At some point, it’s no longer about revenge.
It’s no longer even about the apology that never came.
It becomes about something quieter.
Something deeper.

Peace.

For both hearts.
For the wound that lingers between them,
Silently aching, 

...to finally stop bleeding.

Forgiveness is not the end of healing.
It’s the outcome of healing.
​
Lydia

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