Our need for love lets us ignore past pain and feel hope instead

I remember the moment when my first real love died.

The relationship had been on life support for about a year. I had wanted out, but I couldn’t bring myself to say so. And then one autumn afternoon, everything ended. Even though I had wanted it to end, I felt a pain unlike anything I had ever felt. This must be a mistake. But it was over.

Years later, another love ended. There had been other loves along the way — smaller loves, maybe —  but this one felt more powerful and more real than anything I’d ever felt. Things got complicated. I backed out of marrying her. She moved on. Things got messy. The pain was even more intense than the losses that had come before.

I thought there would never be anyone else. Unexpectedly, there was. It was someone I had casually known in the past. She sent me a message out of the blue. Before long, I had fallen head over heels for her. She said she loved me and wanted to marry me.

And then — suddenly — she didn’t want a future with me. There was no explanation. Not then. Not ever.

I was left feeling all alone. Missing someone I couldn’t have. More hurt than I had ever been in my life.

But despite the pain — and despite the pain that had come with the end of every love so far — all I wanted was to fall into the grips of love again.

Against all of my experience, I believed that love could finally come and stay. For me.

If I were a completely rational creature, I might believe what I’ve described is evidence of insanity. I would conclude that anyone who understood the pain that comes with the end of a love would be crazy to take a chance on it again.

Most love ends in pain of some sort. That’s not just me. It’s almost everybody.

There are a few people who fall in love with one person and that love stays strong for the life of one or both of them. That happens, but it’s remarkably rare.

Most relationships end in pain of some kind. One person might lose interest. One of the partners might cheat. One of them might be hit by the proverbial bus. There are a million ways love can die. Most of them hurt.

I know my own experience. I know the pain I’ve felt. I know the experience I see in the vast majority of relationships that I observe.

So why do I still want love — the real kind of love that connects me with someone for life — more than anything else this world has to offer?

If it’s not insanity, there’s only one other real possibility. Something about the connection that most of us seek is just as powerful a need for us as the need we have for food or water or air.

Life would be a lot easier if we didn’t feel this intense need. And life would be easier if our partner selections could be based solely on pragmatic criteria instead of the need for emotional and spiritual connection.

For me, that’s just not the way life works.

I need love. I need connection. I need family.

Every failed love teaches me that I should stop hoping. Yet somehow hope returns anyway. Maybe that’s foolish. Or maybe it’s simply part of being human. Whatever the explanation, I know this much: the need to be deeply known and deeply loved is stronger than my fear of being hurt again.

It’s incredibly difficult for me to find women who are good potential connections for me. I’m not exactly normal by this world’s standards. I’m intense. My interests differ from those of most people. I know precisely what I’m looking for and I’m looking for a woman who wants that specific life.

Despite all these things — all of these reasons I would be better off to forget love entirely — I cling to hope. And it’s a hope that goes against all of my reason and all of my experience.

Maybe I am crazy. But if I am, it’s only because we humans have such an intense need for connection that we have no choice but to keep trying to get it right.