“Why do you love Aliya?” My therapist is great for asking the most complex questions five minutes before our session ends. I think it’s his way of tricking me into thinking I had a mind-blowing session. 

Just kidding, Jamel.

Why do you love someone? It is a complicated question whose answers can change hour by hour. Because they are kind? Because they make me feel safe? Because the sex is incredible? Because they bought doughnuts? Love is one of those things you don’t even realize happened until you stop and look around for a second and have that “Holy shit, how did I get here” moment. 

“Why do I love Aliya?” I repeated the question as a means to stall while I contemplated the enormity of the question while simultaneously being perplexed by the fact that I didn’t have an answer at the ready.

I met Aliya at a low point in my life. Actually, I met her one step above the low point in my life. By the time I met Aliya, I had negotiated a divorce, managed near-crippling depression, and recovered from homelessness. I was living in a basement, working at a call center as a recruiter. I was making just enough money to fool myself into thinking I was worth dating. Which, for most guys is anything above a dollar an hour.

We connected on a dating app I won’t mention because they aren’t cutting me a check. All I will say is no; it wasn’t that one. When we matched, I led with, “This is why you don’t want to date me.” I thought I had a compelling argument. Her response was simple and startling, “Oh, I can beat that”. 

Before we knew it, we were a couple. It happened so quickly that when I got a message from her asking what we were doing, “I’m not here to be a friend. I’m looking for a relationship”. I realized that we shot straight past the affirmation of what we had already become. All I could say was, “Oh yeah, we’re done searching. You’re it.” 

I know it doesn’t read romance, but I assure you it's magical when you meet someone and fall, not only in love but in life. 

“Aliya makes it safe to stretch and do the dangerous thing,” I say to Jamel after a moment of thinking. We have created a home that requires creativity and dream chasing. Our children dance, draw, take photos, and play music. Even for a child, audacity comes with creating art. That audacity is magnitudes larger as an adult looking to survive and provide for by that same creation. To do so means that you are constantly placing bets on yourself. Not every relationship or home can manage those wins and losses and survive. 

It’s thrilling, it’s scary, but it’s also the safest I can remember being in a relationship because, instead of pushing for an impossible steadiness, we dive headlong into the inevitable rise and fall of a well-lived life.

Aliya makes space for those bets because she’s placing the same ones. We are both writers. Admittedly she is more accomplished (google her). We work on projects together. We work on projects separately. We cheer on and critique each other's work. We argue over the approach and merit of the work we produce as well as the art around us. It’s a friction that we understand is required for us to manifest our best creations. 

Nothing moves without friction. 

Jamel’s question stuck with me as I drove home from therapy. Why do I love Aliya? The easy answer involves what she has done for me. She saved me from me in more ways than she’s willing to admit. But defining love by what someone has done for you is a dangerous proposition because, as time passes, those things matter less and less. They inevitably reach a point of obsolescence. Lasting love must be about the light intrinsic to the person standing before you. Who are they when they aren’t in service to you? Without that base, love is just a series of acts piled on top of itself, waiting to topple. 

Aliya and I had our first real rough patch. Our first in our four years together. A series of unfortunate events including a couple of postponed/canceled projects and the WGA/SAG strike left us in a financial bind. Her job wasn’t going to be enough to carry us. I needed to find what Aliya and I call a “widget job”. Something quick and easy that could fill the gap until things steadied. It was a stressful time. We debated. We Argued. We fought.

It was a time that reminded me of past relationships gone awry. Except…

For the first time, I experienced the difficulties of love without worrying that it was the end of love. Every bluster ended with both of us reassuring the other that “We’re going to be ok”.

Why do I love Aliya?

I could talk about all the things she has done for me. The kindness and the safety. Her ability to see my worth, even at times when I didn’t. But that’s not really about loving her is it? It’s just a list of things she does for me that I like.

Why do I love Aliya?

She has an empathy that only comes from a life lived at the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. She imagines everyone living their best lives and tells them so in a way that leaves no other option than to pursue their personal legends. She is supremely talented (She hates that I used an -ly word. She thinks they are filler for the unimaginative). There is a tailwind that talented people have that makes those around them want to soar to their greatest potential. She does that for our children and I in a way I don’t think she fully grasps.

Maya Angelou once said “I am grateful to have been loved, and to be loved now and to be able to love. Because love liberates.”

I did not know that truth before Aliya.