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A note for the younger ones
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WHY
I FEEL I CAN SAY THIS WITH SOME CERTAINTY
What I am about to share is
not borrowed opinion or something I read once and found appealing. It comes
from having lived long enough to watch relationships play out across
decades — my own, and those of many others who have walked this road. We
have seen relations begin, deepen, strain, break, mend, and in some cases
quietly fade. When one lives long enough, patterns become visible that are
invisible to someone in the middle of their twenties or thirties or for some
even in their forties. That is the only authority I claim here — not
expertise, but time served, and eyes kept open through it.
RELATIONS
ARE GIVEN OR CHOSEN — BUT BOTH ARE MEANT TO BE KEPT
Some relations come to us by
birth — parents, siblings, cousins. Others we choose — friends,
spouses, the family we build around ourselves. The two are different in origin,
but I would not want you to conclude that either can simply be let go. My own
softer, and I believe truer, view is this: the strength of a relation
may rise and fall over the years, but desire to maintain the same till last must not weaken.
With relations by birth, some
distance or friction is only human. Not everyone in a family sees the world the
same way, and not every bond will feel equally warm at every stage of life. That
weakness can be understood — even expected — but it should never be promoted.
We should not tell ourselves a story that makes it easier to walk away from a
brother, a parent, a cousin. Blood did not ask our permission, and I don't
believe we should ask its permission to end it either. Where warmth has
faded, the door should still be left open.
With relations by choice, the standard I would hold everyone to
is higher still. A friend, a spouse, a chosen family member entered our
life because we let them in — nobody forced that door open. Precisely
because it was our choosing, I believe it deserves to be maintained at almost
any cost. It is easier to justify walking away from something we didn't
choose than from something we did. So hold the relations we chose most
carefully of all.
In both cases, the work is
not a one-time declaration of love or loyalty; it is small, repeated acts of
nurturing, nourishing, strengthening, and maintaining — the way a garden is
tended, not once, but again and again, season after season. A relationship
left alone does not stay the same. It does not merely pause — it quietly
erodes, even if it never technically ends. This is true of a marriage, a
friendship, and of the bond between a parent and a grown child, or between
cousins who once shared a childhood and now share only a WhatsApp group.
WHAT
EXPERIENCE TEACHES — AND WHAT RESEARCH CONFIRMS
Over the years, I — and I
suspect most of us who have lived long — have been on every side of this. We
have caused strain we didn't intend. We have absorbed strain we didn't deserve.
We have faced situations that could have broken a relationship and somehow
didn't; others where a small thing, left unattended, grew into a permanent
distance. We have both damaged and repaired. We have both been forgiven and had
to forgive.
It turns out this lived
experience lines up closely with what relationship researchers have found.
The psychologist John Gottman spent decades studying couples — watching how
they argued, not just whether they argued — and could predict with striking
accuracy which relationships would last and which would not. He found four
behaviors that corrode a relationship over time if left unchecked: harsh
criticism of the person rather than the issue, contempt (mockery, eye-rolling,
superiority), defensiveness, and stonewalling — simply shutting down and
withdrawing. He also found that the relationships that lasted weren't the
ones without conflict — they were the ones where positive moments (affection,
appreciation, humor, small kindnesses) outnumbered the negative ones by a
wide margin, and where relatives kept a store of fondness and admiration they
could draw on when times were hard.
What made the difference
between people who fell into those corrosive patterns and people who didn't? Emotional
intelligence — the capacity to notice what we are feeling, notice what the
other person is feeling, and choose our response rather than simply react. This
is the thread that connects a lifetime of family experience to serious
research: the relationships that lasted were not the ones between people who
never got hurt or never made mistakes. They were the ones between people who
stayed emotionally aware enough to catch themselves, repair quickly, and keep
choosing the relationship even in its harder seasons.
KNOWING
OUR OWN PATTERN — AND STAYING WATCHFUL OF OTHERS'
There is another piece of
this that took me years to understand, and that comes from what is called attachment
theory. It suggests that very early in life — long before we have any
memory of it — each of us develops a kind of template for how to be close to
another person. Broadly, people tend to fall into one of a few patterns:
some grow up secure, comfortable with both closeness and independence;
some become anxious, craving closeness and fearing it will be taken
away; some become avoidant, valuing independence to the point of keeping
others at arm's length; and some become a mix of both — wanting closeness
while distrusting it.
I share this not so we can
diagnose ourself or anyone else, but so we stay watchful — of our own patterns,
and of the patterns in people we love. If we notice we tend to pull away when
someone gets close, or panic when someone goes quiet on us, that is worth
knowing about our self — not as a flaw, but as a starting pattern we were
handed, which we are free to work with and soften over time. The same goes
for watching the people around us with compassion rather than judgment: a
parent who struggles to say “I love you” may not lack love, only the template
for expressing it easily. A sibling who withdraws during conflict may not be
indifferent, only overwhelmed.
This is where emotional
intelligence becomes the tool that lets us work with whatever pattern we
were given rather than be ruled by it. Awareness of our own pattern, and
gentleness toward others', is what allows old wounds to be mended and new
closeness to be built — no matter what template either of us started with.
HOW
TO ACTUALLY BUILD EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE — BECAUSE IT CAN BE BUILT
Here is the most hopeful
part of everything I have shared: none of this is fixed. The research on this is consistent — emotional
intelligence is trainable at any age, not just something you either have or
don't. It grows the way a muscle does — through repetition, not through reading
about it once. A few ways that genuinely help:
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Reflect after emotional moments, not just
during them. A few minutes of honest review — what did I feel, what did
they feel, what did I actually do — builds self-awareness faster than trying to
be aware in the heat of the moment.
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Practice receptive listening. Let the
other person finish. Reflect back what you heard before responding. This single
habit resolves more conflict than any clever argument.
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Watch and learn from others' emotional
stories — in books, in conversation, in family history like this one.
Empathy grows by witnessing, not just by instruction.
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Rehearse the hard conversations, even in
your head, before you have them. Real practice, even imagined, builds the
skill.
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Keep at it over months, not days. A
weekend of good intentions rarely changes a pattern. Small, repeated practice
does.
I want you to understand what
is at stake in this, beyond any single relationship. A life well-tended in
its relations is, in my experience, a fulfilled life — regardless of what
else it contains. Wealth, achievement, and recognition fade in importance as
the years go on; the people who stayed close to us, and the people we stayed
close to, do not. If there is one skill I would want you to carry from this
note, it is this: notice your feelings, notice theirs, and let that noticing
guide what you do next. Everything else in a relationship — its length, its
strength, its capacity to survive hard seasons — tends to follow from that one
habit, practiced patiently, for a lifetime.
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