A modern approach
I started noticing the trend a number of years ago. The switch was gradual and obvious. Nowadays, it’s nearly complete.
Few people say “I love you” anymore.
Seriously.
They say, “Love you.” And, “Love you!” And, “You’re the best! Love you all!” And insert your own variation here.
But they leave off the “I.”
Really.
I dare you to pay attention.
Why do we do this? Are we in such a hurry that we need to shorten it … from three syllables to two, for pity’s sake?
Do we recognize how dropping the “I” depersonalizes this declaration? If not, imagine this scenario: You hurt someone, realize it, and ask for their forgiveness. They reply, “Forgive you.”
How would that feel? If it happened to me, I might reply, “Forgive me? Who forgives me?”
When they reply, “I forgive you,” I’d surely snap, “Then why didn’t you say that the first time?!” and it would come out of my mouth with such fire that I’d have to ask their forgiveness all over again.
At least they’d have the chance to get it right the second time.
Clearly, only saying, “Forgive you,” depersonalizes the words, the act of forgiving. The “I” is vital.
From my observation, shortening “I love you” to “Love you” depersonalizes it enough that it makes it easy to declare to a lot of people. And this got us used to dropping the “I.” Which got us to where we go for the two syllables over three even with our most beloved ones.
Here’s an example of what I mean. There’s a woman to whom I am related, who has never said, “I love you,” to me. She has said, “Love you,” but always with a condition. Often, it’s, “Love you and Julie.” Sometimes, it’s, “Love you guys.”
Without the “I,” she can tell me she loves me. It’s impersonal enough that she can say it directly to me. With the “I,” it gets too, well, intimate. And, to be fair to her, it feels the same for me, when expressing my love for her.
And this is what I hear, everywhere. Even when it should be personal—when it is personal, in the closest relationships.
A traditional approach
Last year, I noticed Julie and I had reached this point. Before we go to bed, we always declare our love with our goodnight kiss. But it had become, “Love you.” I didn’t care for it. I brought it up. I explained everything I’ve written, above. We returned the “I” to “love you.”
It felt good.
When we declare our love, we look each other in the eye. That feels good, too. Eye to eye contact. Talk about personal! Intimate! Yeah, baby!
And we do more. I often go first, and I like to toss it up. My favorites are, “I adore you,” “I’m crazy about you,” and, “I cherish you.” Not wanting to grow stale, in quiet moments during the evening I ponder a fresh approach. Recently, I told her, “I really like you,” and, “I’m glad I’m married to you.”
Typically, she giggles and smiles. Sometimes, she repeats the one I said. At times, she goes for one of the others. Always, we both begin with the “I.”
The “I” is as vital as the “you.” The “love” connects us. Her. Me. And no one else when we make our declaration. Personal, indeed.
A novel approach
Last summer, when Julie and I were on a Saturday morning walk, she suggested I write our love story as a novel. Three miles later, I had the characters’ names—Kit & Cassie—and the basics of who they are. I completed the first draft by the end of the year and am aiming to publish it in June.
In the story, though Kit & Cassie are fictional people, I’ve modeled their personalities after Julie’s and mine, structured how they come together in a way that mirrors how we came to meet and fall for each other, and then used large chunks of our emails—Thank you for saving those, Julie!—for what Kit & Cassie write to each other.
Those weeks of reading our old emails, then creating Kit & Cassie’s love story, and putting into their hearts and lives and mouths what Julie and I felt and experienced and said … well, those weeks were wonderfully romantic. I was constantly telling Julie where they were in their story, then we talked about what we experienced. It was a blast.
In the book, there is a poignant scene when Kit and Cassie are finally in each other’s presence. Kit gets to look Cassie in the eye and declare his love.
But he doesn’t only say, “I love you.” He makes it oh, so much sweeter: “I’m in love with you, Cassie.” It has the effect Kit wants. Cassie replies, “I’m so in love with you, Kit.”
A romantic approach
I told Julie about this scene. I explained how I see so much more depth to the declaration of love in this phrase. Then, I said, “I’m in love with you, Julie.”
And then she said, “I’m in love with you, Greg.”
And, man oh man, does it feel good for my wife of twenty-one years to say those words to me.
That was weeks ago. After saying, “I’m in love with you, Julie,” for a couple weeks, I began mixing in the other phrases. And toss in my favorite nicknames. And make our goodnight moment as romantically gooey as can be.
As she and I watch TV in the evening, I listen for a fun, cute, or romantic thing I can echo to her when we say goodnight, to preface my declaration of love. Because she’s quick-witted, she often has a splendid comeback. We laugh together. We declare our love. We hug, long and hard.
I am confident I don’t need to write how strongly I recommend you do something similar with your mate.
An everyday approach
I’m certainly not advocating we tell our aunt, “I’m in love with you, Aunt Gertrude.” Always mindful of ol’ Gertie’s heart condition, we wouldn’t want to shock her into our need to dial 911. But, I assert, if I love Aunt Gertie, she merits more than a “Love you,” with the peck I plant on her cheek. She deserves the direction–from me to her. She deserves the specificity—it’s “I” who loves “you.”
So does your child deserve that direction: “I love you, son.” And your sibling: “I love you, sis.” And everyone you love more than casually.
As for the woman, who can say to me, “Love you”? I accept it, and return the same phrase, because it’s appropriate for who we are to each other. But, now that’s I’ve written about this, the next time I have a chance to add the “I,” I’m going to challenge myself to do it.
I’m not looking to revolutionize the world. What I hope I’ve accomplished with this piece is to show how we’ve grown so casual—too casual—in our culture. Because we aren’t paying attention—or we don’t care enough—or we are always moving at breakneck speed—we’re paying the price.
We move so fast, we don’t check our texts and social media posts for errors: “I sold by car!” Huh?
We’re in such a hurry, we comment on posts without reading them: COMMENT: “Why are you moving to Albuquerque?” REPLY: “I said why in my post. Didn’t you read past the first sentence?!”
And we find the need to drop from three syllables to two when declaring our love.
One should never speed through love. After all, it’s what makes the world go ’round.
Eilers Pizza 