This is one of those truths that people don't like to say out loud

Your greatest love may be for your dog, your mother, your best friend

Image via @Soli

But first: a reminder that we have a Candlelight Chat this Sunday, at 1 pm ET, with the extraordinary Annaka Harris, the NY Times bestselling author and host of LIGHTS ON, a dazzling new audio series on the mysteries of consciousness. We’ll be talking about consciousness — what is it? Can AI ever replicate the subjective experience of being conscious? And how would understanding consciousness change your life? Log-in instructions will go out Saturday to all Quiet Life paid and scholarship members.

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And now, our topic today: What if the greatest love of your life wasn’t a romantic partner, but your brother, your cat, your grandmother?

What if the most passionate connection you ever knew came not through candlelight and roses, but through games of fetch, or a shared childhood, or the loyal presence of the elder who raised you?

I was browsing through a Leonard Cohen fan site the other day, and came across this recollection from the musician Jennifer Warnes, who was a close friend of his. It’s about a hidden truth that Leonard told Jennifer, on the day her mother died.

It’s one of those truths that people don’t like to say out loud—which is EXACTLY why I share it with you here.

Here’s Jennifer:

“I phoned Leonard on the day that my mother – who in many ways was my ‘significant other’ – died.

‘Was that somehow strange, devoting one’s life to one’s mother?’ I asked.

His response was impeccable: ‘Jenny, never question where love comes from. We have no control over these things. From a stranger, a mother, a dog, or that perfect mate, it comes from wherever it comes. You were lucky, in fact – everyone hopes to find love in the place that you found it.’”

I love this exchange, because we have so many suppositions about love. We think it’s supposed to emerge in a certain way, in the form of a certain category of person. When I was a teenager, and for the first thirty years of my life, it was my mother, too, whom I loved the most, my mother whom I loved in the devoted, tempestuous, devastating, redeeming relationship I wrote about in my book, BITTERSWEET.

“Cranes,” by Matazo Kayama

Decades before I wrote that book, in a creative writing class in college, I wrote a story about our relationship. I called that story “The Most Passionate Love”, though I felt embarrassed by this title, because weren’t the greatest passions supposed to flame in the realm of romance? I had boyfriends during those years, too, and I loved them, but (lucky for them, ha) not with quite the passionate intensity that lived between my mother and me. And I felt that there was something wrong with this. But there was nothing wrong with this. Because all earthly love is a manifestation of the ultimate love, of the mysterious, steadfast, ecstatic love that we occasionally get a glimpse of, when the music soars, or the dancer spins, or the hero scales the burning building.

Never question where love comes from.

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Today’s Kindred Letter is open to all; if it struck you — if you know someone who would benefit from this ‘truth that isn’t usually said out loud’ — please consider sharing it with a friend.

And finally: today, I want to ask you just one simple question, to start our conversation:

Where, or with whom, have you found your greatest love? Please, leave a comment below.

xo Susan