The Thing About Love

When does it actually begin—the desire to love?As a child, you love your parents, your best friend, your pet, maybe all animals, and even your kindergarten teacher. And then, at some point, romantic love becomes interesting… whether same-sex or opposite-sex.

When I was nine years old, I had a “boyfriend.” Admittedly, we never kissed. Maybe we held hands once, but that was already the height of emotions. And yet, he wrote me what is probably the only handwritten love letter I have ever received. Almost sad, writing this now—because I love cards and handwritten letters, even in the 21st century.

Today I woke up in our far-too-hot room—no AC—and had to smile when I saw my partner sleeping peacefully next to me. And then I wondered: When did I fall in love with him? And above all—why?And can’t we fall in love again and again? With anyone?

In one of my Buddhist courses, a teacher once said that he was convinced that if we spent enough time together—or for a certain amount of time—we would inevitably fall in love. He said that people often ended up together in those courses, even though they barely spoke to each other. That didn’t happen to me in those courses, but I observed it in many others. Interesting, isn’t it?

So what does it take to fall in love?

What determines the intensity?

Where do the butterflies come from—or is it just a phenomenon?

As I grew older, in my teenage,  it became very important to me how I was dressed. I spent a long time thinking about what to wear, whether my hair needed a new color, and of course, whether I was wearing makeup. Was I doing this for myself? For others? Or mostly to attract the gender I was interested in?If I’m completely honest—definitely the latter.

Years later, I found out—ironically—when I was flipping through an H&M catalog with my roommate and asked him what he liked, that it was something completely different from what I thought looked good. Very basic, almost meaningless—just form-fitting.

At fourteen, I already had larger breasts than many of my peers, and from my perspective back then, I certainly wouldn’t have won a modeling contest with my body. Also at the age of fourteen, I tried to stop eating sweets because I thought I was too fat. It wasn’t until I was 32—almost twenty years later—that I developed a healthy relationship with my body, gratitude for everything this home of mine made possible.

Interestingly, at that age I also made peace with something else: the need to adapt, or to believe I had to play a role in order to maybe meet my dream man. I decided that the dream man couldn’t be found on Tinder. After all, there is still real life.(Even if pessimists claim that after thirty there are no great men left—that the best ones are already taken and only the freshly divorced or the slightly unhinged remain.)

When I talked about this with friends, I often said: Well, then I must be a little unhinged too.But isn’t everyone a little unhinged somewhere—and doesn’t that make us human and lovable? I think so. And that’s a good thing.

Funny enough, when I stopped worrying about whether someone liked me, when I no longer feared that there weren’t enough interesting men out there, and when I stopped jogging obsessively and instead ate more consciously, cut out sugar more often, moved my body through boring walks and yoga—without time pressure—I suddenly became slimmer and more in tune with my body than ever before.

Still, it took a few more years until I truly fell head over heels in love—until I was deeply at peace with myself and my existence.

When I was simply happy—with my life, my body, and my being.

When I did fall in love—although it wasn’t the expected Hollywood romance from the start, but rather complicated—I understood why the world makes movies about love.

Even though I had many crushes before, fell unhappily in love, and said “I like you” or “I love you” more than once—had I really loved? And what does it actually mean to love?

My last boyfriend once said to me:

Kathrin, love is not tied to conditions. It is simply unconditional.

Phew. He was right, I thought—and felt guilty. Had I consciously or unconsciously tied my relationships and partners to conditions? They were supposed to be confident (because I struggled with that), tall, funny, passionate—and definitely very much in love with me. And if I was honest, they shouldn’t be too easy to get either.

Psychologists would probably describe me as the anxious-avoidant type: someone who initially gives the cold shoulder when closeness is desired, who keeps distance. And once I fall in love, I start clinging, becoming jealous when I sense danger, constantly thinking he doesn’t love me.

On top of that, I often sought validation in relationships. Would I fall in love if I saw no signs of interest from the other person?

Interestingly, I once had a Tinder date. For some reason, we were very honest—or at least I was—and I said I had fallen in love with someone else. He laughed and said: Then that guy is in love with you too.

We don’t fall in love without perceiving signs—real or misinterpreted—that the other person is interested.

Interestingly, at the end of this year, I had a similar conversation. The other person said:Kathrin, we only love with the intensity with which we are loved.

But is that true? Isn’t it often the case that in relationships we love at different times, with different intensity? That the foundation may be the same, but everyone loves differently—has different capacities to feel, perceive, and express love?

So why are we so eager to find someone else? Again and again, I encounter stories where women and men cheat another. Even when we know that this person is officially in a relationship, in love with someone else, or dating someone else.

Is that still love? True, unconditional love?

Or just our ego wanting to be stroked—or a hunting instinct triggered because what someone else has seems more attractive than what we could easily have?

Another phenomenon I’ve observed—both in myself and others—is that we often fall in love with people who are a challenge. Who may not actually match our values at all, but who fit perfectly in our imagination. That imagination alone fuels us so strongly that we paint every possible future—marriage included. Quite funny.

Since I’ve been coming to India regularly, I’ve rethought the concept of love and relationships. Many young people here—across social classes—still enter arranged marriages. Marriage, because it seems important to be married, because it belongs to life, provides security, and is considered essential by families.

And perhaps this is also what Tinder represents—just in a modernized form, with another intention behind it.

I’ve heard from many people that they end up in loving, respectful relationships—full of love. Even though, as a freedom-loving person, I couldn’t imagine that at all in the beginning.

Today, I still wouldn’t enter an arranged marriage—not because I reject love, but because marriage itself isn’t that important to me. I don’t want financial security through another person, and I deeply believe in meeting someone in real life—without checking résumés or photos first.

Maybe on a bench in the sun, with period cramps, waiting for a friend who signed up for a course. Someone sits down next to me, starts a conversation, and after a short while—when it already feels familiar—asks for my number. Simple. No Tinder. Just real life.

And then I realize again and again that all the love stories we read, all the films we watch, all the ideas we imagine about love are not illusions—but real, unpolished life. In a way. But being in a relationship doesn't always replicate the Hollywood story, it's a different one. A real one!

But what does love mean then? What’s the definition of love?

Love must be experienced.

Love must be allowed.

Love is a decision.

Love grows and sometimes needs time.

Love is unconditional.

Love can be cruel and beautiful.

Love simple it is.

Love can be learned.

Love requires courage—especially not giving up when it becomes uncomfortable.

Love also requires the courage to truly open up, to be vulnerable, to know oneself deeply and to see the other person fully and authentically.

Love is allowed to be boring.

Love is allowed to be steady.

Love is what we need as a society—not only romantic love, but love between people who meet at eye level, who don’t shout at each other as enemies, but connect. Love that doesn’t divide us, but helps us understand.

Why Do We Fall in Love? 

Falling in love is one of the most intense human experiences. It can lift us up, unsettle us, make us euphoric, or throw us completely off balance. Yet as magical as being in love feels, it is not a coincidence. Rather, it arises from a complex interplay of biology, psychological patterns, and personal experiences.

On a biological level, falling in love puts us into a true state of exception. Our brains release neurotransmitters such as dopamine, norepinephrine, and oxytocin. Dopamine creates feelings of happiness and motivation, norepinephrine causes excitement and a racing heart, and oxytocin fosters closeness and bonding. This cocktail explains why we constantly think about the other person, hardly sleep, and yet feel intensely alive. From an evolutionary perspective, this had a clear purpose: to promote bonding, create closeness, and ensure reproduction.

However, biology alone does not explain why we fall in love with this particular person. This is where the psychological level comes into play. We all carry unconscious relationship patterns that formed early in life. Our attachment style—whether secure, anxious, or avoidant—influences who we are drawn to. Often, people feel familiar because they touch old emotional themes, even if these dynamics are not always healthy. Familiarity is then mistaken for love because it feels intense and “right.”

Another important factor is the feeling of being seen and truly recognized. Falling in love often arises where someone perceives our needs, gives us attention, or makes us feel special. In those moments, we feel understood, accepted, or alive in a new way. The other person becomes a mirror, showing us parts of ourselves that we like, miss, or are only just beginning to rediscover.

Tension also plays a significant role. Opposites, emotional uncertainty, or the feeling of having to “earn” closeness often intensify attraction. This is why intense but unstable relationships can sometimes feel stronger than calm, secure ones. However, intensity does not necessarily equal love.

Falling in love is, above all, one thing: the foundation for a relationship. And yet, it does not automatically lead to a long-term, stable partnership. So what does it take for an honest, deep, and genuinely good relationship? 

Love needs time.

Love needs honest communication.

Love needs mutual trust.

Love also requires the willingness to truly enter a relationship—with all its highs and lows—and the readiness to see oneself in a not-so-flattering light.

Above all, it may require understanding why we fell in love with this person in the first place. Perhaps it also means developing a more realistic view of the other person—without the cotton-wrapped rose-colored glasses.

And yes, perhaps it also means loving without conditions. This does not mean accepting everything that lies outside our values, but rather taking an honest, unfiltered inventory of our own needs, fears, doubts—and developing trust that the other person still loves us when we show up real and unpolished. This aspect, above all, helped me truly open myself to love: feeling safe that the other person is still there during emotional outbursts, when fears surface, holding your hand even when communication isn’t diplomatic or textbook-perfect, but raw and honest. And perhaps later realizing through reflection that old triggers were activated—triggers that may have little to do with the other person and much more to do with oneself.

Perhaps romantic love exists precisely to help us encounter ourselves more deeply—both our light and our shadow.

Perhaps it gives us the opportunity to love without conditions, to accept what is, and to learn not to give up immediately when things become complicated, but to try.

Recently, a Buddhist monk said in a course I attended in Bodhgaya:

Only when we have applied all conscious methods to save a relationship—when we have truly tried everything and it still does not work—are we allowed to leave and let go.

And perhaps we also look for other love while already in a relationship because we live in a throwaway society, an optimization-driven society (there might always be something better around the corner), and an impatient, self-doubting society (I don’t have forever to really commit—it has to happen fast, otherwise it can’t be real). Or perhaps we simply don’t want to commit because we are afraid to show ourselves fully and are still waiting for something “better.”

Honestly, I don’t know. I do believe that some people are more compatible than others—because beyond physical attraction, shared values, interests, worldviews, social conditioning, and visions for the future matter.

And yet, I am convinced of one thing: love is a decision we can make in the here and now. We can honestly ask ourselves—just like in the Elton John song—Are you ready for love? 

Are we truly ready to let love into our lives, to develop it, let it grow, and experience it with all its highs and lows? And are we willing to love ourselves the way we wish to be loved by another person?

Because after all, the most important relationship we ever have is the one we have with ourselves.

So I believe it’s important to develop, nurture, and stabilize this relationship before falling in love with someone else. At the same time, it shouldn’t become an excuse to avoid falling in love or embarking on the adventure of a relationship. Rather, it can — and perhaps should — serve as the foundation for it.

When you think about love and the following questions, what comes to mind?

• How much do you love yourself on a scale from 1 to 10?

• How ready are you to truly love—without conditions?

• Do you believe your life only becomes complete when you are in a relationship, or is it already complete without one?

• Why do you wish for a partner by your side?

• What kind of person do you need next to you to feel loved—someone with whom you can grow, or perhaps simply enjoy life in the here and now?