OK, so today I want to talk about how we talk about love. And specifically, I want to talk about what's wrong with how we talk about love.
Dobro, danas želim pričati o tome kako pričamo o ljubavi. Točnije, želim pričati o tome što je pogrešno u načinu na koji o njoj pričamo.
Most of us will probably fall in love a few times over the course of our lives, and in the English language, this metaphor, falling, is really the main way that we talk about that experience. I don't know about you, but when I conceptualize this metaphor, what I picture is straight out of a cartoon -- like there's a man, he's walking down the sidewalk, without realizing it, he crosses over an open manhole, and he just plummets into the sewer below. And I picture it this way because falling is not jumping. Falling is accidental, it's uncontrollable. It's something that happens to us without our consent. And this -- this is the main way we talk about starting a new relationship.
Većina će se vjerojatno nekoliko puta zaljubiti tijekom života, a u engleskom jeziku ta metafora "pasti u ljubav" osnovni je način na koji pričamo o ljubavi. Ne znam za vas, ali kad ja zamišljam tu metaforu, vidim prizor kao iz crtića - čovjek šeta pločnikom i ni ne shvaćajući upada u šaht, stropošta se u kanalizaciju. Zamišljam to tako jer "pasti" nije isto što i "uskočiti". Padamo slučajno, bez svjesne kontrole, to je nešto na što nismo pristali. A to -- to je osnovni način na koji pričamo o započinjanju nove veze.
I am a writer and I'm also an English teacher, which means I think about words for a living. You could say that I get paid to argue that the language we use matters, and I would like to argue that many of the metaphors we use to talk about love -- maybe even most of them -- are a problem.
Ja sam pisac i učiteljica engleskog jezika, što znači da živim od razmišljanja o riječima. Moglo bi se reći da me se plaća da kažem kako je jezik koji koristimo bitan i voljela bih reći da mnoge metafore koje koristimo u razgovoru o ljubavi -- možda čak i većina -- predstavljaju problem.
So, in love, we fall. We're struck. We are crushed. We swoon. We burn with passion. Love makes us crazy, and it makes us sick. Our hearts ache, and then they break. So our metaphors equate the experience of loving someone to extreme violence or illness.
Dakle, u ljubav padamo. Zaglavljeni smo. Zarobljeni smo. Nesvjesni. Izgaramo od strasti. Ljubav nas izluđuje i bolesni smo od nje. Srca nas bole, a potom se slamaju. Naše metafore iskustvo voljenja izjednačavaju s ekstremnim nasiljem ili bolešću.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
They do. And they position us as the victims of unforeseen and totally unavoidable circumstances. My favorite one of these is "smitten," which is the past participle of the word "smite." And if you look this word up in the dictionary --
Istina je. U njima igramo ulogu žrtve, nepredviđenih i nepremostivih okolnosti. Najdraži mi je izraz "pokošen", čiji korijen leži u riječi "pokositi". Potražite li ovu riječ u rječniku --
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
you will see that it can be defined as both "grievous affliction," and, "to be very much in love." I tend to associate the word "smite" with a very particular context, which is the Old Testament. In the Book of Exodus alone, there are 16 references to smiting, which is the word that the Bible uses for the vengeance of an angry God.
vidjet ćete da je objašnjena kao "mučna nesreća" i kao "teška zaljubljenost". Ja tu riječ povezujem s točno određenim kontekstom, a to je Stari Zavjet. U Knjizi Izlaska "pokošenost" se spominje 16 puta, a to je riječ koju Biblija koristi za osvetu ljutog Boga.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Here we are using the same word to talk about love that we use to explain a plague of locusts.
A mi koristimo istu riječ da bismo pričali o ljubavi. i da bismo objasnili najezdu skakavaca.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Right?
Zar ne?
So, how did this happen? How have we come to associate love with great pain and suffering? And why do we talk about this ostensibly good experience as if we are victims? These are difficult questions, but I have some theories. And to think this through, I want to focus on one metaphor in particular, which is the idea of love as madness.
Kako se to dogodilo? Kako smo počeli povezivati ljubav s velikom boli i mukom? I zašto o ovome navodno dobro iskustvu govorimo kao da smo u ulozi žrtve? Teška su to pitanja, ali imam neke teorije. Da promislimo o tome, želim da se posebno usredotočimo na jednu metaforu, a to je ideja ljubavi kao ludosti.
When I first started researching romantic love, I found these madness metaphors everywhere. The history of Western culture is full of language that equates love to mental illness. These are just a few examples. William Shakespeare: "Love is merely a madness," from "As You Like It." Friedrich Nietzsche: "There is always some madness in love." "Got me looking, got me looking so crazy in love -- "
Kad sam tek počela istraživati o romantičnoj ljubavi, posvuda sam nalazila na te metafore ludosti. Povijest Zapadnjačke kulture puna je jezika koji ljubav izjednačava sa psihičkom bolesti. To su samo neki od primjera. William Shakespeare: "Ljubav je samo ludilo" iz "Kako vam drago". Friedrich Nietzsche: "Uvijek postoji djelić ludosti u svakoj ljubavi." "Sad sam luda od ljubavi ---"
(Laughter)
(Smijeh))
from the great philosopher, Beyoncé Knowles.
velikog filozofa, Beyonce Knowles.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
I fell in love for the first time when I was 20, and it was a pretty turbulent relationship right from the start. And it was long distance for the first couple of years, so for me that meant very high highs and very low lows. I can remember one moment in particular. I was sitting on a bed in a hostel in South America, and I was watching the person I love walk out the door. And it was late, it was nearly midnight, we'd gotten into an argument over dinner, and when we got back to our room, he threw his things in the bag and stormed out. While I can no longer remember what that argument was about, I very clearly remember how I felt watching him leave.
Prvi sam se put zaljubila s 20 godina. Bila je to turbulentna veza od samog početka. Prvih nekoliko godina bila je to veza na daljinu, pa mi je u toj vezi bilo ili najbolje ili najgore. Posebno se sjećam jednog trenutka. Sjedila sam na krevetu u južnoameričkom hostelu i ugledala svog voljenog kako ulazi. Bilo je kasno, skoro pa ponoć, posvađali smo se za večerom i kad smo se vratili u sobu, pokupio je svoje stvari u torbu i izletio iz sobe. Iako se više ne sjećam oko čega smo se posvađali, sjećam se vrlo jasno kako sam se osjećala dok sam ga gledala kako odlazi.
I was 22, it was my first time in the developing world, and I was totally alone. I had another week until my flight home, and I knew the name of the town that I was in, and the name of the city that I needed to get to to fly out, but I had no idea how to get around. I had no guidebook and very little money, and I spoke no Spanish.
Bilo mi je 22, prvi put sam se našla u nekoj od zemalja u razvoju i bila sam sasvim sama. Do povratka kući dijelio me jedan tjedan, znala sam ime grada u kojem sam se nalazila i ime grada u koji idem, ali nisam se nikako mogla snaći. Nisam imala vodič, imala sam vrlo malo novca i nisam znala španjolski.
Someone more adventurous than me might have seen this as a moment of opportunity, but I just froze. I just sat there. And then I burst into tears. But despite my panic, some small voice in my head thought, "Wow. That was dramatic. I must really be doing this love thing right."
Netko s izraženijim pustolovnim duhom od mene možda bi to vidio kao priliku, ali ja sam se skamenila. Samo sam sjedila. I onda sam briznula u plač. Unatoč mojoj panici, neki glasić u mojoj glavi pomislio je: "Opa. Čista drama. Mora da mi ide ova ljubav."
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Because some part of me wanted to feel miserable in love. And it sounds so strange to me now, but at 22, I longed to have dramatic experiences, and in that moment, I was irrational and furious and devastated, and weirdly enough, I thought that this somehow legitimized the feelings I had for the guy who had just left me.
Zato što je neki dio mene želio patiti zbog ljubavi. Sada mi to zvuči baš čudno, ali u 22. godini, čeznula sam za dramatičnim iskustvima, a u tom sam trenutku bila iracionalna, bijesna i shrvana, a začudo, pomislila sam kako to na neki način opravdava osjećaje koje sam gajila prema dečku koji me upravo ostavio.
I think on some level I wanted to feel a little bit crazy, because I thought that that was how love worked. This really should not be surprising, considering that according to Wikipedia, there are eight films, 14 songs, two albums and one novel with the title "Crazy Love."
Mislim da sam se htjela osjećati pomalo ludo jer sam mislila da ljubav tako funkcionira. To ne bi trebalo čuditi jer prema Wikipediji, imamo osam filmova, 14 pjesama, dva albuma i jedan roman pod nazivom "Lud od ljubavi".
About half an hour later, he came back to our room. We made up. We spent another mostly happy week traveling together. And then, when I got home, I thought, "That was so terrible and so great. This must be a real romance." I expected my first love to feel like madness, and of course, it met that expectation very well. But loving someone like that -- as if my entire well-being depended on him loving me back -- was not very good for me or for him.
U sobu se vratio nakon pola sata. Pomirili smo se. Proveli smo zajedno još jedan uglavnom sretan vikend. Tada, kad sam se vratila kući, pomislila sam - "To je bilo zastrašujuće, ali divno. Ovo mora da je prava romansa." Očekivala sam da će moja prva ljubav biti poput ludosti. i ovo je bilo potpuno u skladu s mojim očekivanjima. Ali voljeti nekoga na taj način - kao da cijela moja dobrobit ovisi o tome da me on voli -- nije bilo baš dobro ni za mene ni za njega.
But I suspect this experience of love is not that unusual. Most of us do feel a bit mad in the early stages of romantic love. In fact, there is research to confirm that this is somewhat normal, because, neurochemically speaking, romantic love and mental illness are not that easily distinguished. This is true.
No, pretpostavljam da osjećaj ljubavi nije tako neuobičajen. Svi smo malo ludi u početnim fazama romantične ljubavi. Čak štoviše, jedno istraživanje potvrđuje da je to donekle normalno jer, neuro-kemijski gledano, romantična ljubav i psihička bolest ne mogu se tako lako razlikovati. To je istina.
This study from 1999 used blood tests to confirm that the serotonin levels of the newly in love very closely resembled the serotonin levels of people who had been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder.
To istraživanje iz 1999. koristilo je krvne nalaze kako bi potvrdilo da razine serotonina friško zaljubljene osobe nalikuju razinama serotonina ljudi kojima je dijagnosticiran opsesivno-kompulzivni poremećaj.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Yes, and low levels of serotonin are also associated with seasonal affective disorder and depression. So there is some evidence that love is associated with changes to our moods and our behaviors. And there are other studies to confirm that most relationships begin this way.
Da, niske razine serotonina također mogu imati veze sa zimskom depresijom i depresijom općenito. Postoje dokazi da je ljubav zaslužna za promjene u našem raspoloženju i ponašanju. Druga istraživanja potvrđuju da većina veza počinje na takav način.
Researchers believe that the low levels of serotonin is correlated with obsessive thinking about the object of love, which is like this feeling that someone has set up camp in your brain. And most of us feel this way when we first fall in love. But the good news is, it doesn't always last that long -- usually from a few months to a couple of years.
Istraživači vjeruju da su niske razine serotonina povezane s opsesivnim razmišljanjem o predmetu žudnje, zbog čega se možete osjećati kao da vam netko ne izlazi iz glave. Tako se većina nas osjeća kad se prvi put zaljubi. Dobra vijest glasi - to ne traje uvijek toliko dugo, najčešće nekoliko mjeseci do nekoliko godina.
When I got back from my trip to South America, I spent a lot of time alone in my room, checking my email, desperate to hear from the guy I loved. I decided that if my friends could not understand my grievous affliction, then I did not need their friendship. So I stopped hanging out with most of them. And it was probably the most unhappy year of my life. But I think I felt like it was my job to be miserable, because if I could be miserable, then I would prove how much I loved him. And if I could prove it, then we would have to end up together eventually.
Kad sam se vratila s putovanja u Južnu Ameriku, puno sam vremena provodila sama u svojoj sobi, provjeravala e-poštu, očajnički sam željela da mi se voljeni javi. Odlučila sam - ako moji prijatelji ne mogu razumjeti moju strašnu bol, ne trebam njihovo prijateljstvo. Prestala sam se družiti s većinom. To je vjerojatno bila najnesretnija godina moga života. Na neki sam način smatrala da se moram osjećati jadno jer ako sam mogla biti jadna, to je dokazivalo koliko sam ga voljela. A kad bih to dokazala, na kraju bismo nekako opet završili zajedno.
This is the real madness, because there is no cosmic rule that says that great suffering equals great reward, but we talk about love as if this is true.
To je pravo ludilo jer ne postoji nikakvo kozmičko pravilo da velika patnja donosi veliku nagradu, ali takvo mišljenje je uvriježeno kad je ljubav u pitanju.
Our experiences of love are both biological and cultural. Our biology tells us that love is good by activating these reward circuits in our brain, and it tells us that love is painful when, after a fight or a breakup, that neurochemical reward is withdrawn. And in fact -- and maybe you've heard this -- neurochemically speaking, going through a breakup is a lot like going through cocaine withdrawal, which I find reassuring.
Naša iskustva ljubavi su i biološka i kulturološka. Naša nam biologija govori da je ljubav dobra aktivirajući te nagrađivačke sklopove u našim mozgovima i govoreći nam da je ljubav bolna kad nam je, nakon svađe ili prekida, neuro-kemijska nagrada uskraćena. A zapravo -- to ste možda i čuli -- neuro-kemijski gledano, proživljavanje prekida nalik je odvikavanju od kokaina, što je za mene utješna činjenica.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
And then our culture uses language to shape and reinforce these ideas about love. In this case, we're talking about metaphors about pain and addiction and madness. It's kind of an interesting feedback loop. Love is powerful and at times painful, and we express this in our words and stories, but then our words and stories prime us to expect love to be powerful and painful.
I onda naša kultura koristi jezik kako bi oblikovala i učvrstila te ideje o ljubavi. U tom slučaju, radi se o metaforama o boli, ovisnosti i ludilu. Zanimljiva je to petlja povratne veze. Ljubav je snažna i ponekad bolna, a mi to izražavamo svojim riječima i pričama, ali onda nas te riječi i priče uvjetuju da od ljubavi očekujemo da bude snažna i bolna.
What's interesting to me is that all of this happens in a culture that values lifelong monogamy. It seems like we want it both ways: we want love to feel like madness, and we want it to last an entire lifetime. That sounds terrible.
Zanimljivo mi je kako se sve to događa u kulturi koja cijeni cjeloživotnu monogamiju. Čini se kao da želimo sve odjednom - želim da ljubav bude poput ludila i želimo da traje do kraja života. Ne zvuči li to užasno?
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
To reconcile this, we need to either change our culture or change our expectations. So, imagine if we were all less passive in love. If we were more assertive, more open-minded, more generous and instead of falling in love, we stepped into love. I know that this is asking a lot, but I'm not actually the first person to suggest this. In their book, "Metaphors We Live By," linguists Mark Johnson and George Lakoff suggest a really interesting solution to this dilemma, which is to change our metaphors. They argue that metaphors really do shape the way we experience the world, and that they can even act as a guide for future actions, like self-fulfilling prophecies.
Kako bismo pomirili te želje, moramo promijeniti ili našu kulturu ili naša očekivanja. Zamislite da smo svi manje pasivni u ljubavi. Da smo asertivniji, otvorenijeg uma, velikodušniji i umjesto da "padnemo u ljubav", u nju zakoračimo. Znam da tražim puno, ali nisam ja prva koja je to predložila. U knjizi "Metafore po kojima živimo" lingvisti MarkJohnson i George Lakoff predlažu zanimljivo rješenje ove dileme, a to je da promijenimo naše metafore. Oni tvrde da metafore uistinu oblikuju način na koji doživljavamo svijet i da nam čak mogu poslužiti kao vodič za buduća djelovanja, poput samoispunjavajućeg proročanstva.
Johnson and Lakoff suggest a new metaphor for love: love as a collaborative work of art. I really like this way of thinking about love. Linguists talk about metaphors as having entailments, which is essentially a way of considering all the implications of, or ideas contained within, a given metaphor. And Johnson and Lakoff talk about everything that collaborating on a work of art entails: effort, compromise, patience, shared goals. These ideas align nicely with our cultural investment in long-term romantic commitment, but they also work well for other kinds of relationships -- short-term, casual, polyamorous, non-monogamous, asexual -- because this metaphor brings much more complex ideas to the experience of loving someone.
Johnson i Lakoff predlažu novu metaforu za ljubav: ljubav kao suradničko umjetničko djelo. Sviđa mi se taj način razmišljanja o ljubavi. Lingvisti tvrde da metafore uključuju određene pretpostavke, a to je način razmatranja svih implikacija ili ideja sadržanih u određenoj metafori. Johnson i Lakoff govore o svemu što suradnja na umjetničkom djelu uključuje: trud, kompromis, strpljenje, zajedničke ciljeve. Te se ideje lijepo slažu s našim kulturološkim ulaganjima u dugoročne romantične zavjete, ali slažu se i s drugim vrstama odnosa -- kratkoročnim, neobveznim, višeljubnim, nemonogamnim, aseksualnim -- jer ta metafora donosi puno kompleksnijih ideja iskustvu ljubavi prema nekome.
So if love is a collaborative work of art, then love is an aesthetic experience. Love is unpredictable, love is creative, love requires communication and discipline, it is frustrating and emotionally demanding. And love involves both joy and pain. Ultimately, each experience of love is different.
Ako je ljubav suradničko umjetničko djelo, ljubav je estetsko iskustvo. Ljubav je nepredvidljiva, ljubav je kreativna, ljubav zahtijeva komunikaciju i disciplinu, frustrirajuća je i emocionalno zahtjevna, a ljubav uključuje i sreću i bol. Konačno, svaka ljubav je drugačija.
When I was younger, it never occurred to me that I was allowed to demand more from love, that I didn't have to just accept whatever love offered. When 14-year-old Juliet first meets -- or, when 14-year-old Juliet cannot be with Romeo, whom she has met four days ago, she does not feel disappointed or angsty. Where is she? She wants to die. Right? And just as a refresher, at this point in the play, act three of five, Romeo is not dead. He's alive, he's healthy, he's just been banished from the city. I understand that 16th-century Verona is unlike contemporary North America, and yet when I first read this play, also at age 14, Juliet's suffering made sense to me.
Kad sam bila mlađa, nikad mi nije palo na pamet da mi je dozvoljeno tražiti više od ljubavi, da ne moram samo prihvatiti ono što se nudi. Kad 14-ogodišnja Julija upoznaje -- ili kad 14-godišnja Julija ne može biti s Romeom, kojeg je upoznala prije četiri dana, nije razočarana ili tjeskobna. Gdje je? Želi umrijeti. Zar ne? Samo da vas podsjetim, u ovom dijelu drame, čin treći od pet, Romeo još nije mrtav. Živ je, zdrav je, samo je protjeran iz grada. Razumijem ja da Verona 16. stoljeća nije poput suvremene Južne Amerike, ali kad sam prvi put pročitala tu dramu, kad mi je također bilo 14 godina, Julijine patnje imale su mi smisla.
Reframing love as something I get to create with someone I admire, rather than something that just happens to me without my control or consent, is empowering. It's still hard. Love still feels totally maddening and crushing some days, and when I feel really frustrated, I have to remind myself: my job in this relationship is to talk to my partner about what I want to make together. This isn't easy, either. But it's just so much better than the alternative, which is that thing that feels like madness.
Preoblikovanje ljubavi u nešto što imam priliku stvarati s nekim kome se divim, umjesto nečega što mi se jednostavno dogodi, bez moje kontrole ili pristanka, osnažujuće je. I dalje je teško. Ljubav ponekad toliko zaluđuje i slama i kada sam frustrirana, moram se podsjetiti: u ovoj vezi moje je zadatak pričati s mojim partnerom o tome što želim da skupa izgradimo. Nije ni to lako, ali puno je bolje od alternative, a to je onaj osjećaj ludosti.
This version of love is not about winning or losing someone's affection. Instead, it requires that you trust your partner and talk about things when trusting feels difficult, which sounds so simple, but is actually a kind of revolutionary, radical act. This is because you get to stop thinking about yourself and what you're gaining or losing in your relationship, and you get to start thinking about what you have to offer. This version of love allows us to say things like, "Hey, we're not very good collaborators. Maybe this isn't for us." Or, "That relationship was shorter than I had planned, but it was still kind of beautiful."
Ova inačica ljubavi ne bavi se osvajanjem ili gubljenjem nečije naklonosti, već traži od vas da vjerujete partneru i da razgovarate o stvarima kad se povjerenje čini teško. To zvuči jako jednostavno, ali to je zapravo revolucionarni, radikalni čin. To je zato što možete prestati razmišljati o sebi i o tome što dobivate ili gubite u vezi te počinjete razmišljati o tome što imate za ponuditi. Ta verzija ljubavi omogućuje nam da govorimo ovakve stvari: "Ne surađujemo baš najbolje. Možda ovo nije za nas." Ili: "Ta je veza bila kraća nego što sam planirala, ali ipak je bila lijepa na svoj način."
The beautiful thing about the collaborative work of art is that it will not paint or draw or sculpt itself. This version of love allows us to decide what it looks like.
Ono što je lijepo u suradničkom umjetničkom djelu jest to da ga ne slikamo, ne crtamo i ne klešemo sami. Ta inačica ljubavi omogućava nam da odlučimo kako ono izgleda.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)