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.
U redu, danas želim da govorim o tome kako govorimo o ljubavi. A naročito želim da govorim o tome šta je loše u tome kako govorimo o ljubavi.
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 nas će se verovatno zaljubiti nekoliko puta tokom naših života, a u engleskom jeziku, ta metafora, padanje, je zaista glavni način na koji govorimo o tom iskustvu. Ne znam za vas, ali kad sam zamislila ovu metaforu, ono što sam zamislila bilo je baš kao u crtaću - kao, imate čoveka, on šeta trotoarom, potpuno nesvesno prelazi preko otvorenog šahta i prosto se strmoglavi u kanalizaciju ispod njega. A to zamišljam ovako jer padanje nije skakanje. Padanje je slučajno, nekontrolisano. To je nešto što nam se dešava bez našeg pristanka. A ovo - ovo je glavni način na koji govorimo 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 spisateljka i nastavnica engleskog, što znači da zarađujem razmišljajući o rečima. Mogli biste reći da me plaćaju da tvrdim da je jezik koji koristimo bitan i ja želim da tvrdim da su mnoge metafore koje koristimo kada govorimo o ljubavi - možda čak i većina njih - da su 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. Zatečeni smo. Smrvljeni. Lelujamo. Gorimo od strasti. Zbog ljubavi smo ludi i zbog ljubavi bolujemo. Naša srca bole, a potom se lome. Dakle, naše metafore izjednačavaju iskustvo ljubavi prema nekome sa krajnjim nasiljem ili bolešću.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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 --
Zaista je tako. I stavljaju nas u poziciju žrtve nepredviđenih i u potpunosti neizbežnih okolnosti. Moja omiljena metafora je "moren" a to je pasiv od glagola "moriti". A ako potražite ovu reč u rečniku -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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.
videćete da je definisana kao "bolna nedaća" i da možemo biti moreni ljubavlju. Nekako asociram reč "moriti" sa naročitim kontekstom, a to je Stari zavet. Samo u knjizi Izlazak imamo 16 pominjanja reči moriti, a to je reč koju Biblija koristi za osvetu gnevnog boga.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Here we are using the same word to talk about love that we use to explain a plague of locusts.
Ovde istu reč koristimo da bismo govorili o ljubavi i da bismo objasnili pošast skakavaca.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Right?
Je li tako?
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.
Pa, kako se ovo desilo? Kako je došlo do toga da ljubav povezujemo s velikim bolom i patnjom? I zašto govorimo o ovom naoko dobrom iskustvu kao da smo žrtve? Ovo su teška pitanja, ali imam neke teorije. A da bih to prokljuvila, želim da se usredsredim na jednu naročitu metaforu, a to je zamisao ljubavi kao ludila.
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 -- "
Kada sam prvo počela da istražujem romantičnu ljubav, svuda sam zaticala ove metafore o ludilu. Istorija zapadne kulture vrvi od jezika koji izjednačava ljubav sa mentalnom bolešću. Ovo je samo nekoliko primera. Vilijam Šekspir: "Ljubav tek je ludilo", iz "Kako vam drago". Fridrih Niče: "U ljubavi je uvek prisutno malo ludila." "Zbog tebe izgledam, zbog tebe izgledam tako ludo zaljubljena -"
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
from the great philosopher, Beyoncé Knowles.
od velike filozofkinje Bijonse Nouls.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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 put sam se zaljubila sa 20 godina i to je bila prilično turbulentna veza od samog početka. I bila je veza na daljinu prvih nekoliko godina, te je to za mene značilo visoke uzlete i veoma niske padove. Naročito se sećam jednog momenta. Sedela sam na krevetu, u hostelu u Južnoj Americi i posmatrala sam kako osoba koju volim izlazi na vrata. Bilo je kasno, skoro ponoć, posvađali smo se tokom večere i kad smo se vratili u sobu, ubacio je svoje stvari u torbu i izjurio napolje. Iako se više ne sećam zbog čega smo se svađali, veoma jasno se sećam osećaja 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.
Bile su mi 22 godine, prvi put sam bila u zemlji u razvoju i bila sam potpuno sama. Let kući mi je bio za nedelju dana i znala sam ime grada u kom sam i ime grada do kog je trebalo da stignem kako bih odletela, ali pojma nisam imala kako da se snađem. Nisam imala vodič i imala sam veoma malo novca i nisam govorila španski.
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."
Neko avanturističkijeg duha od mene možda bi gledao na ovo kao na priliku, ali ja sam se prosto paralisala. Prosto sam sedela tu. A onda sam briznula u plač. No, uprkos panici, neki glasić u mojoj glavi je mislio: "Ala je ovo bilo dramatično. Mora da mi ova ljubav baš ide od ruke."
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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.
Jer je dio mene baš želeo da se oseća bedno zbog ljubavi. Sad mi to zvuči tako čudno, ali s 22, žudila sam za dramatičnim iskustvima, a u tom trenutku, bila sam iracionalna i besna i skrhana, i skroz neobično mislila sam da zbog ovoga nekako moja osećanja dobijaju značaj prema momku koji me je upravo napustio.
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 na neki način želela da osećam dozu ludila jer sam smatrala da ljubav tako funkcioniše. Ovo zaista ne bi trebalo da iznenađuje s obzirom na to da prema Vikipediji postoji osam filmova, četrnaest pesama, dva albuma i jedan roman s naslovom "Luda ljubav".
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.
Oko pola sata kasnije, vratio se u našu sobu. Pomirili smo se. Proveli smo još jednu uglavnom srećnu nedelju putujući zajedno. A kad sam se vratila kući, mislila sam: "To je bilo tako užasno i tako sjajno. Ovo mora da je prava romansa." Očekivala sam da mi prva ljubav bude poput ludila i, naravno, ona je prilično ispunila ta očekivanja. No, voleti nekoga tako - kao da moja celokupna dobrobit zavisi od njegove ljubavi - nije bilo dobro 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.
Ali pretpostavljam da ovo iskustvo ljubavi nije toliko neobično. Većina nas se oseća malčice ludo u ranim stadijumima romantične ljubavi. Zapravo, postoji istraživanje koje potvrđuje da je ovo nekako normalno jer, neurohemijski gledano, romantičnu ljubav i mentalno oboljenje nije tako lako razlikovati. To je tačno.
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.
Ovo istraživanje iz 1999. je koristilo nalaze krvi da potvrdi da su nivoi serotonina kod onih tek zaljubljenih veoma slični nivoima serotonina kod ljudi kojima je dijagnostikovan opsesivno-kompulsivni poremećaj.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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, a niski nivoi serotonina su takođe povezani sa sezonskim emocionalnim poremećajima i depresijom. Dakle, postoji dokaz da je ljubav povezana sa prmenama našeg raspoloženja i ponašanja. A tu su i druge studije koje potvrđuju da većina veza ovako počinje.
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 veruju da su niski nivoi serotonina povezani sa opsesivnim razmišljanjem o objektu ljubavi, a to je poput osećanja da je neko postavio kamp u našem mozgu. I većina nas se ovako oseća kad se prvi put zaljubimo. No dobra je vest da to uvek ne traje toliko dugo - obično između nekoliko meseci 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 sa putovanja u Južnoj Americi, provela sam mnogo vremena sama u sobi, proveravajući mejlove, očajna da se čujem sa momkom koga sam volela. Odlučila sam da ako moji prijatelji ne mogu da razumeju moju bolnu nedaću, onda mi ne treba njihovo prijateljstvo. Pa sam prestala da se družim s većinom njih. I to je bila verovatno najtužnija godina u mom životu. Ali mislim da sam osećala da mi je posao da budem očajna jer ako mogu da budem očajna, onda ću moći da dokažem koliko ga volim. A ako mogu to da dokažem, onda ćemo morati da završimo zajedno, kad-tad.
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.
Ovo je istinsko ludilo jer ne postoji kosmičko pravilo koje kaže da je velika patnja jednaka velikoj nagradi, ali govorimo o ljubavi kao da je ovo tačno.
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 biologija nam govori da je ljubav dobra tako što aktivira moždane tokove za nagrađvanje, a govori nam da je ljubav bolna kada se, nakon svađe ili raskida, ta neurohemijska nagrada povuče. I zapravo - možda ste čuli za to - neurohemijski govoreći, prolaziti kroz raskid poprilično liči na odvikavanje od kokaina, što ja smatram ohrabrujućim.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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.
A potom naša kultura koristi jezik kako bi oblikovala i učvrstila ove ideje o ljubavi. U ovom slučaju govorimo o metaforama o bolu i zavisnosti i ludilu. To je na neki način zanimljiva povratna petlja. Ljubav je moćna i ponekad bolna, i mi to izražavamo našim rečima i pričama, a onda nas naše reči i priče pripremaju da očekujemo od ljubavi da bude moćna 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.
Interesantno mi je da se sve ovo dešava u kulturi koja ceni celoživotnu monogamiju. Čini se kao da želimo sve odjednom: želimo da ljubav bude poput ludila i želimo da traje čitav život. To zvuči užasno.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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 ovo moramo da promenimo našu kulturu ili da promenimo naša očekivanja. Zato zamislite kad bismo svi mi bili manje pasivni u ljubavi. Kad bismo bili samopouzdaniji, otvoreniji, darežljiviji i umesto da "padnemo u ljubav", zakoračimo u ljubav. Znam da tražim previše, ali zapravo nisam prva osoba koja ovo predlaže. U njihovoj knjizi: "Metafore po kojima živimo", lingvisti Mark Džonson i Džordž Lejkof predlažu zaista zanimljivo rešenje za ovu dilemu, a to je da promenimo naše metafore. Oni tvrde da metafore zaista oblikuju to kako doživljavamo svet, i da čak mogu da služe kao vodič za buduća delanja, poput samoispunjavajućih proročanstava.
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.
Džonson i Lejkof predlažu novu metaforu za ljubav: ljubav kao sarađivačko umetničko delo. Zaista mi se sviđa ovakav način razmišljanja o ljubavi. Lingvisti govore o metaforama kao da imaju podrazumevana značenja, a to je u suštini vid razmatranja svih implikacija ili ideja sadržanih unutar date metafore. A Džonson i Lejkof govore o svemu što proizlazi iz saradnje na umetničkom delu: trud, kompromis, strpljenje, zajednički ciljevi. Ove ideje se lepo poklapaju s našom kulturom ulaganja u dugoročnu romantičnu posvećenost, ali se takođe dobro slažu sa drugim vidovima odnosa - kratkoročnim, usputnim, poliamoričnim, nemonogamnim, aseksualnim - jer ova metafora obogaćuje daleko složenijim idejama iskustvo voljenja nekoga.
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.
Pa, ako je ljubav sarađivačko umetničko delo, onda je ljubav estetsko iskustvo. Ljubav je nepredvidljiva, ljubav je kreativna, ljubav iziskiva komunikaciju i disciplinu, frustrirajuća je i emotivno zahtevna. Ljubav podrazumeva i užitak i bol. Naposletku, svako iskustvo ljubavi je drugačije.
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 je dopušteno zahtevati više od ljubavi, da ne moram prosto da prihvatim šta god mi ljubav ponudi. Kad 14-ogodišnja Julija prvi put sreće - ili kad 14-ogodišnja Julija ne može da bude s Romeom, koga je upoznala pre četiri dana, ne oseća razočaranje ili uznemirenost. Gde je ona? Želi da umre. Je li tako? I prosto kao napomena, u ovom trenutku u drami, čin treći od pet, Romeo nije mrtav. Živ je, zdrav je, upravo su ga proterali iz grada. Svesna sam da Verona iz XVI veka nije kao današnja Severna Amerika, pa ipak, kad sam prvi put čitala ovu dramu, takođe sa 14 godina, Julijina patnja mi je imala 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.
Preformulisati ljubav kao nešto što stvaram s nekim kome se divim, a ne nešto što mi se prosto desi bez moje kontrole ili pristanka, je osnažujuće. I dalje je teško. Ljubav i dalje ponekad može da se čini potpuno izluđujućom i poražavajućom, a kad se osećam zaista isfrustirano, moram da se podsetim: moj posao u ovoj vezi je da razgovaram s partnerom o tome šta želim da stvorimo zajedno. Ovo takođe nije lako. Ali je jednostavno daleko bolje od alternative, a to je onaj osećaj nalik ludilu.
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."
Ovakva verzija ljubavi nije o osvajanju ili gubljenju nečije naklonosti. Umesto toga zahteva da verujete svom partneru i da razgovarate o stvarima kad poverenje postane teško, što zvuči veoma jednostavno, ali je zapravo na neki način revolucionaran, radikalan čin. A to je zato što prestajete da razmišljate o sebi i o tome šta vi dobijate ili gubite u vašoj vezi, i počinjete da razmišljate o tome šta imate da ponudite. Ovakva verzija ljubavi nam omogućuje da izgovaramo sledeće: "Hej, nismo naročito dobri saradnici. Možda ovo nije za nas." Ili: "Ta veza je bila kraća nego što sam planirala, ali je i dalje bila nekako lepa."
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.
Divna stvar kod sarađivačkog umetničkog dela je da ono neće naslikati ili nacrtati ili izvajati samo sebe. Ova verzija ljubavi nam omogućava da odaberemo kako će da izgleda.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)