I learned about love in the 10th grade, but not from my boyfriend, girlfriends, or even my family. It was a teacher who enlightened me.
I will always remember Ms. Seebold, not just because she had the curliest blond hair I'd ever seen and wore the reddest nail polish, but because she introduced me to a poem inspired by "The Odyssey" (our assigned text that semester), a poem that fundamentally changed my understanding of how people are bound together over time and distance.
The poem is the untold tale of Odysseus' wife and offers a perspective on her that Homer didn't. In the poem, Penelope embarks on an incredible voyage of self-discovery and female friendship, while the world assumes she is quietly waiting for her husband to return from his epic journey. It's sometimes a struggle to remember the author's name, but I'll never forget the words she wrote.
Penelope did not pine away, adoring her husband while he was seduced by the sirens, according to the poem. She couldn't. For, "Love is deeds, not thoughts and feelings fluttering through the brain and blood."
Love is deeds. Twenty-plus years later, I still think about that line.
It's easy to say "I love you," especially in high school, when all it takes is a stick of gum or a saved seat to capture a heart.
It's easy to feel love, even. But following those feelings with action is not so simple or sustainable.
As a wife and parent, I have come to believe that love is not deeds in general, but one in particular. Love is attention.
No matter how much I care about my husband and son, if I spend all or most of my waking hours on work, writing, and other responsibilities, they will not feel the love I profess. In fact, they'll feel neglected.
And if I'm with them, but inattentive, they'll feel unloved.
We can tell what we love by noticing what we attend to. If you spend all of your time at the office, maybe it is because you are genuinely sustained by what you do there (for better or worse).
No matter what we hope to love, our tasks tell.
It isn't just that words are cheap. A diamond ring from Tiffany can be very expensive, but it's not an act of love if it's given instead of a kiss, a hug, or in place of being there.
It is our presence that is such a gift -- our ears, our eyes, our full, uncompromised attentiveness. Our attention is an acknowledgment. It is a statement. "You matter," it says. That's why indifference, not hate, is the opposite of love.
I've met a few people who seem to know this instinctively. They maintain eye contact while we're talking -- no turning away to look at someone who is walking by or to scope out who else at the party they would rather be with.
I've worked for managers (the best) who ignore the computer, the calendar, the phone, when we're meeting. They watch, they nod, they respond, they appreciate. Their actions do speak louder than their words, because our behavior often betrays us.
My very best friend has lived in another state for almost four years now. We have been able to enjoy, in fact improve, our relationship because even by e-mail, I can feel her laser focus on me. I can tell by the words she chooses, by her prompt and thoughtful answers, that she is paying attention.
There is a cost, of course. "Paying" attention can be expensive, and I can't afford to do it when my energy bank is low. To boost the balance, I must attend to myself, as well, just like Penelope did.
This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.