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To be shown love is to feel ourselves the object of concern. Our presence is noted, our name is registered, our views are listened to, our failings are treated with indulgence and our needs are ministered to. And under such care, we flourish.
Our sense of identity is held captive by the judgements of those we live among.
In our earliest years, no one minds much what we do, existence alone is enough to earn us unconditional affection. We can burp up our food, scream at the top of our voice, fail to earn any money and have no important friends – and still be valued.
An infuriated Khrushchev sat at Nixon’s side, clenched his fists and mouthed, ‘Nyet! Nyet!’ – adding under his breath, according to one account, ‘Ëb’ tvoyu babushky’ (Go fuck your grandmother.)
We are not always humiliated by failing at things; we are humiliated only if we first invest our pride and sense of worth in a given achievement, and then do not reach it. Our goals determine what we will interpret as a triumph and what must count as a failure.
Wealth is not an absolute. It is relative to desire. Every time we seek something we cannot afford, we grow poorer, whatever our resources. And every time we feel satisfied with what we have, we can be counted as rich, however little we may actually own.
