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This week’s meditation topic was so juicy that, like a dog with a bone, I had a really hard time putting it down for any amount of time.  I carried it around all week, chewing on it. It really had me by the teeth.

How do we eventually figure out we’re lovable? Is it an internal thing: at some point, we acquire this thing called “self-esteem,” we check the “yes” box and sign the form?

Or is it an external thing: after sufficient cues and behaviors from the way other people react to us, we pick up the idea that, “gosh, there must be something to love in me because all these folks seem to think so.” And how many of those cues does it take, exactly?

What about kids who grow up surrounded by hatred and bullies and less-than-ideal parents who, nonetheless, seem to emerge at some point with a clear, solid sense that they are absolutely lovable, despite the messages they received? How do they do that?

And what about the opposite (and sadder case, to me): the person surrounded by people who love and adore them, showered with affection, whose own sense of themselves is so ugly and harsh that they cannot be convinced “yes, you are lovable.”  Ever meet someone where everyone is on their team except for the person himself?

If I bring myself (and invite you) all the way back to high school years–can you remember being at a party when someone entered who was so sure he was beautiful that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought? This guy moved through the room like a hot knife through butter, melting people with an invisible “yes, you will love me” death ray. Resistance was futile.

And can you remember meeting someone more innocent, almost naive, someone adorable who had absolutely no idea how attractive she was, which only seemed to make everyone else find her all the more lovable? I still have experiences where my friends will exclaim, “Andy is so lovable, and he has absolutely NO idea…” which always seems to move “Andy” from “attractive” to “irresistible.”

And how about this character from that same party: the sullen, withdrawn person you were determined to include, to bring out of their cocoon and to cheer up, but it became clear that this person had made a firm and predetermined decision not to be includable. No matter how hard everyone works to make them feel loved and welcomed, this person pulls harder in the opposite direction, and at the end of the night, having rejected everyone’s best efforts, says, “see? I’m really not a popular person. I knew it, of course.”

(By the way, I’ve played all those characters and more, in the course of my impressive career, receiving spiritual Academy Awards for each performance.  Perhaps you have your own set of trophies too, eh?)

So, this sense of being attractive or worthwhile or lovable–does it come from inside of us, or from outside of us? Which wins?

If I tried hard enough, could I ultimately overcome your resistance to saying “yes, I’m lovable” if I cared for you the right way at the right time, hard enough, persistently enough, skillfully enough–could I do it? Could I overcome that internal voice saying “no, I’m not lovable?”

And: if you had the misfortune to be surrounded by two hundred people all working as hard as they could to convince you that you were ugly, unlovable, worthless, if you were courageous, dedicated, strong-willed and smart and skillful enough, could you overcome all of those external voices screaming at you? Could you rise up, saying, “to hell with all of you; I KNOW I am lovable, despite what you’re saying!”

Does it come from inside or outside, this sense?

The answer, I have concluded, is “yes.”  The answer to all of these questions is yes.

All of these things are true, despite the fact, and because of the fact, that they contradict each other. There is an interdependent system of opposite forces at work producing our sense of being lovable or worthwhile.

There are several layers to my understanding of this.

The first has to do with two poles or dynamic opposites we each live between, two fundamental needs of human nature described as “agency” and “communion.”

“Agency” refers to a sense of satisfaction and meaning we get by separating ourselves from others–the way we express our sense of being in the world by being unique, individual, different from the rest. “Communion” refers to the sense of satisfaction and meaning which stems from connection, interaction and membership with others.  Agency springs from the ways in which we separate ourselves from those around us, and communion stems from the ways in which we connect to those around us.

Each of us has a slightly different makeup in terms of how much agency vs. communion we prefer, but all of us need some of both.  Myself, I tend to lean a bit more towards communion than agency. But while I tend to prefer to live in groups, there are important pieces of my own foundation that I put in place, and maintain, myself.

Working out, for example, is one of the ways I experience and express “agency”–I strongly prefer to work out by myself. The idea of going to a gym with a workout buddy is as appealing as the idea of having my teeth scraped. And, on some level I can’t quite pinpoint, working out contributes some little thing to my sense of “yes, I’m lovable” because it strikes me as something worth doing for myself, implying that I am someone worth doing something for.

Paradoxically, yoga is something I prefer to do in groups of people, and I often feel so connected to the group that by the end of practice, during shavasana, I will sometimes cry from the intensity of that feeling. I experience a deep sense of communion when I do yoga in groups.

Agency and communion are the first set of opposites that form a whole. But there’s another.

I am completely responsible for my own experience. Whether I am happy, sad, fulfilled, bored, lonely or overwhelmed, I’m responsible for the experience because, as I’ve written in other articles here, I’m manufacturing aversion, attraction, moving closer to or further from people, projecting, being projected onto, and so forth.  I literally create my experience, so if I don’t like my experience, the only person I have to blame is me.

However: we are all interconnected. We are part of an infinitely interconnected web of life; each one of us makes an impact which ripples out from us like a stone tossed into a pond, and unless I’m unconscious, it’s not possible (nor desirable) for me to insulate myself from the impact of your behavior.  How much it influences me is partly up to me, but the connection is undeniable. My experience is created by me, but it’s also influenced by you, because we’re connected on levels we’re only beginning to understand.

So, yes. When as babies we laugh and are seen by a loving parent who looks us in the eyes and laughs back at us, yes, that mirroring impacts us. When close friends run to our side when we have experienced loss or difficulty, we often feel loved and cared for because of their actions. We can absolutely play a role in confirming and upholding each other as lovable.

At the same time, we’re not wholly dependent on the actions of others, and in fact, we can, for better or worse, find ways to rather profoundly isolate ourselves from both those who would gladly contribute to our sense of being lovable, as well as those who would just as soon undermine it.

Bottom line, as far as I can determine: many, many people, at many different times of my life, play a contributing role in determining whether I feel lovable or not. The final vote, however, is mine. While I might consult with others, ultimately, I decide. It’s part of my experience. I construct it; I build it brick by brick just the same way as I build my projections.

And, interestingly–now that I know what I know all these years later? That guy from high school who made everybody melt, the guy everyone saw as lovable? That guy, I find out later, often has a sense of being desperately and distinctly unlovable, which is why he’s learned to work the crowd so hard, and why he’s gotten so good at it.  His life depends on it.  And the gal who seems like she doesn’t even know she’s lovable?  She knows. That’s why it’s not such a big deal for her. It was asked and answered long ago. Like my projections, life is often not what it seems. People who appear to have a sense that they are lovable may in fact feel quite unlovable, and vice versa.

One of my favorite periods within Touch Practice is where we are doing mirroring work, sitting, facing each other. Having spent many hours looking for what is beautiful in someone else, I’ve learned how to locate it reliably. When I find it and fix on it, the person I am with can see that I see it; it is reflected to them. Sometimes it helps them find it too.

Having done this for others, I can also find it in myself, and fix on it. Sometimes I find my sense of what is lovable in me from within. Sometimes others can help me along my path; sometimes I can help them on theirs.

Each of us is completely responsible for our own experience. But we are all equally in a position to help or hinder each other in our search for the answer to the question, “am I lovable?” Every act of kindness, every act of cruelty, every expression of appreciation, every insult, all of our experience gets measured, tasted, weighed.

In the end, however, the decision on how to answer that question is yours alone.

Have thoughts you’d like to share?

Touch Practice is a sacred practice for me, and part of that is keeping confidences sacred. While a name and e-mail address are required to post a comment, feel free to use just your first name, or a pseudonym if you wish. Your e-mail address will never be seen by or shared with anyone. It is used to prevent spam and inappropriate comments from appearing in the blog. I’d really like to hear from you!