On The Course of Love
When I was pregnant, my brother-in-law recommended a book—The Course of Love by Alain de Botton. I remember reading it slowly, taking it all in. It felt like the right book at the right time. My husband and I were stepping into a new chapter, and the book offered a quiet kind of wisdom—about what love becomes as life unfolds.
Last night, I picked it up again.
I was preparing for our next New Mom’s Circle at the wellness club. This week’s topic: Date Night & Romance after kids. And I was curious—how would the book land now, as a mother, as someone deeper into the rhythm of marriage?
It landed differently. Like I was reading it with new eyes—or maybe a more open heart. Because now I understand what de Botton meant by “real love.”
Not the candlelit kind. Not the cinematic kind. But the everyday kind. The love that shows up when one person makes the baby’s bottle while the other clears the dishes. The love that asks, “Did you eat?” even when both are exhausted.
One line from the book stayed with me: “Real love is a skill.”
I thought about the couples I admire—the ones who move through life almost in sync. I used to think, “I want a love like that.” Now I see how they got there. Not luck. Not destiny. Skill. Patience. Presence. The daily choice to stay—even when it’s messy.
At our engagement, my mother-in-law said something simple: Choose kindness. Not the polite kind. Not the surface-level kind. But the kind that softens anger. That makes room for imperfection. That steadies you when you’re unraveling.
I see it in my husband. He’s not a grand-gesture romantic. But he chooses patience. He lets the heat of the moment pass and comes back soft. That quiet steadiness—that’s what love looks like now.
Another line from the book hit me: “To love is to recognize, and accept, the humanity in each other—to keep saying, ‘I see you, I know you’re trying, and I’m here.’”
It felt like a deep breath. Because staying—really staying—is an act of love. Not out of duty. Not because you must. But because you see the person behind the mood, the exhaustion, the mess. That’s romance now: not grand, but grounded. Not spectacle, but presence. A shared look in the chaos. A quiet, “I got you.”
I thought of a woman who once reached out to customize a HERITAGE ring. She had been married, divorced, and years later, remarried the same man. She didn’t want a new wedding ring. She wanted a piece that honored their whole story—the breaks, the growth, the return.
Her request stayed with me. Because HERITAGE isn’t just a collection. It’s about the parts of us that endure. The love that deepens and reshapes, but still remains. The devotion that survives distance, hardship, or even endings—and finds its way back.
And maybe that’s the truest kind of love: not the one that never falters, but the one that lasts. Not the kind in stories or movies, but the kind that lives in everyday choices. The patience. The presence. The kindness. The staying.
That’s what carries us through life, the messy, beautiful life we build together.