Who Said Love Was Harmonious?
© Elene Datusani
In recent years, talking about love has become strangely superficial and sterilized. If we are to believe books, movies, or the ubiquitous social media “influencers,” an ideal relationship is a silent, harmonious convergence of two people, where any disagreement is merely a failure of “correct communication.” This whole narrative feels suspiciously similar to the countless online courses popping up at every turn, offering “ego transformation,” “alpha-cosmic yoga,” or “meditation with unicorns.” This spiritual marketing is as counterfeit as the “ideal” lives of couples paraded across Instagram, where the ultimate goal is to breathe syncroniously, never step on your partner’s toes, and always maintain a face suggesting that the secrets of the universe are reflected right there in your coffee cup.
However, let us set this illusion aside. Absolute harmony, in the sense that it is marketed to us, bears a striking resemblance to the end of entropy. In physics, this is called “thermal death” – a state where resistance no longer exists and the movement of energy ceases. It is the same in relationships: if everything is excessively quiet, there is a high probability that you are simply embracing a pair of corpses and labeling it “spiritual peace.” Often, what we call harmony is nothing more than a silently signed “social contract” – an agreement to ensure that those around us don’t notice any “defects.” We choose an imitation of peace only because we cannot bear the weight of a real connection.
The mathematics of love is paradoxical: the transition from one to two (1 > 2) occurs not because we complement each other, but because the preservation of our individualism gives birth to a “third entity” that belongs to neither of us alone. In order for a meeting with another to even become possible, you must first fortify yourself within your own solitude. Your inner “autopilot” – that untouchable space where you keep your thoughts and ideas hidden from others – is not a wall, but the only boundary of your personal sovereignty. It is precisely this distance that forms the foundation upon which a true connection between two people is built.
This brings to mind Jacques Derrida, a man who always found an abyss where others saw unity. He asked a fundamental question: Do I love “who” or “what”? When we perceive harmony superficially, we are actually loving the “what” of our partner – the sum of their convenient qualities. We love that they do not disturb us, that they agree with us, that they are “exactly what our comfort requires.” But true love begins where we acknowledge that the other is always the other (Tout autre est tout autre). They are an unknowable universe that can never be fully “appropriated.” It is precisely this distance, this abyss between two subjects, is what keeps longing and interest alive through years.
Consequently, an argument or a minor disagreement is not a failure of the relationship, but its living pulse. It is the moment when your partner ceases to be a “convenient object” and reappears as a free, contradictory subject. This ontological shock wakes us up and reminds us that there is another human being beside us, not an extension of our own ego. A disagreement, if it is anchored in personal respect, does not destroy love; it expands it. It allows us to see our partner’s untouchable boundaries and learn to value them. Ultimately, true harmony is perhaps born where we respect each other’s private space and do not attempt to violate personal boundaries. Love is not a harbor in which to hide; it is a vital process that constantly forces us to re-examine ourselves. If your connection does not change you, if it does not push you toward growth, then you are simply spending time together. True love lies in the breaking of this “petrified mechanics,” where two sovereign individuals choose to be together not because they fear of being alone, but because together, their world becomes vaster and infinitely more interesting.
In the end, it is like an agreement with a taxi driver: would you rather spend the whole journey in mindless harmony, talking about the weather, or tell them to turn down the music because you can no longer hear your own thoughts?
About the Author
Ani Tenieshvili is a Tbilisi-based writer and creative artist working across media, culture, and visual communication. Her writing explores themes of love, emotional awareness, and social reality through an analytical lens, drawing on psychology and lived experience.
Follow her on Instagram for more content: @ani_tenieshvili_