Me or Him?

Years ago, when I was a student, I sent some of my work to a prof. This is his response to one of them

Me:

If you had the chance
to be with someone better—
would you take it?

If not,
why should I
strive
to become better
at all?

But if so—
what does that make
your love?

Him:

"That’s a nice, sharp paradox, piercing in its emotional logic. You’ve set a trap that’s not meant to harm, but to reveal the impossibility of conditional love when tested by worth.
If I were to respond in the spirit of poetry and honesty, I might say:

I would be with you
not because you are the best—
but because you are you.
And in that,
no one is better.

This removes the comparison altogether. True love, after all, isn’t a contest of merit—it’s a recognition."

==

So, who do you think is right, me or him?

I love this. And the fact that two things can be true at the same time.

Thanks, Linda, for being the only correspondent in this thread. I had hoped for a bit more enthusiasm, but it seems that nowadays people tend to seek affirmation more than genuine learning or the courage to walk an unknown path. Here, they emerge from their holes only to applaud those who validate their own merit, rather than engaging in any kind of transcendental exchange.
I also apologize for my late response. I was waiting for a few more participants—yet, as we both know, nothing new ever emerges from the “Dead Poets Society.” They have been dead for a long time.
Returning to our conversation, I appreciate your observation: “two things can be true at the same time.” You’ve managed to recognize the paradoxical tendency within that notion.
I also hope you noticed how the professor gently dismissed my argument—without making me feel bad.

Here is my response to him. Hope it sheds more light:
Thank you for your response. You are absolutely right—and the love you expressed is real and rare. I’m humbled by it.

But we live in a practical world, not an absolute one. And in this world, we often need to be pushed beyond our reach. If we find a love so unwavering, so unconditional, we may stop striving. We may forget to grow.

Paradoxically, it’s the fear of losing love that often moves us to become more—more honest, more present, more whole. If we knew our beloved would never leave us, no matter what we did, we might take that love for granted. And in doing so, we might destroy the very thing we thought was indestructible.

So perhaps real love isn’t just about never leaving. It’s about helping each other rise—by being there, yes, but also by being willing to walk away when love is dishonoured. That tension—between safety and consequence—is what gives love its force, its flame, its sacredness.

This dialogue I just wrote for Linda, the only correspondent to this thread: I hope you enjoy::

Title: The Paradox of Love: A Dialogue

A: Idealist
B: the Realist

A: Love, true love, is unconditional. It remains, no matter how far we fall. It is not a bargain, not a trade, but the unwavering presence of the soul beside us.
B: But if love never leaves, what will keep us from leaving ourselves? What will press us beyond comfort, toward growth?
A: Must love threaten in order to inspire? Can it not be a wellspring, a silent wind beneath our wings, rather than a cliff's edge to keep us upright?
B: Even the wind can cradle, but if there's no risk, we forget how to fly. Without the weight of consequence, we may wither in the warmth of what we take for granted.
A: Yet fear is no teacher. It compels, but it does not enlighten. Real change blooms not from fear of loss, but from the deep joy of being truly seen.
B: But joy alone can make us complacent. To grow, sometimes we must fear losing what we love. That fear sharpens our presence, makes us attentive, responsible, alive.
A: Then is love a mirror? Or a fire? If it only stays when we are worthy, it becomes conditional, a prize, a wage.
B: No, not a wage, a vow with edges. Love can be both light and boundary. It is not a prison, but a promise that calls us to honour it.
A: Perhaps you are right: Unconditional love forgives, but conditional love teaches.
B: And in that paradox, perhaps love finds its holiness:
A & B (together): To remain, and yet to challenge. To hold, and yet to release. To forgive, but never excuse. To stay, with the courage to walk away if staying means betrayal.
A: So love is not soft. It is sacred.
B: And sacred things are both shelter and fire.

My friend once spoke of love with two claims:
Love is the only thing that does not bring responsibility.
No one can truly claim love; love is bestowed without expectation of return.
I could not find him today, so I offer my thoughts here, after fourteen years:
I have heard your words, and yet I must gently dissent, especially regarding the first. Love is indeed free, yet it is never free from responsibility. True love and freedom are not opposites; rather, they coexist in tension. One cannot fully love without embracing the responsibilities it calls forth.
Perhaps your claim holds if responsibility is imagined as purely spontaneous, untouched by effort. But life teaches otherwise: love is a living thing, demanding attention, care, and patience, much like a plant that grows only with tending. Love may bloom into effortless grace, but that grace is rooted in the soil of diligence, in the quiet work of presence, in the unwavering willingness to nurture another.
Thus, love and responsibility are inseparable. To embrace the duties that love brings is not to constrain it, but to give it wings. It is through responsibility that love deepens, that freedom blossoms, and that the heart discovers the full measure of its joy.