How to Fall in Love with Anyone by Mandy Len Cantron (and the Famous '36 Questions That Lead to Love')

One of my favorite books, You're Not Listening by Kate Murphy, reveals a fascinating piece of trivia: we listen better to strangers than to people we know or love, physiologically. In the most simplistic terms possible, the prediction mechanisms in our brain kick in once we get to know somebody, and our brains tune out more often while they're talking—meaning we're not listening as well as you would to someone you first meet. (I actually have a line about this in my book, a romantic moment I absolutely adore.)

It's why couples' therapy can be so effective for conflict within pairings, You're Not Listening explains. It's not about the therapist's actions and insights so much as the action of people allowing themselves to be clearer and more vulnerable because they've unconsciously refreshed the way they speak and listen to each other just by adjusting their answers to a new audience (whom they expect to listen.)

You listen best when you're first exposed to someone, you listen better when you're being listened to, etc,. You're Not Listening is a phenomenal book filled with a lot of startling realizations, and I'll also definitely talk more about this when discussing a favorite card game (and current obsession): We're Not Really Strangers. I've played it as an icebreaker with roommates I'd never met before while first moving in, as a more intimate connection with a close friend, attempted with friends while they were on shrooms (don't ask), and even a first date, once. And I do think it helped just open the floor to anything, provoking a sort of openness we might have been too timid to broach otherwise. Something about a structured activity can totally give you the confidence to get a little risky.

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I had this conversation in college a lot too, going to such a small school (with an admitted reliance on group lines like teams / Greek organizations / etc,. that largely determined who you lived with, went out with, and the like.) Although I prided myself on knowing just about everyone in my grade and being comfortable around lots of different people, by junior year or so, there were still so many people I wanted to get to know—but we sometimes felt like we "knew everyone too well to get to know them." It was a little more awkward to ask a friend-crush out for coffee or something, just because you'd interacted enough already that you had this false veil of "knowing them" without really having gotten close. A class or activity was often the perfect buffer. We should have done it anyway! But—

Sample Qs

Anyway, in college, I was really into NYT's Modern Love column, and remember reading an essay about a woman conducting an experiment based around the36 Questions That Lead to Love developed by psychologist Arthur Aron in his lab. In 2015, Mandy Len Catron wrote about successfully falling in love with her partner after undergoing the questions together. After her column went live, she—like many writers in the competitive Modern Love circuit—scored a book deal for a memoir in essays, How to Fall in Love with Anyone. I honestly don't remember the content of her article or her book all that well, except for the feeling of her writing being insightful, wise, and startlingly accurate.

Cue the Maya Angelou quote:

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

The concept of a question sequence is tempting. It makes connection feel like a puzzle to solve, a challenge rather than a vulnerability. It loosely suggests that if someone can really just see you, you'll unlock the key to really knowing them too.

Similarly, the structure of these types of questions (which I'll talk about in my card game chat) almost exempts the participants from the maybe-discomfort of aiming for depth in organic chit-chat. Corny, maybe, but maybe it's the excuse you need to get a little deeper without overthinking? To feel known?

“The older I get, the more I find that you can only live with those who free you, who love you with an affection that is as light to bear as it is strong to feel. Today's life is too hard, too bitter, too anemic, for us to undergo new bondages, from whom we love (...]. This is how I am your friend, I love your happiness, your freedom, Your adventure in one word, and I would like to be for you the companion we are sure of, always. — Albert Camus”

When thinking about this memoir, and how frequently I've seen these 36 Questions referenced in the material I've been reading (an accidental de facto study of human connection), I had a few questions myself.

• How soon is too soon to ask these questions? Supposedly, if you want to provoke the hunter's instinct, dopamine, etc,. that makes someone curious about you before "knowing" you, dark femme psych what-have-you women and scientists on the Internet will tell you to be as mysterious as possible. I think I'm fascinating and a bit of a puzzle, but I'm not sure I'd call myself mysterious, so definitely fail on this count. Still, I think the secret is just genuinely being interested in what other people have to tell you. The novelty is just being open to surprise in every conversation. (See: The Molecule of More.)
• Do you think you'll adjust your questions based on wanting the other person to like you? How honest are you really? (We might all change responses based on the listeners, subtly, maybe even without realizing it. I think being the same person around everyone is a skill, but that personalizing can still affect the perception of trust and authenticity in either a positive or negative way. Which is better? See: Wanting.)
• Does the effect lessen if you do it multiple times? If so, how would you choose who you first do the questions with?

About two years ago, I was actually writing some stories for a couples' therapy firm. I finished a couple blog posts, and we ironed out an editorial package in which I would find a blind date and undergo the program together. (Since then, I've heard this is actually a classic Hinge strategy. I promise, mine was for journalism!) After some business strategy shifts, the budget changed and I ended up pivoting to another topic, but I was definitely scheming my How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days-style journo coming-of-age. I doubted anything would have resulted from it, but I thought it had the possibility of being one of the most awkward experiences of my life, and therefore a fun article to write, or at least a new, unique friendship. (See: Labor of Love.)

In hindsight, with this book and these studies in mind, I now understand more about why we came up with that hook in the first place.

Now, in a sort of personal challenge of openness, I decided I'd try to answer them as truthfully as possible on this here God's Internet to straighten myself out some, maybe skipping past the ones about what we see in each other? As you are a nondescript stranger on the other end. It sounds silly, but the blog is sometimes just a way of me talking to myself and ironing out my thoughts; I forget often that people might actually read it.

Here's why the questions work, according to the lab that developed them:

• In order for people to fall in love, they have to think the other person likes them. So questions that make partners feel seen and appreciated? Golden. But this is why I have no patience for the distant "match their energy" or "play hard-to-get advice." Sure, dopamine, thrill of the chase, yadda yadda. But I think if you think positively about someone, you should just tell them. (See: The Molecule of More. Why Men Love Bitches.)
• Actually having things in common doesn't entirely matter. Feeling like you do does. This insight from the lab struck me in particular, related to Alain de Botton's wry observation in his novel On Love. It's a little strange, an insight I totally balk at because it screams false start, but it does make sense.
  
  Basically,
  you have to romanticize them during the get-to-know-you period to the extent that you view them as an idealized version of yourself, without your flaws and tangles; when you see them in their wholeness and the dopamine-induced honeymoon glow finally fades away, you have to have formed the companionship and understanding that allows you to choose them without the evolutionary cocktail of endorphins/competition/novelty spurring you on just to reproduce. Quick! Channel your vasopressin! (See: Sex at Dawn. The Chemistry of Us.

“Yet we can perhaps only ever fall in love without knowing quite who we have fallen in love with. The initial convulsion is necessarily founded on ignorance.”

• You have to go one at a time because feeling safe opening up is crucial. You best believe I'm currently reading all about attachment styles. (See: Attached.)

Quotes I Love from 'How to Fall in Love with Anyone'

“The prospect of becoming unknown was paralyzing.”

“Romantic love is capacious. And I mean that not in a mystical sense- it cannot contain anything or everything and it is never without conditions- but rather it is capacious in the daily way that any expression of love might also express trust, doubt, regret, resignation, humor, self-congratulation, or sacrifice. Love can contain all of this, but love stories rarely do.”

“Extraordinary love was not defined by the intensity with which you wanted someone, but by generosity and kindness and a deep sense of friendship.”

36 Questions, Grace Edition—Set One

A post-it from 2018. Ignore the moody dorm lighting.

The 36 questions gradually increase in scale and intensity. Some people do them with multiple breaks. Others go straight through. Maybe you'll pick them up on a first date, and maybe that would be the red flag that makes you run away. (I, perhaps, used to poke fun at my mother's tendency to be an interrogator of sorts; in early adulthood, I have become her.) Does it make you feel more or less vulnerable to be subject to examination?

But now, for the actual questions, not the Grace-fueled ones. I'll do the later sets another time, or with an actual someone. But for now, enjoy the peek. Tell me if you're feeling particularly in love with me, maybe. Or don't, because that's actually parasocial. (Do I know you?)

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

I know this is the first question, but I actually struggle with this one most! There are so many fascinating people I adore and admire right now. I'd probably pick someone personal at the moment, like a family member or friend I might not have seen in a while.

If we're going thinkers, I kind of want to be Maria Popova, and she would have so many phenomenal book recommendations (I'm sure) to connect with wherever the conversation leads us. I also have a great fondness for Anne Carson, the poet and author of Autobiography of Red? David Levithan is an editor who's fingerprinted many of my favorite—favorite—and most formative young adult books, but that may be cheating because I've at least met him before (sort of in orbit.) I also very much miss my drawing and printmaking professor, Professor Beavers, and she's someone I deeply admire; I would savor the devoted time with her.

If we're going celebrities, I've been told one of my most off-brand qualities is being absolutely obsessed with Rihanna. (I have her coffee table book; it's wonderful.)

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?

My dad likes to say that most people who want to be rich and famous actually just want to be rich, and I suspect he's sort of right. I think fame is tricky because a lot of us use fame as a shortcut for what we really want: validation in what we're doing, security in our trajectory, financial stability, the freedom to do what we want, and yeah, a little flattery. I'd struggle with the online hate and the feeling of being under a microscope or suffocated (and believe it or not—for a sharer of thoughts online, I actually keep all the specifics that matter private) but I'd love the ability of fame to let me do what I want: travel, read, write, connect with friends and family, get out into nature, linger wherever I want.

Right now, I think I very well could be low-level famous (or at least recognizable as a writer/figure) if I really tried to—which I know you're not supposed to say, but I do have a lot of faith in my creative work and business acumen—and would handle it decently. The best thing for me to do book-wise would be to gain a significant following, and doing so would absolutely allow me to fund and support my projects/family/future, which is all I really want. Maybe it would allow me to relax more because I know the rest will work.

Inevitably, one of the aspects I'm mentally bracing myself for in my pursuit of a book deal is being suddenly, inescapably visible. For me as a person to be subject to readers who have read 300+ pages of my thoughts feeling like they know me, especially as any marketing would also rely on my presence as an individual. Even when it's a positive, that's an intimidating thought. Even now, I'm so proud of how I've grown my blog and journalism and writing presence, but have a harder time knowing a lot of my following is made up of people I don't know who might assume they know more about me than they do.

Of course, the ego and validation and importance aren't nothing. I think I'm one of the coolest people I know (because I act in alignment with what I deem cool myself), but someone telling me so never hurts! I do think opening yourself up to fame might make you more sensitive towards and defensive against criticism, mercurial online cycles, the temptation to conform, etc,. etc,. because it does impact your opportunity, wider reputation, and financial stability. Public opinion can turn, and it's easy to misstep or make mistakes. So I just wouldn't want to lose my autonomy or my self-confidence by taking off fame-wise—or for people to assume they're entitled to access me because I'm public in my art. The key is that I choose what to share and be transparent about, which means I don't actually see it as vulnerable at all because it doesn't impact my sense of self. (See: The Age of Magical Overthinking. How to Disappear.)

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

Oh, yes. But my family makes fun of me for rehearsing my order before the wait staff comes in a restaurant, so it's not really off-brand. That being said, if I'm calling friends or family while driving, we're just gabbing.

4. What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?

I can vividly identify my most perfect days, the ones I consider in which I was happiest and most at peace. One was recent, in Waialua this fall. Waialua this April. Canada, last year. Many days at summer camp. Another was in college, junior year, on a day in September. I have many, many excellent days, but the perfect days are significant for their normalcy.

What's lucky for me, but tricky to duplicate, is that they've been super regular—and yet well-balanced—days in which I've just felt like my proportion was so completely right. I used to have a Post-it on my wall in college that said something to this effect in aiming for "full" days:

• I've gotten a good sleep and went to bed relaxed.
• I've spent a lot of the day outside.
• I've exercised and been active and ate healthily.
• I've read and written!
• I've caught up on owed work.
• The household's neat and in good shape.
• I've made progress on a goal or project—P.S. found out that this meant I just really adore flow states and the pursuit of mastery.
• I've talked to people I love.
• While I'm at it, maybe the weather is also gorgeous.
• And of course everyone I adore is safe and happy. While I'm being greedy!

In Hawai'i, let's get elaborate in our daydreams. The perfect day might look like an early morning to a crisp, blue, sunny day on the North Shore. The roosters did not wake me up, and my studio is not a disaster. I got a perfect sleep and might have a coffee in bed. Maybe I'll read some before getting out, because it's early and I have some time to kill, and I'm reading a favorite comfort or a new one I'm excited about that's hitting all the right notes. It's probably Saturday. If I'm working, the words are coming easily and I've finished a mix of owed work and fun projects. Still have time to kill? Playing an instrument or making art. Some sort of craft may be involved.

I'd probably love a social or outside activity with friends on this so-called perfect day. Previous (fun) days have included attending a polo match, going to brunch, playing beach volleyball, hiking, surfing, piling onto a boat, or just having a beach day in which I will devour three books in a row and/or play games. Something where we're gone most of the day—an occasion. If it's boozy, I wouldn't say no to a mimosa on this so-called perfect day.

Maybe we linger 'til sunset, and it's one of those vivid gorgeous creamsicle ones. I definitely have tan lines striping my shoulders and have gotten dark (but not burnt) which I only really notice in the shower—have that glow. We either make plans to get food, grill out, or snag takeout while we're each showering, napping off the buzz, or whatever. We get all gathered back together in comfy clothes. Back together, everyone's laughing. The string lights might be on, on a back porch, or maybe we've set up a fire pit by the beach. There's a little bit of a chill now, maybe just enough to bundle up or snuggle up, if that's your bit. At some point in my day (idk how based on this scheduling—maybe between beach and shower?), I somehow found time to do a hard workout so I'm starting to feel it in my shoulders and am just worn out enough to be pleasantly sleepy but not hurting. Mmm. Ideal.

Or maybe we're all-out on some evening occasion (rare.) Either way, it's been core memory-worthy. We've actually gone dancing to one of the corny theme nights, and I'm just absolutely losing my mind on the dance floor. I'm not picky. When I'm just energized enough and the right DJ comes on and it's just lightly crowded enough to be anonymous but not chaotic—fabulous, fabulous night in my mind. Light.

In either option, we either stay up too late because we're all having a fabulous time together, or I'm so wiped but satisfied that it's easy to duck away early, get in bed, and read or just fall asleep at peace.

Good food, music, sun, books, friends or loved ones, enough alone time, enough art time, endorphins, natural beauty or aesthetic scenery, a sense of accomplishment/significance, everyone safe and good, no immediate stressors because I'm not behind (something I've barely ever achieved this year.) Some sneaky indulgence, but overall I just love good proportions. Everything at its maximum potential.

Honestly, it's a relatively simple combination. So it should, hypothetically, be pretty replicable. But also, if we're saying perfect perfect, I also wouldn't say no to getting the phone call that my book's been picked up for a major deal at a major publisher, and they've already greenlit the TV series too? Too much to ask?

I'm a daydreamer, of course. I'm a writer. But I also think I'm such a grateful person that I'm very satisfied and appreciative of the here-and-now, so a "perfect" day is within reach and usually just relies on some small, tangible sensory joys.

SOME ANATOMIES OF PERFECT DAYS

Junior year example: morning run that actually felt easy, mimosas with friends, iconic annual day party ("beach," bikinis, dancing, favorite house), tipsy nap, woke up to it absolutely storming, ordered bacon burgers for pickup from our go-to place, Good Will Hunting was on the house TV, falling asleep on the couch so happy with friends.

Waialua spring example: Early morning, perfect coffee joy, easy article turned in right away, wrote a book chapter, clean house, coming off the high of signing with a new agent, unpacked from a vivid trip and responded to plans for the next. Did "the running workout" with a friend and lazed on our mats for far too long in her beachfront yard, got poké. Left to shower, got ready for a night out, glass of wine in the pregame. Perfect DJ at Jorge's—stayed out far too long, had just enough to lose all self-consciousness dancing. Finished the night in a perfectly-breezy truck bed home and immediately ran into the ocean to night-swim and have good 2 A.M. conversations—and oh man, that ocean dip after all that moving was absolute heaven. Cold shower, ideal sleep, then rolled straight into a happy brunch, a sunny day, and an afternoon spent lounging on the patio in a swimsuit with burgers on the grill and my brain totally blank. (Technically two days—but a perfect weekend, truly.)

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

If I'm randomly belting a lyric to someone, it's usually Shallow just because "Tell me something good—are you happy in this modern world?" is so beltable and engraved in my memory. I almost wrote that moment into my book before remembering that every lyric you cite, you have to buy and secure approval of the rights from the copyright holders for—which is generally 1) a pain and 2) expensive. I care most about having one single snippet from Carolina in My Mind in MOUNTAIN SOUNDS, so that's the hill (or mountain, I suppose) I will die on.

Most recently, however, it was actually You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones because my sister and brother-in-law (and by default, us) sing it to the 2- and 5-year-old children mid-tantrum when they don't get their way. Sometimes it makes them scream more, but it's generally a hilarious bit and sometimes calms them down. The other day, this was over a kitchen counter, pancakes, a monster truck, and a meltdown.

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

This one actually threw me for a loop. On one hand, if I didn't have the mental capacity, I wouldn't necessarily know what I was missing—but I might spark some joy and flow states and all that jazz for myself via endorphins and other neurotransmitters. (See: Mind in Motion.)

But on the other hand, I'm often exercising for satisfaction and sharpness, and I'd imagine that many of my favorite pursuits—reading, making art, traveling, writing, etc,.—would be frustrating without the proper capacity. Memory loss is a big fear of mine, and I'd hate to feel like I'm stunted in my ability to connect or express myself.

Maybe keep the 30-year-old body, for assurance of health. I'd probably prefer that my mind age at a normal speed because I think we probably have built-in cues in our brains for the way we think about death, connection, loss, and all the other mental obstacles that we'll encounter later in life especially re: those we love. The young mind can potentially be overconfident, and a dose of humility is probably good for you?

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

I don't necessarily have a strong idea about this. I'd hope old age by default (but never assume—anything can happen, illness or accidents!) but all I know is that my twin sister and I are each desperate to be the one who dies first. That sounds super dark, but I cannot imagine an existence without her, so I hope that if one of us is the one to have a health issue or go out in some awful, sudden way, that it's me.

Or I guess, I could hope for the reverse in the hopes that I bear the unbearable pain/burden of loss and spare her the terror of losing me instead. Either way, we each know that it will be the most world-unending pain either of us will ever experience.

Again, a little dark, but I do think that if we both live to old age, we would likely pass away within a few days or even hours of each other, like certain other couples and pairings do.

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

Irrelevant, except maybe:

1. You probably like to read, or would like to like to read.
2. You're probably a little existential in flavor, or else you would not have the patience to sift through me being on a psych/philosophy kick.
3. I would hope that you're kind/optimistic enough to be open to the kinds of ideas I discuss on WLS, or else you probably would have clicked out of this link and found me incredibly irritating minutes ago. (Or you're hate-reading the blog, in which case—more power to you!)

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

I'm grateful for a thousand things about my life, but I'd say probably two could be considered significant.

1. I am extremely grateful to love my family so much (especially my twin) and to feel so close to them. We really are best friends, and I do appreciate that our family is so tight-knit overall. We're all very independent and capable of doing our own thing, so there's no codependency, but when we're together, it feels special.

Sure, we fight and have conflict and are definitely not perfect whatsoever, but I always spend time my time in my hometown at home because I enjoy the time with them so much—just taking my space when I need. My parents have to force me out when I'm in hermit mode. Of course, this includes being grateful for their safety alongside friends, family friends, and other connections in my life—so the flip side of that gratitude is concern and sensitivity around loss. There are a lot of people in my prayers, to put it lightly!

2. I'm grateful to be a curious person! It's why I read, it's why I create, why I travel, etc,. I'd like to be a better listener, knowing all that I do about our fallacies, but I think that curiosity is the driving force behind that sense of self that makes me all these other things too. It's made me confident and interesting and hopefully compassionate, and I'm constantly aware of everything I don't know and how much more room I have to grow. And, although the curiosity sparks reading—reading also sappily sparks curiosity. So.

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

Oh, nuanced! To keep it simple, I'd say likely that each of us kids pushes ourselves to an absolutely wild standard of perfectionism that has proved to be absolutely impossible to maintain without seriously hardening ourselves against emotion. It's pushed us to excellence in so many areas, and each of my siblings is brilliant, but it's also been a significant psychological burden I've had to actively deconstruct to grow more. ("In what ways has this structure benefited me, and which maladaptations from it are making me react to certain events poorly? How can I apply feedback and awareness without automatically viewing it as criticism?)

As an identical twin (and technically a middle child), I especially felt this intense invisibility/melding of identity that forced me to need to distinguish myself, differentiate my personality and prove my inherent worth. I can analyze this more in-depth, but a perfect storm of family environment and twindom made me really unnaturally hard on myself, and (for a while) really bad at recognizing that I didn't always need to push myself through otherworldly pain long past when everyone else would quit just to prove I could. My value is not dependent on my resilience and endurance, I guess, and I've definitely had to learn that it's not weak to show weakness? I don't have to always be the best to be significant and I don't "deserve" or "not deserve" affection based on my performance. The people who choose you will choose you, etc,. (Pretend this didn't sound as corny as it did.)

It's not my parents' fault either and they've done the best they can—but we were held to extremely high standards, inspired by their many (many) challenges, partly because we are so aware of how lucky we are in contrast to certain experiences they had. We are all extremely stubborn, and all competitive enough that we were always outracing each other in the desperate hunt to earn (not love, I guess—we were very loved—but maybe...) our sense of wholeness, I guess? Satisfaction? I'm still figuring out what's the best line between perfectionism and motivation vs. some grace for myself and trust in my inherent Grace-ness.

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

Hmm. You'll have to talk to me in person. Sorry!

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

I would love to be able to find lost things. This is a little one, and I could definitely get more granular about what would be most helpful/utilitarian to me, but in general, I hate losing anything, even if it's just me losing track of where I've placed my keys. It makes me feel incompetent, and nothing makes me feel like I've failed more than straight up misplacing something.

I think it would shave off lost time—or maybe, the ability to identify what is a waste of my time or where is most optimal to use my energy. Not more energy, no. Just an understanding of what to lean into and away from in structuring my day for the best use and happiness.

If you love How to Fall in Love with Anyone already, you may also enjoy The Edge of Everyday: Sketches of Schizophrenia by Marin Sardin, which (similarly) balances neuroscience and personal relationships in a meditative and colorful voice.