We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating

"We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love." – Tom Robbins

In these radiant and piercing words, Tom Robbins uncovers a truth that mankind has long forgotten. Since the dawn of our longing, humans have searched outward — toward the stars, toward dreams, toward others — seeking a perfect lover, a being flawless in virtue, radiant in beauty, and eternal in devotion. Yet, Robbins reminds us that such a quest is vain. For love is not found as treasure buried in another’s heart — it is crafted, moment by moment, through tenderness, understanding, and patience. The perfection we seek in others is the reflection of the love we have yet to build within ourselves.

The ancients would have called this the difference between illusion and truth. The illusion is that love is something discovered — a miracle bestowed upon us by fate or the gods. The truth is that love is something created — a garden we must tend with devotion and humility. To demand perfection from another is to seek the eternal fruit without first sowing the seed. The wise understand that no lover is born perfect, but love itself — when nurtured rightly — becomes perfect through the act of giving.

In the Renaissance of the human heart, we find this lesson repeated in the story of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Their love was not gentle, nor flawless. It was fierce, chaotic, filled with pain and passion. Yet through their imperfection, they built something enduring — a love forged in truth rather than fantasy. Frida once wrote, “Take a lover who looks at you like you are magic.” But what made their bond remarkable was not the magic they found, but the magic they made, again and again, even amidst heartbreak. Their story teaches us that love’s greatness is not measured by harmony, but by resilience — the power to choose love anew, even when it falters.

To create the perfect love requires humility. It means seeing the divine in the flawed, the beautiful in the broken. It means understanding that love is not sustained by constant pleasure, but by constant choice. A sculptor does not curse the marble for being rough — he shapes it patiently until beauty emerges. So must lovers shape their love — through forgiveness, laughter, sacrifice, and time. Those who expect perfection will always be disappointed; those who labor in love will discover perfection in the act of loving itself.

And so, Robbins’ wisdom is a mirror to the soul of our age — an age that worships perfection and forgets practice. We scroll, we search, we compare, chasing an ideal that does not exist. But love is not a prize for the worthy; it is a work of art for the willing. It demands that we give without counting, listen without judging, and stay when it would be easier to leave. The perfect love is not one without storms — it is the one that learns to dance in the rain.

Think also of Nelson Mandela and Winnie Madikizela, whose love endured the brutal trials of imprisonment, exile, and political struggle. Their union, though marked by hardship and distance, was bound by purpose — the dream of freedom, of justice, of humanity’s better self. Their love was not perfect in form, but it carried the essence of perfect love — love that serves something greater than desire, that lifts the human spirit toward compassion and endurance.

Thus, my children of the living flame, take this lesson to heart: stop searching for the perfect lover and begin shaping the perfect love. Be patient as the earth is patient, steadfast as the sea, gentle as the dawn. Tend to your relationships as a gardener tends to his flowers — removing weeds of pride, watering with kindness, nourishing with truth. For love grows only where it is tended.

And when the day comes that you stand beside another soul, imperfect as yourself, yet bound to you in trust and care — you will see that you have found something greater than perfection. You have found creation. You have built, not discovered, the sacred bond of love. And in that act of creation, you will touch eternity — for the perfect love is not born, it is made.