look (on the surface) like certain absurdly small matters. An otherwise quite reasonable

and decent person might admit to a range of acute sensitivities around some of their partner’s

rather minor habits – and a tendency swiftly to lose their temper on encountering them:

they press far too hard on the chopping board; they don’t put their seat belt on until

after the car is started; in their handwriting ‘b’ and ‘h’ are practically indistinguishable;

they squeeze the toothpaste tube the wrong way (pressing at the neck rather than the

bottom); they use the word the word ‘tragic’ to mean ‘sad’; they leave drawers fractionally

open; when they drink a glass of water they never drink it right down to the end but always

tip out the last few drops into the kitchen sink. Our reactions to such things can seem

wildly out of proportion. We may get extremely worked up – and then feel mean and possibly

insane. In quieter moments, we may wonder how we could ever let such insignificant matters

get to us so much. Rather than tell ourselves we are simply idiotic (though of course we

are all idiots at heart), we should lavish thought and time on the logic of our tiny

points of ire. The little thing – the small irritant – is always a symbol of a large

and in truth very important issue operating in the background of a relationship, though

unfortunately it’s not always easy for us to put our finger on what the real issue is

and therefore to give a calm and accurate account of what is, in fact, probably a genuine

cause for concern. Ironically, we’re very generous about symbols when they turn up outside

our own lives, particularly in art: at college we might write a thoughtful essay on what

sunflowers meant to Van Gogh or why the colour blue was so important to Picasso. With these

artists, we are generous. We don’t think they were idiotic to get so obsessed with

little things. We expend our imaginative effort to trying to work out what the details meant.

We should take a lesson from this patient and investigative approach and do for the

important little details of our own emotional lives some of what art historians did for

the details of their canvases. For the vigorous pressing on the chopping board, it’s not

the potential damage to the wood that’s in essence important. We could probably meet

the expense of replacing the board once a year or so. But our partner’s overeager

effort (as we see it) is a tiny moment in which we catch sight of a much more troubling

and larger quality in them: a sense of indelicacy, roughness and lack of restraint. And we fear

this side of them not so much in their life in general, but in relation to ourselves:

the real fear is that they won’t realise when they are hurting us. Our worry isn’t

for the board, but for ourselves. With the seat belt, the real point at issue might be

around authority. We were always taught to put the belt on before starting the engine.

We obeyed. We have learned to do the ‘right thing’. Why then do they feel they can get

away with breaking the rules? What is this slightly arrogant, entitled sense of being

different? The absurdly tiny detail of precisely when the seatbelt is fastened becomes the

carrier of a grand and in its way properly legitimate concern: will my partner ever understand

the fear of ‘doing the wrong thing’ and sympathise generously with it; will they stop

feeling they are above the rules? Equally important issues are – behind the scenes

– evident everywhere. The few drops of water the partner empties casually from the glass

are not about wastage (in a lifetime it might add up to one bathful only) but the fear that

they might treat us in a similar fashion and (without a second thought, after they have

drunk the best of our years) throw us away. Around the handwriting: their cheery Post-it

note on the kitchen table on Saturday morning ‘gone to buy bread’ (which could be pedantically

deciphered as ‘gone to buy head’) doesn’t genuinely confuse us. Rather, we resent their

lack of worry about being misunderstood. We resent the implication (embodied in this tiny

detail) that they don’t have to take special care to make themselves clear to us. We see

in the note a lifetime of misunderstanding and loneliness. So we are right to worry.

The problem is the way we handle our anxieties. Ideally, we wouldn’t simply curse and get

irritable. We would patiently transfer our attention and concern away from the minor

instance, the symbol, towards the real nucleus of our complaint, which we would lay out with

care, sympathy and a touch of humour. Once the real issues in our relationships are raised,

the annoying details may be less difficult to live with, because, most probably, our

partner won’t be indifferent to our articulated worries. With the riskiest symbols decoded,

love stands a chance of becoming ever more mutual, peaceable

and secure.

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