will we survive saying 'I love you' more?

how a date in Jordan changed my brain chemistry

It took the last man I was in a relationship with (and even have a child with) about a year to tell me he loved me. It took the travel romance I’ve got going on in Jordan exactly 24 hours. If you’re anything like me—simultaneously terrified of and attracted to men—your first intrusive thought might be that this is classic love bombing. But I’ve found there’s cultural nuances to it.

Like many people in Germany, I was raised with the belief that love and hate are really strong words—you don’t just throw them around like they mean nothing. I remember this so clearly because when I was about eight years old, I told my mom that I hated my gymnastics teacher. She responded by saying that "hate" is a strong word and that I surely didn’t really hate her.
But I did. And now, with the benefit of a (more or less) fully developed frontal lobe, I can confirm: I really did hate her.

When my travel romance dropped me back home last night, and the best moment of every date approached (sitting in the car with the engine off), he told me he loved me. Not in a dusty, weirdo way—but in a warm, friendly way.
He didn’t say it to impress me or make me emotionally attached. He said it because he genuinely felt grateful for the time we shared in that moment.
Kind of like the way I say “I love you” to my friends when we say goodbye after a girls' night out. Which leaves me wondering: should “I love you” really be this sacred phrase we keep locked away like a treasure, waiting for one person to earn it? Or would the world heal just a little faster if we express the love and gratitude we experience in a shared moment more freely? And why do so many of us (myself included) feel awkward saying the three magic words?

This wasn’t the first time I heard someone say 'I love you' so quickly during my time in Jordan. Our Uber driver said it to my daughter after she shared her candy with him, our Airbnb host said it after they played together for about five minutes, and an old man on the street said it after she waved at him.

Now, don’t expect a deep cultural study, but I did some research, which explains why my travel romance told me he loves me after spending an evening with me, and why it took my ex a year to say it. As if dating wouldn’t be complicated enough, dating internationally really has you researching cultural norms at 2am on the floor of your AirBnb. What I found is that love and affection are key tools in making others feel welcomed and valued in Arab societies. Saying “I love you” early on is often just another way of saying, “You matter here.” Arab cultures also tend to be more emotionally expressive and relational, which is why emotions are shared openly, and close bonds are formed quickly as a sign of sincerity and trust.

It’s ironic, because my German brain has been conditioned to think the exact opposite. In Germany, we have two main ways of saying “I love you.” One is Ich hab dich lieb, which is something I’d say to close friends or family. Then there’s Ich liebe dich, which is usually exclusively reserved for romantic relationships. Germans take the phrase Ich liebe dich very seriously—you’d certainly never hear it after a first date. In fact, we take it so seriously, that most Germans don’t even hear it from their parents.

While I was surprised at the speed of which Jordanians throw around I love you’s, I think it’s actually a beautiful way of making others feel aknowledged and the world a little less serious. It gives me feeling that I can form a strong bond with someone, despite not knowing them for long. It makes me feel welcomed and at home in a country, where just 3 weeks ago, I didn’t know a soul.

It’s almost like love here isn’t something you have to earn over time, but something people are willing to offer you right away—just because you exist?! It’s a radical kind of softness that feels both unfamiliar and healing. At it’s core, it may be a reminder that not everything needs to be earned through suffering or withheld as a reward. Love is just there. Freely given. And the more I see it, the more I want to live that way too. In a world where the most horrific news penetrates our brains daily and strangers feel more like threats than friends, wouldn’t it be the most radical act to offer warmth before suspicion, connection before caution, and trust before proof?

It’s made me rethink how tightly I’ve been holding onto certain emotional expressions, like they’re precious gems instead of renewable resources. Maybe if we let ourselves be a little more generous with our love, the world would feel a little less serious, and a lot more connected. Maybe we need to realize that the love we give isn’t always about the other person, but about how much love we carry within ourselves—and how willing we are to give it away freely, even if it’s not always reciprocated. Because when we start treating love as something we create rather than something we wait to receive, everything shifts. Love stops being a transaction and becomes a practice. A way of being.

I wonder why so many of us (me included) feel afraid of speaking out the three magic words, when my time here in Jordan teaches me that it’s really not that deep. That saying “I love you” doesn’t always have to come with weight, consequence or silently cringing. Sometimes, it’s simply a moment of joy, a way of seeing someone fully, or a small gift you give to make the world a little softer. Maybe love doesn’t always have to be earned or proven. Maybe, in its purest form, it’s just meant to be shared.