I am thinking today about the nature of love. What does it really look like? Can it be quantified? Can it be measured? Is it like aliens- never proven or disproven, but you can maybe picture what it might look like if you just use your imagination? Or, like aliens because movies have told us what it looks like?
I think it's pretty clear that the greeks had it right- there are about a million different kinds of love. I could write a sonnet about red pepper and roasted garlic hummus, and I have no problem telling anyone who will listen how much I love it and how delicious it is. I love "10 things I hate about you", which, in case you were wondering, is the pinnacle of movie making in the 90's and the SECOND best performance given by the late brilliant actor, Heath Ledger, who I am a little in love with (still). I have a few friends that I have known for almost the entirety of my recallable memory, and I love them dearly. I would give them the vital organs that I still have and would not even have to think about it. I would drive hours and spend copious amounts of money to help them out or get them out of jail. No question. I have a large family including a nephew (by osmosis via my best friend's little sister) who I would actually sacrifice my life for without hesitation. But what about the kind of love that you develop for completely arbitrary people? The love that inspires romance? We spend money and drive ourselves crazy and lose sleep and sacrifice our bodies and our minds for the particular type of relationship that cannot be found or fostered in any other context. What does that really look like in the long run, and is it really all it's chocked up to be??
Honestly, I have no idea anymore. I used to be a die-hard romantic, and in many ways, I suppose that is true. I still believe that people find love, so I guess that means that I "believe in" love, whatever that really means. I believe that ultimately, love is worth fighting for and worth trying to cultivate. But I am truly not sure that I am cut out for it, not sure that I am meant to love, or be loved. I am not a hopeless romantic anymore. Sure, I still get weepy over The Notebook, and babies being born is still the most beautiful manifestation of love and humanity that I can possibly think of. But I really don't know if I am made to give the kind of self-sacrificing, gut wrenching love that is required to really make a relationship work in the long run. My heart is just too fragile. This may sound like a bitter retreat from the world of romance, and maybe it is. And maybe it's just a manifestation of my raising, surrounded by couples who were committed, but largely not joyful in regards to their spouses. In any case, these are my current, though probably jumbled thoughts on why this is weighing so heavily on me.
The adult relationships that I've had have been mostly unremarkable. Occasionally tumultuous and upsetting and even heartbreaking, but mostly happy and engaging and very normal, even ending in not very exciting ways, though at the time I'm sure most of my friends could hardly stand me for all of my melodrama about the whole thing. But even that is very normal, I think. I have been wounded and hurt by failed attempts at love and even more, building a life together, and I have been changed by these experiences. And while I carry scars, I really think that most of the changes to my perspective have been made simply by the passage of time and the garnering of experience and maturity. I do not blame anyone else for anything in my romantic philosophy. But the older I get and the more often I look back and examine the experiences, the more I realize that my expectations were probably too high, and my demands too unrealistic. I am a brat, and probably a little spoiled. I want the kind of return from relationships that I would be willing to put into them, and I have a very hard time dealing with people who have personality types that are too far different from mine. This is pretty much a recipe for disaster, I have found. Not to be more dramatic, of course.
I know that I still want to try. I am not giving up on love by any means. I think that if I could find someone perfect (you may commence laughing) for me that I could in fact be a really good wife and partner. I know that regardless of my relationship status, I am destined to be a mother. If that means that I end up adopting ala sharon stone/halle barry/ sandy b, then so be it. I am working through school and I think by the time I'm done, I'll have the kind of skills and degree that I will be financially well off, and certainly enough to support a child in relative comfort. This is not to say that I want to be a single mother as my first choice, but I have a back-up plan, so to speak.
I also want it to be clear that this is not a comment WHATSOEVER on the success or lack thereof of sex as it relates to relationships. There have been highs and lows, and I have been incredibly lucky and encountered people who were mostly tender and supportive and patient and wonderful. But sex is only one facet of a really big rock, as it were. It is only one part of real romance, and a slightly smaller part of the greater picture of romantic relationships.
In addition, I am not saying that I'm not in love or capable of being in love. This is an out loud(ish) expression of the doubts and feelings I have about love as a topic and about the eventual success of failure of romantic love in my life. Sometimes I am a bit hyperbolus, and if this has been too much for you, I would apologize, but reading my blog is the farthest thing from mandatory that I can think of, so pppppplllllbbbbbbbbbbttt! :P But if you read these, no matter what you think, thanks for reading. Keep coming back!
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