He said, “We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness- and call it love- true love.
- Robert Fulghum
I’m writing this on Valentine’s Day, which seems like a good time to be reflecting upon love- the joys, the challenges, the maddening nature of whatever it is that binds two people together. Whether it be devotion, desperation, admiration, pity, or lack of other available options, love (or its derivatives) comes in many varied forms. Few, if any, are things we truly understand.
Love is one of the most eagerly pursued concepts known to humankind. Even as we chase it, few can state with clarity exactly what they’re looking for. What is it they seek? What do they long for? What does it look like? Smell like? Feel like? With so little information, how can we know when we’ve found it? Or will it somehow find us? If so, how will we recognize it? Investigating love leads to more questions than answers. It’s a riddle wrapped in a question, surrounded by an enigma (apologies to Winston Churchill), encased in an amber coating of mystery. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the more I think I know about love, the less I understand what it is. In the end, when it’s all stripped down to the studs, one transcendent, unanswerable question remains.
What is love?
Most of humanity has at one time or another been “in love.” We recognize the feelings even as we fail to understand them. They’re the butterflies in the stomach when the object of your affection is near. The smile generated when that special someone glances at you tenderly. The ecstasy and passion that develops and deepens as two people forge a bond only they understand. Who among us can define love? One perspective might be similar to that of Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis, who admitted he couldn’t define pornography, but recognized it when he saw it. Love and pornography may (or may not) be distant cousins, but Brandeis hit on the central problem. No one, from the most transcendantly brilliant Nobel Prize winner to the merest ordinary mortal, can define what love is. But we know it when we see it.
love [luhv]
noun
- a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
- a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
- sexual passion or desire.
- a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
- (used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like): Would you like to see a movie, love?
In trying to understand love, I can only fall back on my own experience. I could retreat to literature; more ink has been spilled and brain cells burned trying to explain the mysteries of love than perhaps any other aspect of the human condition. I could begin my research with Charles Bukowski, whose views on the subject seem spartan, almost utilitarian. Some of my favorite authors- from Hemingway to Eugene O’Neill to Tolstoy- have gone to considerable lengths to explore and explain love. In the end, despite the well-intentioned efforts of many brilliant (and some decidedly less so) minds, it all falls well short of the mark. No one can explain or define, much less quantify and measure, love. We know it when we feel it, but no one can tell us what it is…and yet we desire, covet, and chase it like nothing else in our world.
My own history with love brings up words like darkness, misery, trepidation, betrayal, manipulation, rejection, and joy- but it’s joy that makes me ignore everything else. It’s joy that keeps me coming back for more. I suppose I’m no different than anyone else in that respect. We’re all products of environment and experience, nature and nurture. This complicates the search for answers to almost incomprehensible degrees. Some of us arrive at love so thoroughly and completely damaged that we’re incapable of fully participating. Some of us never experience love modeled as a positive, joyful experience which can make two better- or at least happier- than one. And some of us jump in without feeling the need to first test the water. No matter what our perspective, we’re all making it up as we go.
I could wax philosophical about what love means to me…but despite the avalanche of words and inspired reflection, I STILL couldn’t tell you what love IS. I’m left with this conundrum: how to fully experience something that’s impossible to define.
A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.
- Mahatma Gandhi
I can count myself as one of the lucky ones. I came out of a truly horrific flameout and found someone who asked only that I love her honestly. There’s a sense of peace and belonging in that, something I’ve seldom experienced. In my sixth decade, I’m experiencing what it means to find peace within myself and within a relationship. This isn’t meant to denigrate anyone who’s shared my life with me for any length of time. My problems and issues are my own; I own them even as they work overtime to own me. Perhaps the previous trauma and Sturm und Drang was meant to prepare me for where I find myself now. Or perhaps it’s all just so much psychobabble bullshit and overcooked reflection and self-analysis that ultimately signifies nothing.
I can’t tell you what love is. I know it when I see it, because I feel it in my life now. There’s something magical about sharing your life with someone you can honestly say you’re madly, deeply, truly in love with. It makes the day to day minutiae and stresses a little bit sweeter and easier to navigate.
It’s not easy; love can sometimes be quite unpleasant and painful…but that’s what happens when two people decide to travel a common path. The challenge lies in navigating the stormy waters, knowing that calmer seas lay ahead and that the joys surpass the conflicts and heartaches.
Sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes it’s not.
Like everyone else, I live in my own head, which accounts for my perspective. There’s no way I can know what my partner is thinking at any moment in time. So much of our inner life goes unexpressed, tightly leashed within our brains and unlikely ever to be released. It’s the ability to trust another person with the things you fear, the honest feelings that might be ugly or unfiltered, that’s a defining characteristic of love. If there’s even one person in this world you can trust to love you AND keep your fears and secrets under wraps, you should count yourself a very fortunate person. Every morning I wake up next to someone whom I’d trust with my life, never mind my fears and secrets, and who treats me with love and respect. I know how incredibly fortunate I am to be able to say that. I’ve often told her that I want the last words I hear, the last eyes I gaze into, and the last touch I feel to be hers.
That’s probably as close as I’m ever going to get to defining or understanding love…and I’m OK with that. In the end, sometimes it’s better to enjoy something than it is to understand it.
