A four letter word as rife with controversy, intrigue, and confusion as any other: love. An abstract idea, both verb and noun, we strive for it. To feel it. To see it. To share it. We seek it out enthusiastically and grieve for it when it is taken away.
Love is beautiful and kind, selfless and warm. It fills us up and lightens our dark corners, dulling the pain we encounter in our everyday lives. It is the stuff of poetry and music, the ultimate muse. It lifts us up where we belong and makes us fools. Love is alluring.
It is also cruel. It can be selfish and harmful, terrifying and damaging. We can lose ourselves to it, become overwhelmed to the point of loss of personal identity. Love can breed resentment and guilt, turn us into both abuser and abused.
Love is beautiful and kind, selfless and warm. It fills us up and lightens our dark corners, dulling the pain we encounter in our everyday lives. It is the stuff of poetry and music, the ultimate muse. It lifts us up where we belong and makes us fools. Love is alluring.
It is also cruel. It can be selfish and harmful, terrifying and damaging. We can lose ourselves to it, become overwhelmed to the point of loss of personal identity. Love can breed resentment and guilt, turn us into both abuser and abused.
This can make it all the sweeter when we allow ourselves to embrace it. In recognizing--though never dwelling--on the fact that, like life, it is fleeting, we may enjoy it to its fullest when we have it. We must learn to treat it with reverence, though not idolize it. It is born of humans and as such, it is fallible, imperfect, and easy to mistreat.
In my life, love has taken on many definitions. It has been the sweet, childlike infatuation based in superficial expectations; a standard to be achieved if handled properly. Later it was a confused mess of self-identification and wanting, tangled and bound for failure. It transformed again into a quest for purpose and meaning, a way to hold my feet fast to the earth and perform as countless women before me have. Still yet it morphs, taking on new meaning, forever changing patterns that are as confusing to me as they ever were.
Love gone wrong found its place in my heart as a lesson. For a long time, that lesson was tinged with bitterness and warning; a shadow hanging over new experiences and connections. It lingered unnecessarily to whisper "don't" and "what if" in my ear when butterflies began flight in my stomach. Crushing growing hope and new desires, it held me back.
I tried to stop defining love. With definition comes expectation and where expectation grows, reality has no hope. With no definition, however, there is no standard. There is room for unhealthy dependence and acceptance of subpar treatment. The balance is our own responsibility. So I took to amending my definition.
Love is acceptance. It is listening to both the mundane and deep with equal fervor. Gentle kisses and soft touches that linger on the skin warmly long after contact is broken. Love is learning. It is honesty and communication; a brutally naked exchange of words and emotion. It is vulnerability: to expose yourself without fear of rejection or harsh reception, knowing that your parts will be handled gently.
It is all of the silly feelings. The giggles and breathlessness, the giddy excitement. Love is missing someone when you've only been away a few hours and know you will see them in a few more. It is soft, secret smiles and shared jokes, stolen touches and googly eyes.
It is also comfort and stability. A hand to hold your hair back when you're ill, a shoulder to catch your tears. Love isn't scared of negative emotion or darkness, it flourishes when your sunshine is dim. It holds you when life is hard, helps carry your burden without expectation of reciprocity. It is respect.
Love has to start on its own and mature to a point where it can withstand another person. Love doesn't die and start anew: it shifts. It expands and morphs to accomodate the many connections we make in life. When those connects fizzle out of existence, it slowly begins to heal, regaining elasticity and settling back as it was.
In my life, love has taken on many definitions. It has been the sweet, childlike infatuation based in superficial expectations; a standard to be achieved if handled properly. Later it was a confused mess of self-identification and wanting, tangled and bound for failure. It transformed again into a quest for purpose and meaning, a way to hold my feet fast to the earth and perform as countless women before me have. Still yet it morphs, taking on new meaning, forever changing patterns that are as confusing to me as they ever were.
Love gone wrong found its place in my heart as a lesson. For a long time, that lesson was tinged with bitterness and warning; a shadow hanging over new experiences and connections. It lingered unnecessarily to whisper "don't" and "what if" in my ear when butterflies began flight in my stomach. Crushing growing hope and new desires, it held me back.
I tried to stop defining love. With definition comes expectation and where expectation grows, reality has no hope. With no definition, however, there is no standard. There is room for unhealthy dependence and acceptance of subpar treatment. The balance is our own responsibility. So I took to amending my definition.
Love is acceptance. It is listening to both the mundane and deep with equal fervor. Gentle kisses and soft touches that linger on the skin warmly long after contact is broken. Love is learning. It is honesty and communication; a brutally naked exchange of words and emotion. It is vulnerability: to expose yourself without fear of rejection or harsh reception, knowing that your parts will be handled gently.
It is all of the silly feelings. The giggles and breathlessness, the giddy excitement. Love is missing someone when you've only been away a few hours and know you will see them in a few more. It is soft, secret smiles and shared jokes, stolen touches and googly eyes.
It is also comfort and stability. A hand to hold your hair back when you're ill, a shoulder to catch your tears. Love isn't scared of negative emotion or darkness, it flourishes when your sunshine is dim. It holds you when life is hard, helps carry your burden without expectation of reciprocity. It is respect.
Love has to start on its own and mature to a point where it can withstand another person. Love doesn't die and start anew: it shifts. It expands and morphs to accomodate the many connections we make in life. When those connects fizzle out of existence, it slowly begins to heal, regaining elasticity and settling back as it was.
I feel incredibly thankful for where I am currently in life, grateful for those who share their love with me and accept my own offering with open arms. I am proud of the ways in which I have emotionally matured and am happy to find myself at peace. So this year, on Valentine's day, I wish you all love, in whatever form that may take.
May you love yourselves and all of your shortcomings, for until we can be gentle with ourselves, we cannot readily accept gentility from others. May you give acknowledgment to your wounds without prodding them, recognizing that although they hurt, the damage instills in us new knowledge. Allow yourself happiness without guilt and passion without shame. Be happy, be you, because you are awesome.
Positively wonderful!
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