Pensieve on Grammar: Love - Verb and Noun. (Or, V-Day Post: Part Two)
I’ve written and rewritten this entry several times. Knowing the challenge that writing a Valentine’s Day Pensieve would present, I started gathering my thoughts about a month ago, dragging a fine-toothed comb through all my deluded ideals and bare-bones conclusions about that brutal, unforgiving, life-preserving thing called Love (I sound like John Cusack already). I think I’ve had too much time - seven years, to be precise - ruminating over it not to write something here. I need it. And though there are eyes reading this right now that have had the benefit of seeking and finding more than mine, I feel confident that I have something in here worth saying aloud for the benefit of more than myself.
*taps microphone*
Love Is a Verb Before It Is a Noun.
Knowing how many writers are on my f-list, I know there are at least some of you that enjoy that play on words, but I can’t take credit for it. Years ago, I was the Maid of Honor for my sister’s wedding, and among the overlapping aspects of that day that stick out in my memory (including catching the bouquet and having the garter placed on my leg by an overzealous engaged man whose outraged fiancé forbade him from doing the task without her hands pressed securely over his eyes) was that one phrase - part of a sermon delivered at the ceremony by my brother-in-law’s father. From the English major’s perspective, the playful poke at Love’s grammatical functions is something to sit back and appreciate for its sheer simplicity. Loving precedes having Love, and that’s common sense. So why is it so hard to apply this equation to daily life in a way that lets us relax in the act of loving and having love? Why can’t we just get it done in one shot, put our feet up, and live happily ever after? It’s just so much… Work!
Let me introduce my Big and Important theory on Love: “Love” is “Work”. As in, the two words are sort of interchangeable. Any scientist can tell you that when you apply a force to something - anything at all - you are technically “working”, right? You are inciting change, funneling energy, turning potential into kinetic. (That’s right, Mr. Treubig, I paid attention in Physics.) Well, I’m no physicist - I’m not even a therapist. But I do tend to notice things when they slap me in the face, and what I’ve learned these last few years is that, whatever incarnation of Love enters your life, it will move you. You won’t be able to stay put under the force of it. Into the space between the cells and molecules that make up that beating muscle in your chest, Love breaks in and rearranges the chemical makeup of your personality, breaking your habits, changing your life. Even if it has to drag you down into the southernmost point in your personal pit of despair so that you’ll have the sense to realize just how badly you want out.
This phenomenon may be experienced without your even being aware of it, creeping in quietly and taking you slowly through your personal reinvention. Being of a somewhat melodramatic disposition, I reserve no sense of surprise for the fact that Love has never “crept” into my life. Generally speaking - and I mean this in the best sense - it tends to bust in with a Tommy Gun and throttle me to the ground. Makes things interesting.
This journal is a public place, so I put this stuff up with the vague expectation that people who know me as something other than a fanartist and a writer may see this - specifically, those who live on the periphery of my inside life and watch from the sidelines because once upon a time we shared jokes… coffee… love songs… a bed…. And it’s fine with me.
This isn’t about them anyway.
It’s about me and you and everyone we know. It’s about a Love that Hallmark can’t write cards for. You guys ever see that movie, “Love Actually”? Hugh Grant’s voiceover talks about how “love actually is all around”, and while it’s a sentiment meant to reflect the universality of Love, I would expand on that meaning to include the fact that Love points in all directions, the most important of which is within.
I’ve watched people on my friends list on LiveJournal and elsewhere despair of Loving too much or too little, too foolishly, too carefully, and my kneejerk reaction is to recoil from those entries because I know what it’s like to grieve for the love you’ve misused or misplaced. Is it wrong to write a treatment of love on Valentine’s Day that stresses the importance of loving yourself first? I don’t think so. Because as love breeds love, so does recklessness. So does hatred. So does complacence and cynicism. But Love yourself and you’ll have unwittingly given yourself roots, so that if winds of heartbreak threaten to tear through your sense of security, if pain threatens to conquer your heart, you won’t be beaten. More importantly - the better you love yourself, the better you may love others.
And it’s a struggle, this Self-Love. Because it’s not the same as Narcissism. We Narcissi- uh, Bloggers know all about this. How many of us write here in the subconscious hope that it will help us discover and appreciate and love our imperfect, goofy, idealistic, wounded selves?
I imagine for a moment that I have condensed several years into one conversation with myself. There they are - the layers that have made up my adult existence - and I step outside them so I can address whoever it is that’s been stuck in there somewhere. You’ve had a hard time, I say. By the looks of things, you’ve accrued some ‘experience’ - which is to say you’ve gathered so much emotional residue that you need a crane to get out from under the encrusted weight of all that disillusionment, mistrust, exhaustion. Despite how much more effort it takes you to go anywhere this way, you adopt this armor under the delusion that you are “learning from your mistakes”, only, let’s be honest, you’re not really learning anything because there’s no way to see reality through all that rock-hard filtrate that heartbreak tends to leave behind. Trust me. I know.
You don’t want to be in there forever, do you?
I can help you there, I say. I Love you. You have nothing to fear. You don’t even have to throw out that armor; just leave it home for a while until you need it. And in the meantime, trust me. Believe in me. Your heart may break a little more, but you won’t be ruined for it. That’s why I’m here. Together, we’ll find the right words, paint the right pictures, do the right things, only we can’t do them perfectly, you know, and that’s sort of the point. You won’t get anything out of a life of neatly tied-up loose ends - where’s the fun in that? Wander a bit on that road, take a few wrong turns, and we’ll pick up some more kind folks on the way, I promise… and maybe one person who’ll make the rest of that path ahead a little more fun. Until then, it’s you and me kiddo.
How does that sound?
The other “me” finds this proposal wholly unappealing. It’s different. It’s change, and we’re all scared of change. But we’re also not meant for hiding under eons of petrified emotion, and so, Love won’t let us alone.
Correction: Love won’t let us be alone. With a little Love, out from under all that mess, someone a bit more innocent and a lot more sensible emerges. And she won’t sit still. She’s filled with so much Love (the Noun) that there’s too much Loving (the Verb) to do.
I’m listening to John Mayer’s new song, “Say”, right now, and I can locate why this song makes me so happy in this one phrase:
“Even if your hands are shaking…
And your faith is broken…
Even as the eyes are closing…
Do it with a heart wide open…”
The song is about saying “what you need to say”, but these directions are effective when applied to 'Love, the Verb'. Because 'Love, the Noun' is not something to be hoarded away in the secret spaces of your heart. It doesn’t possess the physical properties that would let you keep it contained, anyway - you’d quickly realize the second you force that lid down on it that it would turn the box to dust. To keep it, you have to do it. Give it to each other. Give it to yourself. And the act of using it will make it spread. Expand. Watch in wonder as it catches on…
As she presses a kiss to your cheek.
As your children inherit your laugh.
In the street, on the subway, in the car.
There in the dark as he holds you close.
Here in the space between these words.
This word.
Verb. Noun.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
*Touches wand to her temple, draws out a silvery strand, and watches it fall into the glowing basin*
*taps microphone*
Love Is a Verb Before It Is a Noun.
Knowing how many writers are on my f-list, I know there are at least some of you that enjoy that play on words, but I can’t take credit for it. Years ago, I was the Maid of Honor for my sister’s wedding, and among the overlapping aspects of that day that stick out in my memory (including catching the bouquet and having the garter placed on my leg by an overzealous engaged man whose outraged fiancé forbade him from doing the task without her hands pressed securely over his eyes) was that one phrase - part of a sermon delivered at the ceremony by my brother-in-law’s father. From the English major’s perspective, the playful poke at Love’s grammatical functions is something to sit back and appreciate for its sheer simplicity. Loving precedes having Love, and that’s common sense. So why is it so hard to apply this equation to daily life in a way that lets us relax in the act of loving and having love? Why can’t we just get it done in one shot, put our feet up, and live happily ever after? It’s just so much… Work!
Let me introduce my Big and Important theory on Love: “Love” is “Work”. As in, the two words are sort of interchangeable. Any scientist can tell you that when you apply a force to something - anything at all - you are technically “working”, right? You are inciting change, funneling energy, turning potential into kinetic. (That’s right, Mr. Treubig, I paid attention in Physics.) Well, I’m no physicist - I’m not even a therapist. But I do tend to notice things when they slap me in the face, and what I’ve learned these last few years is that, whatever incarnation of Love enters your life, it will move you. You won’t be able to stay put under the force of it. Into the space between the cells and molecules that make up that beating muscle in your chest, Love breaks in and rearranges the chemical makeup of your personality, breaking your habits, changing your life. Even if it has to drag you down into the southernmost point in your personal pit of despair so that you’ll have the sense to realize just how badly you want out.
This phenomenon may be experienced without your even being aware of it, creeping in quietly and taking you slowly through your personal reinvention. Being of a somewhat melodramatic disposition, I reserve no sense of surprise for the fact that Love has never “crept” into my life. Generally speaking - and I mean this in the best sense - it tends to bust in with a Tommy Gun and throttle me to the ground. Makes things interesting.
This journal is a public place, so I put this stuff up with the vague expectation that people who know me as something other than a fanartist and a writer may see this - specifically, those who live on the periphery of my inside life and watch from the sidelines because once upon a time we shared jokes… coffee… love songs… a bed…. And it’s fine with me.
This isn’t about them anyway.
It’s about me and you and everyone we know. It’s about a Love that Hallmark can’t write cards for. You guys ever see that movie, “Love Actually”? Hugh Grant’s voiceover talks about how “love actually is all around”, and while it’s a sentiment meant to reflect the universality of Love, I would expand on that meaning to include the fact that Love points in all directions, the most important of which is within.
I’ve watched people on my friends list on LiveJournal and elsewhere despair of Loving too much or too little, too foolishly, too carefully, and my kneejerk reaction is to recoil from those entries because I know what it’s like to grieve for the love you’ve misused or misplaced. Is it wrong to write a treatment of love on Valentine’s Day that stresses the importance of loving yourself first? I don’t think so. Because as love breeds love, so does recklessness. So does hatred. So does complacence and cynicism. But Love yourself and you’ll have unwittingly given yourself roots, so that if winds of heartbreak threaten to tear through your sense of security, if pain threatens to conquer your heart, you won’t be beaten. More importantly - the better you love yourself, the better you may love others.
And it’s a struggle, this Self-Love. Because it’s not the same as Narcissism. We Narcissi- uh, Bloggers know all about this. How many of us write here in the subconscious hope that it will help us discover and appreciate and love our imperfect, goofy, idealistic, wounded selves?
I imagine for a moment that I have condensed several years into one conversation with myself. There they are - the layers that have made up my adult existence - and I step outside them so I can address whoever it is that’s been stuck in there somewhere. You’ve had a hard time, I say. By the looks of things, you’ve accrued some ‘experience’ - which is to say you’ve gathered so much emotional residue that you need a crane to get out from under the encrusted weight of all that disillusionment, mistrust, exhaustion. Despite how much more effort it takes you to go anywhere this way, you adopt this armor under the delusion that you are “learning from your mistakes”, only, let’s be honest, you’re not really learning anything because there’s no way to see reality through all that rock-hard filtrate that heartbreak tends to leave behind. Trust me. I know.
You don’t want to be in there forever, do you?
I can help you there, I say. I Love you. You have nothing to fear. You don’t even have to throw out that armor; just leave it home for a while until you need it. And in the meantime, trust me. Believe in me. Your heart may break a little more, but you won’t be ruined for it. That’s why I’m here. Together, we’ll find the right words, paint the right pictures, do the right things, only we can’t do them perfectly, you know, and that’s sort of the point. You won’t get anything out of a life of neatly tied-up loose ends - where’s the fun in that? Wander a bit on that road, take a few wrong turns, and we’ll pick up some more kind folks on the way, I promise… and maybe one person who’ll make the rest of that path ahead a little more fun. Until then, it’s you and me kiddo.
How does that sound?
The other “me” finds this proposal wholly unappealing. It’s different. It’s change, and we’re all scared of change. But we’re also not meant for hiding under eons of petrified emotion, and so, Love won’t let us alone.
Correction: Love won’t let us be alone. With a little Love, out from under all that mess, someone a bit more innocent and a lot more sensible emerges. And she won’t sit still. She’s filled with so much Love (the Noun) that there’s too much Loving (the Verb) to do.
I’m listening to John Mayer’s new song, “Say”, right now, and I can locate why this song makes me so happy in this one phrase:
“Even if your hands are shaking…
And your faith is broken…
Even as the eyes are closing…
Do it with a heart wide open…”
The song is about saying “what you need to say”, but these directions are effective when applied to 'Love, the Verb'. Because 'Love, the Noun' is not something to be hoarded away in the secret spaces of your heart. It doesn’t possess the physical properties that would let you keep it contained, anyway - you’d quickly realize the second you force that lid down on it that it would turn the box to dust. To keep it, you have to do it. Give it to each other. Give it to yourself. And the act of using it will make it spread. Expand. Watch in wonder as it catches on…
As she presses a kiss to your cheek.
As your children inherit your laugh.
In the street, on the subway, in the car.
There in the dark as he holds you close.
Here in the space between these words.
This word.
Verb. Noun.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
*Touches wand to her temple, draws out a silvery strand, and watches it fall into the glowing basin*