Love and other inanities
A long while back I wrote:
"Love is a joyous lie -- a path humanity is all too happy to run down
to gaze yet again upon the waiting face of mocking disappointment."
Admittedly, I was considerably more cynical then than I am now, and, had already suffered my fair share of unrequited love. I won't retract the statement, however, because I believe it remains valid... albeit for different reasons. I personally blame writers -- of song, poetry, literature, theater, and film -- for why this must be so. Each and every one of us is inundated with glorious ideas about what 'Love' is. Beautiful moments in time and space pulling at our heartstrings and making us yearn to experience the same kind of Love poetry and prose, or song and actors describe. Whatever your dreams, they have in part, if not in whole, been developed upon this standard we each have been exposed to that is for the most part... unattainable. Those poignant glimpses into the loves and lives of others, be they factual or fiction, are just that: glimpses. Tiny portions of lives that would, if or were they real, also contain heartache, frustration, and disappointment in oftentimes greater measure. The solace shared Love grants is despite those things that cause us to weep, grind our teeth, or fume, there is someone with whom we can remain friends, lovers, and still wish to spend our days together -- even if sometimes we might be tempted to scream, throttle, or hurt one another in a million different petty ways. It even makes the countless boring hours where virtually nothing is said or shared bearable, just by having someone dear close at hand. I believe, in part, the idea writers proselytize blinds us to what Love really is and how much of it is genuinely out there. True, sometimes Love isn't enough and we find the heartache, frustration, and disappointment is in far too great of measure... but just as true I find people often overlook or are disinclined to pursue certain possibilities that don't measure up to the ideal singers pay tribute to. Where years are spent searching for that ideal, when all the while we could have been content, even happy. Love is not ideal. It is difficult, heartbreaking, and it will make you suffer through things you would never have expected much less desired... all for the sake of the one(s) you Love. So, as the years pass, if not before, and your dreams of the kind of Love you once wished for begin to grow ever more unlikely and elusive, look around you. There is someone there that loves you, despite yourself. Do you love them in return? Could you make a life with that someone, and could that life be happy? It may not be ideal, but Love never is.
"Love is a joyous lie -- a path humanity is all too happy to run down
to gaze yet again upon the waiting face of mocking disappointment."
Admittedly, I was considerably more cynical then than I am now, and, had already suffered my fair share of unrequited love. I won't retract the statement, however, because I believe it remains valid... albeit for different reasons. I personally blame writers -- of song, poetry, literature, theater, and film -- for why this must be so. Each and every one of us is inundated with glorious ideas about what 'Love' is. Beautiful moments in time and space pulling at our heartstrings and making us yearn to experience the same kind of Love poetry and prose, or song and actors describe. Whatever your dreams, they have in part, if not in whole, been developed upon this standard we each have been exposed to that is for the most part... unattainable. Those poignant glimpses into the loves and lives of others, be they factual or fiction, are just that: glimpses. Tiny portions of lives that would, if or were they real, also contain heartache, frustration, and disappointment in oftentimes greater measure. The solace shared Love grants is despite those things that cause us to weep, grind our teeth, or fume, there is someone with whom we can remain friends, lovers, and still wish to spend our days together -- even if sometimes we might be tempted to scream, throttle, or hurt one another in a million different petty ways. It even makes the countless boring hours where virtually nothing is said or shared bearable, just by having someone dear close at hand. I believe, in part, the idea writers proselytize blinds us to what Love really is and how much of it is genuinely out there. True, sometimes Love isn't enough and we find the heartache, frustration, and disappointment is in far too great of measure... but just as true I find people often overlook or are disinclined to pursue certain possibilities that don't measure up to the ideal singers pay tribute to. Where years are spent searching for that ideal, when all the while we could have been content, even happy. Love is not ideal. It is difficult, heartbreaking, and it will make you suffer through things you would never have expected much less desired... all for the sake of the one(s) you Love. So, as the years pass, if not before, and your dreams of the kind of Love you once wished for begin to grow ever more unlikely and elusive, look around you. There is someone there that loves you, despite yourself. Do you love them in return? Could you make a life with that someone, and could that life be happy? It may not be ideal, but Love never is.