What is love?
I’ve gone round and round with this my whole life.
I’ve had lots of experience with brotherly love, although not with my actual brother: I have it with my male friends who make me laugh and who love me unconditionally just because I’m me. What a gift!
Girlfriend love is worth all the tea in China, however much that is. Infinite value.
It took me a really long time to get fatherly love and my father had to die to really show it to me, but I’ve got it now and it’s so cool. I also had it with a man I married, and yes, that was a total mismatch. Wrong role for sure.
And then infatuation–OMG, don’t we all just adore swoon-inducing infatuation? It burns out quickly, once reality appears, but while it’s burning it’s red-hot stuff.
Finally, I thought I’d found love, that romantic and angst-ridden feeling that has a lot in common with feelings of impending doom, and in fact, that’s what it was: doomed.
My writing coach and I have had a few discussions about my decision making skills in relationships as reflected in my draft manuscript, and although perhaps she didn’t mean to, she led me straight to what I think is my final definition of love: my final answer. What is love?
I know. Not the stuff of fairy tales. But that’s what it takes to make a love relationship work: looking in the same direction. Not in the mirror. Not at someone else. Not behind you. And not traveling your own path.
Yes, all the gooey feelings are still there, but in mature love, you’re traveling together to the same destination and helping the other get there. I’ve got that, finally, now.
It’s pretty damn cool.