Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

“Love is a choice. It is the expectation of reciprocity. It is the possibility of a future, with a house, a picket fence, well-spoken kids, and a little dog. Love is the hope that it will be enough to build a life on, in the absence of anything else. Even when we know it can never be enough.” ~Anonymous

LOVE Bulb Sign

A friend and I had a conversation yesterday about love, how it can be the most devastating emotion in the startlingly long list of emotions that human beings can feel. She believes love is a choice, that we decide who we will love, when we will love, and how we will love. She thinks that when love leaves it is also a choice, that someone at some point decided to no longer love, to leave the space open that used to be filled.

I simply can’t get on board with that. For me, we don’t choose love. It chooses us. Think about all the times when a couple seemed perfect on the outside. They checked all the boxes that each other had down on paper. Yes, I also curl up on Friday nights in front of the fire with a good puzzle. Yes, I enjoy talking about long walks on the beach, but I would never in a million years actually do it. You too? Cool. We are meant to be together. This is love.

But we can’t just say “This is love,” and expect it to be so. We can’t think that just because someone fits our paradigm of what we think love should be, that we can make ourselves fall in love with them. It just doesn’t work that way, no more than saying that the best swimmer will win all of her races. It’s because emotion cannot be neatly put into boxes, and for every person who is drawn to someone similar to themselves, there is another one, equally pulled toward someone opposite. That’s the glory of love, but the devastating nature of the beast as well.

Because we don’t choose love. It chooses us. Love is not always neat and clean. It doesn’t always make things nice and tidy for us. It destroys as much as it builds and connects. Love is not something we can convince ourselves of just because everything else seems to work out perfectly. We either feel it or we don’t. Of course many of us have convinced ourselves that, with time, we can grow to love someone. But it doesn’t work that way. Love decides when, and where, and why. Only love. Never us.

That’s why love isn’t always reciprocated, because it isn’t something that can suddenly dawn on us. “Oh yes, I love you now, after you’ve chased me across several states.” Sure, we can convince ourselves it’s love, but real love doesn’t take convincing. Real love just is, and it is never a choice. We choose to give ourselves over to it or to pretend it doesn’t exist, but we don’t choose to either feel it or not. That’s not something even the most emotionally strong people can accomplish. Because love is more powerful than anything we can possibly imagine.

Yet love can’t keep us together. Because there are so many other reasons for people to be together and to stay together. Because there are so many other extenuating factors that determine the longevity of relationships. We are all human, and we make mistakes. We all have other defining factors to us than just loving another person. If it were as simple as “Love conquers all,” we would be living in a perfect world, a delusional world, but still a perfect world. And we all know that’s not possible.

So, no, we don’t choose love, but we do choose whether or not to let it guide us. We do choose whether or not we want to cultivate that love, whether or not we want to give it a seat at the table. And once we agree to its terms we can’t just let it sit there. Because love is fungible, malleable, able to be shaped or crafted to our needs, but also able to change with time, just like everything else. So when love chooses us, we have to first accept it for what it is, then we must commit to it, no matter what. As we all know, time is stronger than love, so we need to ride both like a tandem bike, to give our attention to growing that love over time.

And I understand where my friend is coming from. It’s a wonderful sentiment, that we can choose who we love, that we can choose when we love, and how we love. But it’s just not very realistic, in my opinion. It seems like a fairy tale to me, because I’ve seen so much that dissuades me from that notion. I just know that when love chose me, I let it wrap me up in its warm embrace, and then I went to work making sure that it would last for all time.

Sam

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

“I thought I knew what love was. What did I know?” ~Don Henley

01_Robert-Indiana_LoveI first told a girl I loved her in 4th grade, when she stabbed me with a pencil and decided to go out with my enemy. These three things were unrelated. Or at least I think they were. I never really asked her to explain. I was too busy drowning in my tears, in the relative safety of my room, trying to forget her. Trying to forget love.

Love means many different things to many different people, but to me it means being always appreciative. That girl who I said I loved, she didn’t appreciate my love. To her I might as well have told her I was an albino for all she cared, but it was 4th grade, and I gave her a mulligan for it. She never came back to take me up on the idea of a second chance, which was just as well.

To me, when you love someone you show it. Not by flowers and candy, because anyone can get flowers and candy, but by being there, by letting them know you’re there, whether they admit to needing you there. Love means coming through for someone else even if they don’t realize that’s what they needed. It’s doing the little things because there really are no little things when it comes to love.

I’ve learned that love needs to be patient…

I realize now that I didn’t really love that girl in 4th grade. It was never really love because I had no idea what love was back then. What I felt for her was sheer infatuation, that kind of Romeo and Juliet feeling that would have petered out had they not been in a volatile situation that pushed them toward each other… and toward the abyss. That girl was lucky she didn’t reciprocate my infatuation because I’ve always been prone to exaggeration of emotion. Thank god she looked the other way.

But I’ve learned a lot over the years, because of heartache and a plethora of other issues and mistakes, on both sides. I’ve learned that love needs to be patient, that it isn’t about the physical, that the physical comes along for the ride when it is indeed requited, that it’s better to have loved and lost than… well, not quite. It’s better to love and keep loving, because love can shift. It can change, not precisely with the wind but sometimes it is buffeted. I’ve learned that love is complicit, if just because it makes you more vulnerable than anything else ever could.

Love is revolutionary, no matter how often it occurs…

I’ve been sparing with the word itself. Even with my closest of friends it took a while before I felt comfortable enough telling them how I felt. Even with my closest of relationships I haven’t been the first one to say it, not usually, not because I’ve been afraid but because I’ve been resistant. I’ve been resistant to the way saying those words changes things. It doesn’t change things for me. I already know how I feel long before those words escape my lips. But it changes the relationship in subtle ways that only I can tell.

Or maybe they can tell too. Love is revolutionary, no matter how often it occurs, no matter how many people know the feeling. It acts. It doesn’t react. But love is worth it, even when it’s not returned, because without that feeling life is just not as good. And I don’t mean the romantic love. I mean all the many forms of love that can shift and change, that can undulate around you like a snake, but that can keep you safe and warm, secure in its comfort.

But what do I know?

Sam

Read Full Post »

478213335The girl at the Bagel Grove looks exactly like Amanda, or at least like Amanda when I knew her, 20 years ago, back when the world was fresh and new. The girl at the Bagel Grove looks fresh and new, as if she has been in a state of stasis for 20 years, as if she has been waiting for this day, and this time, to return. At the Bagel Grove in Utica, New York. I’m sure stranger things have happened.

Her nametag says “Kina,” and I’m wondering if the “i” is long or short, if she is long or short, if her name is her mantra, or if she prefers to be called “Key,” or “Ki” for short. She has a gap between her top two front teeth, just like Amanda, and I want to ask her if it affects her whistling ability. I don’t ask, but I want to. I tell her I want a garlic bagel with garlic and herb cream cheese, and she looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“I’m not kissing anyone in the next couple of hours,” I tell her, by way of explanation for the question her eyebrows asked.

“That’s still a pretty strong combination,” she tells me, and there is a lilt to her voice, like it’s normally an outside one but she has forced it to come inside, where she is.

The woman behind her laughs at that one, a joke, just one among many that I think the place hears during the course of an ordinary day. The Bagel Grove seems like one of those places, all cinnamon and ribaldry, baked together and warm to the touch. This other woman makes a joke about the Target shirt I am wearing, and I have a snappy comeback ready. This is not my first time. Kina smiles at the joke and hands me my change. I never realized I paid her.

I can’t help staring at her, even though I know I shouldn’t. I mean, Amanda really was my first love, and the resemblance is uncanny, especially for a girl who has such a mixed ancestry as this girl obviously does. I can see European descent in her eyes and skin, African in her nose and hair, a touch of something else in her bearing that I can’t quite place but that Amanda had as well. But Amanda would be 40 now, and this girl is only 21, at the most. I still can’t help staring.

“Toasted?” she asks, and I have no idea what she’s referencing. She points to the bagel in her hand, and I notice she isn’t wearing gloves, although they are nearby on the low counter. Amazingly enough, I don’t mind.

“Yes, please,” I answer, and I consciously try to stop staring. She will think I’m some kind of lunatic, not that I’m remembering a time long ago, and a girl long gone, lost to the overwhelming ether that has been life.

“Name?” she says, sharpie poised over the folded paper bag she is now holding, the bagel already in the toaster oven, forgotten for the moment as it browns.

“Sam,” I tell her, because it is my name, and because she did ask. She writes it down using stock letters, the “A” starting before the “S” finishes, which is not how Amanda wrote my name.

I blink, and the resemblance fades as quickly as it manifested when I walked in. The ghost of a girl I used to love fades along with it. I slide down the counter to wait for my bagel, humming to myself a tune I know by heart.

Sam

Read Full Post »

“Love is mild, except when it isn’t. Except when it’s a raging inferno with the sole intention of destroying every ounce of sanity you have left. But yes, it’s mild. And that other stuff too.” ~Anonymous

0612d8fcf89e1f08abc66fc7fc6b92f6I made the mistake of telling someone that my next book of poetry is going to be full of love poems. It seemed to me a stroke of genius, but I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to create a whole book of 50+ poems exclusively about love. In my mind it was going to be difficult because my brain creates poetry quite organically, so how was I going to shift my thought patterns and make the poetry cooperate? I needn’t have been worried, because she said:

“But most of your stuff is already love poetry.”

Which of course made me laugh, but she was deadly serious. And she would know because she’s listened to a lot of my poems at poetry night, she’s read the vast majority of the ones on my poetry blog, and she’s purchased both of my other collections of poetry. So I took stock of my poetry. I dug as deep as she probably didn’t have to in order to find out that she was absolutely right.

I write mostly love poetry. No, not the treacly sweet love poetry that would make a 1950s poet proud. Nor even the devoted, puppy dog love poetry that dominated the 1980s. No, I write the love poetry that is intense in its own analysis of itself, that drives all night to end up in the same place where it began. I write the love poetry that wishes it were something else, but it can’t help being about love.

So that makes it easy, I guess, compiling a book of my love poetry, even if it’s not the book I thought I was going to make when I started on this journey. Because this is my reality. It’s the love I’ve seen more often than any other in this world. It’s not the mild, “I want to hold your hand” kind of love, not the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse inspired love, but is instead the persistently desperate, sad love that strives for something more, the love that needs acceptance but usually breeds regret.

Which means my job is a lot easier than I thought it would be. Just write poetry and it will probably fit the mold.

Sam

Read Full Post »

easyloveLove is easy… when it’s reciprocated. When it’s neither tied down nor coerced. When it’s head and heart entwined together. When it’s not long distance. When it’s two-way street. When… well, when a whole lot comes together in perfect alignment… then it’s easy.

I’ve had two loves, and neither one was easy, not when things counted anyway. Both were easy at the beginning, when everything was shiny and new, because we didn’t know any better. We basked in the warmth of an emergent love, secure in our notion that love was all we needed.

Which is the major issue, isn’t it? Love is never all we need. It’s never the salve for everything that ails us. It can never do the heavy lifting because love wasn’t built for that. It is the emotional component to our relationships. Necessary? Yes. Independent? No. Love can be a foundation, but it can’t be the only support for a relationship.

So yes, love can be easy when everything else is in place. When a relationship also has honesty, cooperation, trust, and a host of other supports firmly in place. Obviously, bracing your relationship with all of those supports takes time and effort, takes trial and error, takes hard work on both sides.

Unfortunately, that’s why so many relationships these days fail, because we live in a world where not many people are willing to work through the struggles, to talk out the issues, to be completely honest with each other, not just about their feelings, but also about what they need from their partner. So it’s not easy, and instead of working harder on it, they let it go. They let it drift away when they should be diagnosing the problems so they can get to the next step.

11743693133_c154198945So yes, real love is easy, because it’s surrounded by a scaffold of everything necessary to keep it alive and to help it flourish successfully. My first love was young love, which thought itself self-sustaining, but all the love in the world wouldn’t have saved it. Because we weren’t on the same page, both of us thinking that love would be enough, that we would be together forever because we wanted to be together forever. When the end came we were still scratching our heads, wondering what went wrong.

The second time around, though, from the start it was difficult because we were both older, and we both knew that love wasn’t enough. We both knew that it would be challenging, but it was a challenge we were ready to take. Because we knew that if we got through the tough times, the challenging decisions, the difficult confessions, we would emerge together at the end.

So yes, love is easy. When you know that it’s not enough.

Sam

Read Full Post »

There She Goes

“There she goes. There she goes again. Running through my brain… and I just can’t contain the feeling that remains.”

Rearview mirrorSo, there I was, driving up Route 12, heading home when I saw a pair of headlights behind me. I glanced in the rear view and vaguely recognized the make and model of the car behind me — because it was the same as my wife’s. But I try to stay focused on the road ahead when I’m driving. Yet something kept dragging my eyes back to that car, and I saw the driver waving at me.

You guessed it. It wasn’t just the make and model of the car my wife drives. It was my wife, in the last place I would have expected her at 3:15 in the afternoon out on Route 12, directly behind me. My heart leapt in my chest because it was her, it was really her, and I can’t explain just how I feel every single time I see her. It’s especially true when it’s an unexpected encounter.

I’m sure it’s just me, that not every man has those first encounter flights of adrenaline like I have when I see my wife. I mean, it’s been 15 years since we first started talking, and we’ve had our ups and downs, but that feeling never goes away. Perhaps I’m just a sentimental guy. After all, I celebrate the day she first emailed me, the day she first told me she loved me, and the day I first moved here to Central New York. So why not celebrate every time I get to see the woman who chose me?

I try to tone it down from time to time, because I know she’s nowhere near as sentimental as I am. Which is okay. I knew this about her when we first met. And I have to admit it makes me that much more excited in those moments when she is sentimental. Of course I hope she doesn’t get overloaded with my exuberance, but she knew this about me when we first met. And she’s stuck with me nevertheless. I think it makes for a good combination.

So, there I was, driving up Route 12, heading home when I saw my wife behind me, waving as if she was excited at the coincidence. In that moment I could feel her excitement that rivaled mine. In that moment. And I felt a thousand warm and fuzzies coursing through my body as I waved back and blew her kisses. She makes me want to sing a karaoke duet with her, but I wouldn’t because she would hate it. But it still makes me feel good even wishing that we could.

We parted a few moments later, me still heading home, and her going about the course of her day, but there she was, and there she goes. Which always makes me smile.

Sam

Read Full Post »

Okay, so I’ll admit I hadn’t really jumped on board with all of the challenges that seem to have exploded over the internet in the past few years. All this bandwagon stuff, and whatnot. So I wasn’t dumping ice water all over myself back in 2015 even when it seemed like everyone else was. There’s miles of video to prove it. I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten behind any quick moving movement like that before.

Until now. My best friend was participating in what is called the “Love Your Spouse” challenge, in which you post a photo of you and your spouse once a day for seven days. The photos can be from anywhere and from any time period, so long as they show both of you. Some people do it differently and take photos specifically for the challenge, while others have pictures that include them and their spouse, but aren’t necessarily just the two of them.

For me I felt like if I was going to do it I was going to plumb the depths of photos we have of ourselves (most of which I begged to have her take the shot with me — bad hair days be damned). So that’s what I did, and every day so far I’ve stayed true to one thing and one thing only. Does the photo encapsulate who we are as a couple in some way? If it did then I included it.

Today is Day 6 of the seven-day challenge, and I’m quite proud of the 6 photos I’ve chosen so far to represent us. I’m so proud of them that I decided I don’t just want to post them to Facebook and see how many likes they get. I want to display them out here, in a medium of my choosing, in my own world, and so that you (my dear subscribers) can observe them as well. I’m including my motivations for each one as well. Oh, and I’m sorry you won’t get to see photo #7, but I decided I do want an up-to-date photo of us for that one, so I’ll be taking it first thing tomorrow. You know, if it’s a good hair day…

Bruzzy's Reception

Photo #1. 2002. We had just met the year before — online — and I had just moved to upstate New York. One of the first things I did was to accompany this lovely lady to a wedding. It reminds me of when everything was still fresh and new. Look at our smiles. It’s one of my favorites.

Before Rob's Wedding (2)

Photo #2. 2012. I fast forwarded to 10 years later, and to another wedding. We were in Philadelphia getting ready for my oldest friend’s wedding. I was a groomsman — the first and only time I had such an honor — but my wife stole the show. I forgot how much I loved this dress, but that smile is eternal.

Ireland Pictures 067

Photo #3. 2003. Here’s to jumping around in time, but this one spoke to me. Glendalough, Ireland. These ruins of ancient monks’ quarters were breathtaking to behold, and I would have never seen them if not for the planning of my wife. Married less than a week, we enjoyed our honeymoon on the Emerald Isle, a place I have always wanted to go. I wish we could go back.

13690723_10210108474333499_6399065774142381100_n

Photo #4. 2013. I don’t even remember what we were dancing to here, but my wife reminds me that apparently this was her “wedding dress” for a few weddings we were invited to over the course of a few years. Don’t be fooled. I have no rhythm, but she dances with me anyway. That’s love.

13775398_10210116240287643_3395609728498473812_n

Photo #5. 2012. Somehow I feel like this was 2011 instead, but my phone said 2012, so I’m going to go with it. My wife doesn’t like to take photos with her glasses on, so I decided to try it on for size. I couldn’t see a thing, so I just directed my smile toward the blob I thought was the phone. I think it came out okay.

Grad Party Day Pictures 032

Photo #6. 2003. This picture was taken two days before our wedding, two days before we would embark on our Irish honeymoon journey. I believe my mother took it. It was at my undergraduate graduation, a wild endeavor that was supported 110% by this lovely lady here. It’s fitting for the challenge because even though she wasn’t quite my spouse in this picture, she was.

Sam

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

greengatephoto

A great WordPress.com site

Cozy Corner

A Writer's Journey

Whose Wine Is It Anyway?

Exploring life, love, lifting, and (almost) literally everything else, frequently aided by laughter and libations

Dr. K. L. Register

Just a small town girl who writes about Christian stuff.

Sara Furlong

Strategic freelance writer specializing in online content, articles, web copy, & SEO.

Bree Paige

Bree Defined

%d bloggers like this: