I saw the post about the writing contest for Valentine's Day, and I'll submit this after I write it, but I doubt it is going to win.
Seeing the prompt to write about Valentine's Day got me thinking about love, and writing about that, because let's face it, Valentine's Day is just a contrivance, a holiday created to sell stuff. I don't care about it enough to write anything. I am a fatalist; love, to me, is a distant, sentimental notion.
People can never decide what love really is. The definition is subjective; for each person you ask, you'll probably get a different yet nebulous answer. Love is complicated. Or is it? Maybe not.
Let's start here: the scene of a disasterous car wreck.
When you see one of these where there are only strangers involved, unless you are a police officer or medical professional, what is your response? Probably to walk away. There is nothing you can do but get in the way, right? Even though there might be fatalities, if you are like me, you're likely to flee rather than become emotionally invested.
Indifference is the opposite of love. You flee the scene because it is the most helpful thing you can do for those involved, and you don't cry or lose sleep over what you just saw.
I don't agree with any of the definitions above. See? I dispute the great Merriam-Webster, an institution I honestly do hold deep respect for, FWIW. I think the definition of love is simpler: the state of investment in something to the extent that the permanent absence of said item would cause deep emotional distress up to and including death.
Not the kind of definition you might expect to find in, say, "Four Weddings And A Funeral," right? Sort of cold? Does anyone else feel a chill when you read that? Happy Valentine's Day.
Ever hear or read about those old couples who are married forever? Then one of them dies, and within a year, the other follows? Maybe you know or have known a couple like that. Within a year.
I sometimes wondered about cat ladies and dog guys. I think you know them. They can't get a human to love them, so they purchase a furry little beast to do it instead. It's the ultimate form of settling, right? I don't mean to disparage them; I don't have anyone to love me, so I have considered a furry beast also.
I have seen articles written by scientists about whether the furry beasts can actually love their human masters, or what we see is just an expression of dependancy or need. Of course the furry beasts love the humans. Maybe the idea that they don't, or can't, is a result of some bahavioral scientist's desire to consume meat. They can't reconcile the cognitive dissonance of consuming a creature capable of love.
On Valentine's Day, we celebrate the corny, sappy, romantic comedy kind of love, where everyone lives in lush urban spaces and dresses in designer outfits. Everyone is gorgeous and charming. Even the fat friends have their hair done.
That kind of love can be a mild crush on someone we barely know, or it can be the launching pad of the love of a lifetime. Most often it is somewhere in-between. "Twitterpated" is a kind of fantasy love based on our concept of another person we are getting to know. If the other person is very desirable on a superficial level, it can even make us feel better about ourselves. The better the other person makes me feel about myself, the more of her I want in my life.
"Twitterpated," even though it is a fantasy, is legitimate love, for if and when the fantasy ends, there is pain. We are likely to survive, perhaps for several years, but it is a light and celebrated love, one that is exhaulted on Valentine's Day.
True love, though, isn't as pretty. Remember the car wreck up above? Kind of an odd thing in a Take about love, right? When the object of our affection is suffering or in distress, we don't turn and walk away. We are there. Maybe we think our presence eases the other's pain, and perhaps it does. Or it doesn't. Either way, we are suffering with the person we love. Whether it comforts them or not, it comforts us.
If we choose to love, we don't walk away when the euphoria ends. Some people do; they are addicted to twitterpation. They are twitterhaulics, whether they tweet or not.
Love is a commitment. The more committed we are, the more vulnerable we are. Love is the act of trusting someone enough to hand them a knife, and spread your arms wide open. It is both beautiful and dangerous.
When we're young and full of dreams about the future, bravado and a sense of immortality, taking risks, we fall in love quickly and easily. When it fails, it often fails with plenty of time to recover and move on. There is much euphoria in youth. Love is just a part of it, and as a culture we enjoy that part.
It's not the full and complete love, though, that comes with being near someone at their worst and most difficult moments. Real love isn't as glamourous as Valentine's Day. It is even more beautiful.
Which brings me back to the furry beasts, and how I know they really love us. Furry animals are a lot like humans. They do a lot of the same things we do. They eat, breathe, poop, run, jump and play, but they also learn and evolve.
The main quality they seem to lack that we have is the ability to reason. They can sniff something and draw information from the smell, but they can't figure out that the image in the mirror is them.
Animals are the same as we are, except unabashedly so. Maybe this is why they run around naked, and we don't. They don't seem to mind. They recognize and avoid danger, but like a puppy at the top of the stairs, they reluctantly trust us.
I sometimes look at older adults and wonder how they love, and why they do. I think the answer comes from the furry beasts: older people love because it is our nature for each of us to do it.
When we're young, we think the world revolves around us. We are the stars of our own stories, and everything exists to serve our need. It is a healthy outlook for a younger person, but when we get older, perhaps that outlook changes.
Perhaps instead of taking love, older people are more apt to give it. This is why the older people are so fiercely devoted to family, and why those who can't find love from other humans get the furry creatures: not to receive love so much, but to give it.
Where does love come from? Who knows? I am not a scientist, but if you really hate the idea of loving, avoid soy products. It won't eliminate love from your system, but you'll generate less. Trust me on that.
We have to love, and for that reason, everyone is eligible for love. Whether you want it or not, people will love you over the course of your lifetime. There isn't a fucking thing you can do to stop it, whether you think you deserve it or not, so stop reasoning about it so much. Stop thinking you don't deserve it or can't have it. Observe the furry beasts; they love everyone who doesn't try to hurt or eat them.
As a human, you're obligated to eat, poop and love. These are biological necessities, and not a book by Elizabeth Gilbert.
I guess this is why I won't win the Valentine's Day contest - my outlook on love is too grounded and realistic to win. Perhaps it is too grim.
I will celebrate the day, though, the way I have for the past year or two: by watching romantic comedies. I haven't decided which one yet, but I enjoy them.
I tried to simply hide from Valentine's Day for a while, but I eventually learned that the healthier way was to find a way to embrace and celebrate my need to love — somehow. For a couple of hours out of the year, I can love vicariously.
I was nobody until I loved somebody, whether somebody else loved me or not.
Have a great one!
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