What is all this love business about anyway?
This past summer I visited my aunt. While I was there I was a part of a conversation that shook me a little bit. It challenged some of my ideas about what love actually is. I really spent a lot of time wondering if I had this love business wrong all along. Let me say- visiting my aunt at her place always feels a bit like “coming home.” And- I don’t think that feeling is unique to myself, nor do I think that happens by accident. I can see there is a lot of hard work and preparation that goes into being a (frequent) hostess, and it is truly a labor of love. Whenever I’m there I do my best to show my gratitude for the gift of hospitality she gives by helping out as much as I can- with whatever I can. I don’t think it helped my cause much that my dog (rest in peace Ruka, sweet girl) pissed on her carpet every chance she got. But I digress.
We were sitting around, and as the dusk turned into night the
topic of love came up.
“It’s not a feeling, it’s a verb!” I claimed.
Not a single person agreed with me. They were pretty much
all in agreeance that love is- well- a feeling. And by definition they’re
right. I googled it. On the definition of love, Webster says this:
NOUN 1. an
intense feeling of deep affection 2. a person or thing that one
loves 3. (in tennis, squash, and some
other sports) a score of zero; nil:
VERB 1. feel a deep romantic or sexual
attachment to someone
I do not accept that. And yes- I’m stubborn, and yes- I dislike
being wrong, and yes- I frequently am,
but this really has nothing to do with that. A feeling? No. That’s so minimal.
Its bare bones, and no depth. It feels empty and shallow and reduced- reduced
like the browning, and bruised bananas at the supermarket that nobody wants.
If that’s all love is; a feeling- by all means you can keep
it. I don’t want it. I’ve had that kind of love, and the damage myself, and my
lover were able to conjure up in love’s name was beyond a nightmare. I’m over
it. I need more. I demand more. I must see, hear, and feel more. I need to
stand in loves brutal grind prevailing in triumph; tired and all at once
feeling exhausted and accomplished and inspired.
Love is a skill. For some that skill is fine-tuned, and
expansive. For others it’s limited and fleeting. Then there’s a spot smack dab
between the two, which sometimes looks really good, and like you’re all peace
love and joy, yet other times it just looks sad and icky and messy and
depressive. This is my spot, my space- I’m all up in this category. I’m both. I’m
the grey area. The middle. The stretched out distance between the two extremes.
And. I happen to like it here (most days). Love can be intense, and consuming.
Reaching inside I rip everything out, and hand it over, and then there’s the
constantly showing up as someone better than I feel like. It is tiring. Love will wear you thin.
In my mind the definition that has best described love comes
from Corinthians 13:4-8: - and I’m not one who normally quotes the bible- but
this is pretty brilliant.
Love
is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always
trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But
where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will
be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
How I interpret that is that love is a way of being. These
are skills. It is work. It is effort. It is not easy. It looks a lot like me
having patience with you on the days that you’re working my last damn nerve. Rising to the task of showing you kindness when you piss me off takes an energy that I don’t always
have. It is a practice; an exercise, and as some of the people who know me can
attest- is not my strong suit. But-
it is a suit that’s being worked on constantly. I am endlessly altering, and
tailoring, and adding fabrics that enrich that suit. Because- my god- the
people I love are worth it. I am
worth it. I am worth exercising and strengthening my love; the way I give it-
and the way I receive it.
The Corinthians passage also makes this claim in regards to
love: it is not self-seeking. I’ve
seen my aunt demonstrate this time and time again. She wakes at the crack of
dawn after a long night of entertaining, she steps over the bodies of her
sleeping houseguests to fix my grandfather a hot cup of coffee, and breakfast.
That is love’s work people. There is no reward at the end of that for her. No
pot of gold. No accolades. Just her, and the love she performs. It’s a
beautiful thing to watch, and as someone who spends a lot of time taking care
of other people myself, I know it’s not easy.
So, in matters of love, let me be that. Let me feel that. Let
me be the deliverer (or receiver) of hot coffee and bacon in the early morning
hours after a sleepless night. Let me not forget that love is a way of being.
When I am in love, I am softer,
gentler, and more open. When you minimize what love is by calling it a feeling,
you take away everything magnificent, and magical, and special about it. When
you say it’s simply a feeling- well that’s great, but only you can feel your
feelings so it really doesn’t do much good- unless you’re willing to put that
to work. If you say you love me- yet have no patience for my neurosis then
thanks, but no thanks.
And so- at the end of the day- I want to do more than feel
love; I want to perform love. I love writing- so I do it often. I’ve put about
five hours into this piece alone. It started out as one thing, but turned into
something else. What good is me saying that I love writing if I never create
anything with it? If I don’t put time and energy into it, do I really love it? If that’s the case maybe I
would be considered an admirer of writing, rather than a lover. No?
I love parenting. I didn’t always. I was a young, and
selfish mother. But the love I have for my children transcended that, and so I
practiced it daily. I took classes, I read books, and I made mistakes. I
learned, and I sought guidance. I prayed like hell for God to make me better,
or give my kids someone better than I was. Little by little I got better at
this parenting thing. I worked hard on my parenting until I began to evolve as
a parent. I grew, and we all got better as a direct result of me loving them. One
day I woke up and we all kind of liked one another. We’ve been in-love ever
since. Which really just looks a lot like me doing a bunch of stuff, I don’t
always want to do; or responding appropriately to situations that I’m not
always sure I’m mature enough for- and after I’ve said goodnight to my kids,
after a really long, hard day- being really super-duper grateful that I am their mom, and I get to
do it all.
So- the secret is simple- Love is a verb,
it is an action, it is a skill. And unless you are performing, creating, nourishing,
cultivating, practicing, sweating, working, or being your love… Well then
sadly, you are in like- or in lust- or in some other thing that is not love. And maybe- just maybe I'm wrong- but if I am- I don't want to be right.
Much Peace.
