Everyone has different definitions of that ephemeral concept of love. What is it to you? What is it to me? A member of my tribe, that is to say, my extended family of choice, recently made an eloquent post reflecting her purview on love. And while I agree with many things, I feel that for me, they need further understanding. As I've been charged with the challenge of writing in my journal every day, I will attempt to answer that (quite appropriately) mercurial question: What is love?
I love without thinking. I do not love without feeling. My heart sings a song to those I love, in echo of a song heard in their heart. We, as a society, do not love enough: not anymore, and not as we should. We are afraid, I think, of trusting ourselves to one another. We are afraid of being hurt.
I am not afraid of the hurt that comes with love: all great things come attached with a price, and often that price is not realized until much later. Is the cost of loving someone far too great? For me, the answer is no. I've almost been destroyed by the darker edge of love. But I've been nurtured to life by it far more. It's a simple cost-benefit analysis: Is the cost far more than I am willing to pay? It has never been so for me, but even I have my limits at time.
For those just joining -- perhaps new readers, perhaps classmates, perhaps long lost friends, hopefully a literary agent or two -- I feel there are certain details of my life that bear mentioning in order for me to fully speak out on this topic. Some of you might prickle at the thought, but I am polyamorous. I believe it is fully possible for some people to love more than one person in a romantic manner without harming any involved. I love my husband. I love my boyfriend. My husband loves me. He loves his girlfriend. They all weave the rich tapestry that is my life - and for each of their roles in my life, I could not be more grateful.
Have you ever learned to go fishing, reader? Perhaps a kindly figure in your life - a grandfather, as was the case with me - sat you down and told you to be patient. To wait until that fish came to you. And to slowly, patiently crank the reel until the fish was in your hands. You will hit snags along the way, you will catch your line on a million things. Unlike so many tired analogies, I do not liken lovers to fish (although some have, to be sure, been pretty fishy). Rather, love is the elusive fish we're seeking to catch. My grandfather always told me to fish out of need, never for sport, and to honor the gift that the world was giving me, the continued gift of life. Love is not sport, and love fills a very real need in our lives as humans. Love sustains us. Before this turns into a Beatles song, I must also add that love can destroy us also. There are fish in the world that can kill you with a mere bite. There are loves that will do the same.
Like the scales on that self-same fish, there are many who would liken love to a multi-faceted jewel. Many who would seek to put love on a pedestal. But I speak most assuredly when I say that love is not some grand thing to be admired from afar: It is real, it is earthy, it is not always pretty and sometimes it is practical. Love has caring, adoration, passion, lust, desire, pleasure, enjoyment. It also has jealousy, possession, pain, heartache, hatred, disgust and hurt. Love is these things, and love is more. There is an abundance of literature on love and its many facets. I'd be hard pressed to write about love and speak all of these things in earnest. For some, as it is for me, love isn't so easy to speak about, but it is easy to show.
One of the questions asked the most of me about my relationships is how I deal with jealousy. The simple thing is: I am aware of myself and I strive to be aware of my partners. I seek to keep the feelings of hurt from happening before those feelings rise to the surface. I try to smooth out conflict before it begins. By and large, I am not jealous. Love multiplies. I cannot say the same for the money in my bank, perhaps this is why I am a writer by trade. Love sings out to love, and it begins and begats more love. I enjoy seeing the look in my husband's eyes when he hears from his girlfriend. My tears well up - not with anger, but with pride - to see them together, because I truly find love and beauty there. I do not have a problem with physical affection between them while I am present - simply because it is one aspect to the love they share. And why should something so esteemed, so beautiful, so transient in nature - why should that be wrong? Why should I begrudge that? Who *AM* I to begrudge that? It is not my place - because love, in its many forms, is always beautiful. And one small act of love can, and often does, change the world. Even in small ways.
This is not to say that I am never jealous of anything or anyone - I am not a saint. But I recognize where my jealousy stems from, and I am proactive in my attempts to soothe the ruffled feathers of that prickly bird. My own jealousy often stems from seeing real or perceived inadequacies in my own relationships. A covetousness that I cannot control because perhaps I see something I once had, something I lost, or something I crave and may have never had to begin with. This is something I, and I alone, have control over. If I feel I have lost something, I take steps to find it. I would do no less for a tangible thing in my life, why sit and stare helpless like a dopey damsel? If I've lost it, I'll get it back.
If it's something I never had to begin with, I'll turn those bristled feelings of hurt into thanks - if I never had it to begin with, and I am jealous to see it manifest, then it was something I never knew I needed. And if I did not know I needed it, how could I have expected my partner to know it was needed? By and large, with few exceptions, my lovers are not psychic. My relationships aren't some mystical thing, existing in a wholly perfect bubble - they come with lots of time, patience and COMMUNICATION. It can get ugly. It is NEVER pretty and it is usually boring or mundane. But it is necessary.
I love without question and without apology. I strive to love in the light of day, and not hide things about in the twilight hours. Why should I? It's not conducive to anything and I've burned and been burned by more than one clandestine relationship. I'd rather be exposed and laid bare for the world, and my partners, to see. Part of that, perhaps, comes from being a submissive, masochistic exhibitionist - it's as much a part of my nature as anything else - perhaps it is just my understanding of the world. But the core parts of my being shape my understanding of the world, and those two things are so inextricably linked, it doesn't much matter where it comes from - so long as my heart agrees. And it does.
The need to posses someone is not my nature - love is shown through actions, freely given. People ask how it is possible that I can love my husband - people whose sole exposure to love is via monogamy. People speculate how I could "let him do this" to me, as if I were unaware and uninvolved in the prospect of him dating other women - they are often quite unaware that the change in our relationship style was MY idea, and both of our choices. They ask, quite rudely, if I would like to strangle whoever he is involved with. I'm ever sorry to disappoint the bloodthirsty masses, but I've met his girlfriend. She's an absolute pleasure to be around and a delight to spend time with. He worries about me absconding with her, not the other way around. And why not? She's a delightful woman and what's not to love? But to hurt and possess, to conquest for sport, is not my "thing."
Case in point: I know my husband loves me. People place too much on the legal aspect of our marriage. Whatever perceived legal obligation aside, he is not chained to me, unable to ever live a life of his own. There are times when the life you lead with a partner outweighs the ties that bind: that's why there's such a thing as divorce. When we attended our first party, he challenged me to finish a very acidic, fruity alcoholic drink. I have an ulcer and I've had stomach problems since childhood. The night ended with fecal matter and vomit. Barely knowing me and out of NO obligation whatsoever, he tended to me like a family member would. He didn't blink (he may have wretched himself, from the smell of it, but who can blame him?) and he handled it with a love and grace I don't know that I would have been able to pull off. Our relationship has been filled with ugly moments - physical ailments, emotional illnesses, problems and more problems. The fact that he is still here of his own accord is proof enough for me, and should be proof enough for those self-same bloodthirsty masses who have no greater past-time than to wish my love life to go down in flames. And I don't foresee this changing.
Who do I love? Some days, everyone. Some days, no one. But who I love and how I love are not inextricably linked - I love you, unless you prove a reason I should not. And like as not, this has led to me hurting more than once. Like as not, it will happen again. But to say I regret how I love and any result of that would be a falsehood that I am not willing to swallow.
It could be summed up in five little, insignificant words: It is what it is. For anything more than that, go listen to the Beatles.
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