My dad makes fun of me sometimes. And, since he is a man of few words, I know he means what he says because with fewer words, each one holds greater weight. At least, in his case.
That’s not to say I am a babbling idiot. Or maybe I am, in which case, why are you reading this? Don’t you have something better to spend time on? Or maybe you really do think I am an authority in the world of love, sex, dating, and general life judgment calls. Too bad Jewish Female Supreme Court Justice has already been filled – thanks, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. (But, hey, Cosmo, if you’re looking, I can make up lots of ridiculous sex tips!)
Oh right, so why does my dad make fun of me, that’s not very nice, you ask? Because I drop L-bombs all the time. I love you, love you, xoxo, hey love, love you, LOVELOVELOVE. I love the smell of the air after rain, I love my dog even though she’s barks incessantly, I love Anthropologie dresses, I love my friends, I love the sweaty frat basements, and I love the Lakefill in the spring. I have always sought to find something I loved in everyone I have met.
I guess love is an overstatement. Can my heart just be so blossoming with love that I can love all of these things fully and purely and strongly? Do I mean it?
So, this is a sex column, so I should probably not just ramble about things I… love. And talk about sex.
Nah.Maybe next week.
Love, I’ve decided, is not something you say or see or touch. You can just say it, but unless you mean it, and show it, and feel it in the way you express it, it’s not the real deal, the nirvana, the big shebang. It’s not something you describe in writing so from the start, this poignant essay is failed in its basic mission.
But, I’ll try. Take a random dancefloor meaningless hookup where you still aren’t sure what the face attached to the other lips looked like. Maybe it’s daring, passionate, wild, drunken, and inappropriately sensual – but there’s no heavy feeling. Sure, it’s fun. Because we are hormone-crazy not-quite adults and kissing is nice. But love isn’t just fun. It might start as a dancefloor hookup, and it might end as a dancefloor hook up. But just because Usher wants to Make Love in this Club doesn’t mean I do.
Or, just the scene in 27 Dresses when she finally kisses her boss. The names were forgettable but that moment of recognition, when you think you love someone so much, and then the kiss just isn’t there.That’s the worst. In her case, it leads her to realize where she can find the best. Love was a lightbulb moment for her.
This whole concept is hard to articulate. Words are usuallypretty easy for me. Describing things is medium, but getting better each day. Love is hard.
Also, I think love is totally beyond my control. For me, I say it all the time. And I mean it in different ways. Just like your Facebook now has to appeal to your dad, your friends, that cute boy, your professor, your grandma, and your future employer. And you probably love all of these people – but in very different facets of the term. Maybe adore is more accurate in some senses. Maybe suck-up works better too, at times. But to me, it’s all love.
The best love is when you’re sitting there with this person that you ‘love’ and you just say it – and there it is. Out. And you can’t ever really take it back. Which is the beauty and the curse of the permanence of the past. That’s some poetic BS right there. So, you look into someone’s eyes and you see yourself and you see that person’s soul and the whole world is magic and rainbows and fairies and sunshine. Yea right. I’m way too cynical and jaded to write anything like that. I’ll take another stab at it next week.
I thought this would be a one-week quick-little run-on-explanation of how my dad mocks me for loving too freely, like a hippy. Or at least saying that I do. Anyway, it turns out love can’t be written as a brief. This isn’t a press release – it’s history’s favorite literary topic because no one has been able to get it right. But I think I got a good start.And I’ll get back to feeding your lust-craven souls with the magnificent power of the word soon.
Love isn’t patient or kind. Love is more like a battlefield and you got shot sometimes. But, it’s probably really awesome to win the war. And the few glimpses I have seen, from romantic comedy to romancelessdancefloor, somehow give me hope. And I love that, if nothing else.