Friday, January 15, 2010
Love and Contradiction, Haddaway...
So I've been set to task, not in any official capacity, but been plagued by a question so deep and penetrating that philosophers of yore have been debating it since the Age of Reason first emerged.
Nothing reasonable about it though if you think about it.
And though prose and poetry have been comprised of it for centuries, life and death the cause of it, war and peace both thought instigated by it's power...
Haddaway said it best "What is Love (baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me...)"
(and yes you are to head bop side to side obnoxiously in Night at the Roxbury fashion, inducing likely whiplash while saying it, so sayeth [hip-ster-krit] on Monday when she got me thinking)
And as upbeat and techno fused as that song is, the question remains poignant; not only does it question the essence of love, it begs, BEGS not to be hurt.
So in thinking of what I know of love, or more over what I believed I think I know of love, how accurate are my perceptions?
I admit, I am a closet chick-flick watcher. Now hear me out. I watch them yes, I estrogenly tear up as though on cue when I am supposed to (I blame hormones really), but do I anticipate those happy-ever-after scripted perfect endings in real life?
I read things like the Notebook and Dear John by Nicholas Sparks (starting out of morbid curiosity that anyone containing testosterone could ever write such tales) and wonder how vivid someone's imagination must be. How hopeful they must really have to be to ever think any of that possible.
I, the cynic know better.
What I know of love is toxic. It is not puppy dogs and rainbows. It's not happy-ever-afters and a life of ease.
We're fed off delusions. Perceptions of what idealistic perfection is supposed to be. You should never fight, you should feel butterflies, life should be grand. Ahhhhh.
That euphoric state of happiness when all is right with the world. Yeah, those are endorphins Sweetie, you can get them from chocolate too.
Love is finicky. What I know of love I learned not even OUT of love, but out of womb. Love, REAL love found me when I least expected it, as they say in the kitschiest of ways.
I wasn't looking for it, it found me. In a make-shift relationship (ok it wasn't really one I count as a relationship, more one I sort of evolved into one once that stick I peed one told me PREGNANT in huge obnoxious letters while the voice of Nelson from the Simpsons chimed "HAHA" in the back of my head...)
Love is what a parent feels for a child (at least they should, and unfortunately I have witnessed in my life some examples of people who should have never been allowed to procreate because somehow this ability was completely devoid and lacking, but I digress). Love is that first look upon the face of this itty bitty creature and knowing unconditionally that for the rest of your life and theirs, that you are connected.
Not just by DNA, but by something more. Sure they will go through puberty and tell you that they hate you more times than you can count. But you know they don't mean it. (they are witnessing that toxic crap I mentioned earlier, and they just don't know any better)
A friend of mine from work, a dear colleague lost his son yesterday. 29 years old, only 1 year younger than me. He lost it to a disease I know well. One I both understand and despise at the same time. One I have contradictory feelings towards.
As a parent, I cannot even fathom what he is going through. As I sat with him today, albeit briefly, we cried together. He knew of my "history" with this drug. How it had torn apart me and my son's life. Not my addiction, his father's. And how it has kept him out of his life and mine for the past year and a half now.
But I also understand that it is a disease. And I know that no matter how much he tried to be there for his son, to support him and catch him when he fell, that vile temptress won out in the end. And I ache for him. I never want that loss for anyone, and especially my son.
THAT is love.
Not this whiney wishy washy I need to not sleep alone nonsense that people are so adamant about. Not the desire to get married and attach themselves at the hip to another person. Who gives a shit about that really.
Love is love; it's thoughtless in the sense that you don't NEED to think about it. It's easy in the way that you know no other way to be. It's all that you are and all that you will ever be. It's without a thought, without even a doubt that a person, your child, your family is before you in priority no matter what. If you even have to second guess anything, if you even have to TRY, that’s not love.
It's all been put in perspective.