It’s important to believe in happily ever after. It helps. I don’t know if I’ll ever find that one person to spend happily ever after with, but just the hope it offers is quite comforting. The general consensus of the masses is that we should say, “I love you” more, and there are endless examples of this everywhere we look. “Love makes the world go ’round.” “All you need is love.” Both ideologies are overused and absolutely false. We should mean it more and say it less. Love has become an excuse and a loose interpretation for any number of things, at the very best.
Love is a get-out-of-jail-free card in our society. “But I love you…” And that is supposed to mean what? The definition of love varies so drastically from person to person. We give it so much power. Love can make or break days, months and decades, if we allow it. I sit in random coffee shops and bookstores and work on my computer, read while I’m eating lunch, or write while I’m soaking up some vitamin D in the park. I hear a socially predominate idea of love resonating so much more than any other. “If he loved me, he would have put the clothes in the dryer.” “If she loved me like she says, she would let me go out with my boys.” “If he loved me, he wouldn’t have slept with her.” “If she loved me, she would remember that I don’t like crunchy peanut butter.” I actually have heard every one of these and then some in the last few weeks, and every time, I cringe. This interpretation of love is disgustingly self-serving. Me, me, me. I’ll tell you what it means to love me. This is the modern, stylish, chic interpretation of love. It’s easy, comfy and sexy.
Love is not self-serving. Love is not romance novel material. It isn’t sexy or gentle or smooth. It is serious, intense and uncomfortable. It requires an individual to sacrifice and plow through virgin snow with vengeance and disregard. And you have to do these things and expect nothing. Shakespeare once said, “Expectation is the root of all heartache.” Part of love is not expecting. It is letting go when your brain and pride tell you the complete opposite. Sure, you don’t want to hurt, but loving means you definitely will at some point. Lovers, kids, grandmas and everyone in between will hurt you at some point. No kind of love is immune. Heartache is part of love, and ultimately makes it stronger and more stable. We are taught to avoid heartache and despair at all costs. If you love, these things will find you. But, trust me, its not as awful as you’ve been lead to believe and not all bad, either.
Alice Walker once said, “Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be,” and that is real talk, my friends. But you are never more powerful and confident than after you’ve conquered a huge storm in your life, even if you crawled all the way through it while sobbing hysterically. You made it through, and it makes you more powerful and better armed to fight another day. And how much more do you have to offer those you love after fighting hard and coming out on top and stronger than ever? So heartache and despair really aren’t the enemies in love. In fact, we need them to chisel us into a more complete person.
Love is hard and intense and really very exhausting sometimes. Please remember, though, that hard and intense and exhausting aren’t necessarily negative. I have been told I love very hard, and I do. I take that as a compliment. If I love you, I will walk through hell for you. I really will, and I will have a smile and a hug for you when we both make it out. I do not expect that from anyone else. Most people aren’t capable of it, and that’s very important to accept. I can take a lot of hits in many different ways, and I don’t mind doing it if it helps the ones I love. Everyone has his or her strengths.
Loving hard means I don’t say “I love you” lightly. It’s awkward when someone says it and you don’t say it back, and that’s been me a lot over the years. However, I’ve never said it and wanted to take it back. Relationships fail as time persists, whether they are friendships, family or romantic in nature, but fault seldom has anything to do with love. We are all human, and that tends to get in the way. Obviously, none of my romantic endeavors have withstood the test of time, but I don’t regret a single one of them. Regret is a waste. I’ve learned from each of them and chosen differently according to what I’ve learned. I’m discovering more about myself, others and the world around me daily. My wise friend, Yvonne, periodically reminds me that it is a process, not an event. I forget that and I push, rushing things and ultimately creating a stressful mess. I attempt to force a conclusion when the process continues to rock along, whether or not I prefer it that way. Love is a process, not an event. As humans, we are egocentric, obstinate and strive to compartmentalize everything we think and feel so we can digest it more easily. This isn’t possible with love. Some things are bigger than we are, and that is okay.
Regardless of the inevitable flaws, being human is lovely and beautiful. Every single member of my family is very human, has unmistakable, obvious faults and every single one of them is immeasurably beautiful. I learned what love means from my family. It sounds cliché, but its true. I was and continue to be taught to love hard, completely and every chance I get. My cousin, Katy, remembers every birthday, anniversary and holiday. She makes every single one of us feel special with her kindness and consideration, and she does it without expecting anything. She’s a busy mom of three and a devoted wife, but she takes time out of her world to bless ours, and that is lovely and beautiful. I remember birthdays days in advance, then I forget, then I remember again in the shower the day of, ultimately failing to recognize them at all. I’m just not that good. We all have out strengths, and that’s not mine.
Love was my grandmother’s strength, all day, every day. She used to peel the strings out of my celery because I didn’t like chewing them. Occasionally, I would get mad for some crazy, unsustainable, nine-year-old reason and scream at her, telling her I hated her. Unmoved, she would grab me, hug me tight and tell me it would really hurt her feelings if she thought I meant that, but she knew I didn’t. Then she’d ask me what I wanted for dinner. Love. No expectations. Hard. Thankless. Life-saving. Life-giving. So beautiful.
That’s how my kids love and that’s how God loves. It isn’t a coincidence. We try other ways and explain it in language and deeds that are easily digested and fit best in our busy, frivolous lives and into this brutal world, but the truth remains. The greatest of these is still love. We just have to dig deep and love like we are made for it, because really, we are.