Is Love Irrational, Illogical, Illusory...a Cliche?

Various ponderings, wonderings, and meandering thoughts on love.

Love is a very confusing emotion to me, romantic love that is. It's a crap shoot. We never know when it will strike, or at least we think we don't. So many times a lover says, "I wasn't looking for love, I was quite content with my life, and then he/she popped into my life, and suddenly I'm in love. My life's changed, I can't live without him/her in it."

I have a hypothesis noodling about in my brain that many who find themselves constantly falling madly in and out of love...that their love is based a lot upon fear. Fear of being alone, fear of feeling lonely, fear of never loving again, fear of never being loved, fear of feeling unfulfilled, fear of who they are, fear of the future, fear of aging, fear of death, fear of never being forgiven, fear of insecurity and instability, fear of never having sex again (ya'think I would leave sex out of the equation?), fears and more fears. So many fears we frail humans have.

Our idea of what love is changes over time. It depends on how we have loved before, of the dynamics at play in the love relationships we have experienced, on how the various love relationships ended. So many factors affect how much we are willing to open ourselves up to love again. Fears. Previous hurts and disappointments play a large role. Some immediately move on to another and another as if they can fill the place of pain by using another as a bandaid. Others close themselves up, batten down the hatches to their hearts. Those of us that do that, those of us that are afraid of love, I wonder, can we/will we continue to hold back, refuse to allow ourselves to open up completely again, to honestly, freely love someone? Is it a risk worth taking? Again, fear.

It really does depend, this allowing ourselves to love, upon the amount of self-healing that has taken place, the amount of self-protections one has placed upon one's self and being able/willing to break free from them. I really do believe that fully, honestly, loving another in a healthy way depends upon how content one is with one's self. And, how willing we are to live with and through the feelings of loss if once again we have to live through the failure of another love relationship.

We humans are social creatures, we seek out our own kind, if we don't, there are times when we are at a loss, we feel lonely. I have known several people that cannot, and are not willing to be alone. For many, loneliness plays an enormous role in their need to be in love, more so than many are willing to admit. There is being alone, and there is lonely. There is being content with ourselves, and discontent. I have my moments of discontent, of dissatisfaction, of feeling lonely, but I've never, ever felt as lonely as I did when my marriage was in the beginning and middle stages of falling apart. Here was this person in my life, a person I viewed as adding something unique and special to my life, a person that I treasured, and believed treasured me in return, a person that I thought was my partner in life, the one person I would be able to count on, my ICE, and that feeling was fading, disappearing. I can honestly say, even though there have been, and will continue to be times, when I feel lonely, days when I wish for the companionship, the touching, the intimate conversation, the lovemaking, the simple comfort of being with someone I care deeply about right then and there, during that loneliest of lonely moments, I have not felt the same type or depth of loneliness I felt during those last few years of our living together as husband and wife.


When it comes to love, loving another, and how freely we allow ourselves to risk love again, I'm unsure of it. Perhaps, it depends partly on our personality type. I am an intuitive thinker, emotional decision maker, but there is a side of me that must seek, strive for rationality. If I become overwrought with emotion, it may take me a while, but, I must eventually find a way to approach the emotion from a more logical viewpoint. At times I have described myself as a pragmatic romantic, a realistic romantic, and so on. Never have I simply stated I am a romantic. I know I am not simply anything.

We all ponder love and what it means from time to time through out our lives. Being in love. So many descriptions for that person we happen to be madly in love with at the time. She/he is my soul mate, she/he completes me, I am happiest/more content/more here when in her/his presence. I think the list could go on and on.

"Madly in love", "Love is blind", such truisms in those two phrases. When I think of my own love stories, when I recall the stories of other's love relationships, when reviewed with the distance of time, or the more objective eye of one not involved in the story, most often the love truly does appear mad, and blind.

Many times, when lovers are in the midst of new love, when that first flush of mad love is waning, they begin to feel insecure, and a word, a gesture, or lack of one, can often send them into a frenzy of doubt and despair. These lovers are lost, spiraling ever downward, ever deeper into the despair felt when one questions the love of another. Their thoughts feed and feed upon each other until some become suicidal. Within seconds though, if the right word, or the right gesture is offered up, the despairing one is back on top of the world. All despair forgotten, all doubt set aside. They become a love cliche. A friend recently was lamenting to me his distress over becoming a love cliche. Indeed he has, his words, his actions are the very essence of the impact obsessive love can have on one's life. He cannot eat, sleep, work, or stop thinking about her. His entire life has been placed on hold, literally. Nothing else is important, he cannot focus on family, friends, or career, he is truly lost at this moment in time. There is no middle ground, he is either on top of the world, or so far lost in a deep chthonic* gloom it's almost unbearable to listen to him.

This is not the first such story I have heard, nor I am sure will it be the last. I myself have at times found myself in a similar state, full of insecurities, only a few times though. I have wondered, perhaps I am a cold fish, because once past the "this person is my one, this person is the love of my life" glow, or the "my life is ending in this moment" angst I was placing upon myself, there would appear a tiny voice that told me I was crazy, completely irrational, and ... hmm ... how was it? ... wrong... yep... that fits ... there was a part of me that knew it was just plain wrong to lose myself so completely in the burdensome basket of such an obsessive love and all its other accompanying emotions. There are times, when I think it really isn't the person that is the focus of so much emotion, it is the being in love, the very intensity of the feelings that seize the lover/lovers. They are obsessed and possessed by love itself.

Maybe I am still too protected, too closed up, too fearful of the pain of loss, to really know what love is, or should feel like. But I have these sense-filled images, tastes, touches, scents, sounds, and feelings of what love means to me; a warm comfy blanket, a glistening iridescent bubble, a field full of daisies, a sky filled with hot air balloons, a rushing waterfall, a fresh picked perfectly ripened strawberry, the scent of lilacs on the spring breeze, sun warmed sand between my toes, a campfire on a cool fall evening, birdsong, the full moon, an eclipse of the moon, sliding my feet in an icy mountain stream, hearing the sound of the ocean in a seashell, beluga whales, a butterfly landing on the back of my hand, humming birds, a palm full of rose petals, there are more, so many more. Comfort, faith, trust, excitement, inspiration, admiration, awe, titillation, rapture, safety.

This whole thought process is far from over, and I am sure I will change my mind several times in regard to this thing called love, and being in love...but for now... I'm leaning toward the thought that love is a cliche...and there is nothing whatsoever wrong with that. It's part of what makes life so damn fun and interesting, it's living.



*today's word of the day ~smile~

Because Now Is All We Really Have...

Do you know what it's like to fall on the floor
And cry your guts out 'til you got no more
Hey man now you're really living

Have you ever made love to a beautiful girl
Made you feel like it's not such a bad world
Hey man now you're really living

Now you're really giving everything
And you're really getting all you gave
Now you're really living what
This life is all about

Well i just saw the sun rise over the hill
Never used to give me much of a thrill
But hey man now you're really living

Do you know what it's like to care too much
'bout someone that you're never gonna get to touch
Hey man now you're really living

Have you ever sat down in the fresh cut grass
And thought about the moment and when it will pass
Hey man now you're really living

Now you're really giving everything
And you're really getting all you gave
Now you're really living what
This life is all about

Now what would you say if i told you that
Everyone thinks you're a crazy old cat
Hey man now you're really living

Do you know what it's like to fall on the floor
And cry your guts out 'til you got no more
Hey man now you're really living

Have you ever made love to a beautiful girl
Made you feel like it's not such a bad world
Hey man now you're really living

People sing
Do you know what it's like to fall on the floor
And cry your guts out 'til you got no more
Hey man now you're really living

Just saw the sun rise over the hill
Never used to give me much of a thrill
But hey man now i'm really living

Memory Sparks

The property I now live on was once owned by an elderly gentleman "junker". Some might label him a "hoarder". He seemed to have a particular propensity for machinery. Old, to very old, machinery, cars, tractors (lawn, garden, and the larger variety), and bicycles. I didn't know about the bicycles until recently. Buried away, hidden away, covered in years and years of dust, in far corners of the barns was one almost complete bicycle and about 15 partial bicycles. If there was one car or tractor that was whole, and working, there were several others lying about of the same model in various stages of disrepair. These I always assumed were for parts to keep the ONE working. He had his own personal salvage yard. A year after his death, his estate is finally being settled, and his family members have emptied out all of the buildings, except for a few small odds and ends here and there.

Last night I was exploring one of the buildings, it houses a workshop, with a grease pit (Isn't that cool? I have my very own personal grease pit. What more could a girl ask for?). Anyway, as I was looking around, I noticed a few shelves placed under the south window. On these shelves were several stones of different sizes, palm size or under. My immediate thought was, "How sweet, he too found something special about rocks. I wonder what meaning, what memories these particular stones held for him?"

Which then had me thinking about the small things I have in my possession, or have saved over the years. Things I have saved because, when I cradle them in my hand, they bring forth a memory. Over the years, I have accumulated quite a number of stones, feathers, dried flowers, ticket stubs, odd pieces of jewelry, letters, cards, ribbons, books, even a few pieces of my children's baby clothing have been saved. (Sheesh! Maybe I'm a hoarder too!)

I also have 20 some odd years worth of VHS videos containing images of family gatherings, and my children's milestones. In addition there are scores of photographs, in frames, albums, boxes, and also here on my computer.

All things intended to recapture memories. Things gathered, collected, and treasured over the years because they hold life. I was an adult when I began gathering those that have the most memory attached, they are often the smallest in size, but they also have the most weight, they are my memory stones.

I have a small set of stones sitting on my file cabinet at work. When I take a moment to look at them, really look at them, when I pick them up, and allow them to rest in my hands, that day comes back to me. Each moment, each thought, each emotion. I relive it. I feel the cold brisk air. I see the wintry waves out past the ice along the shore of the lake, the sand covered snow drifts flowing over the dunes. I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, the immense truths that filled me. These stones are well worth the space they take up.

In the first home we built, my husband and his grandfather constructed a stone fireplace, the stones came from the building site itself, each stone collected by me. I had made two piles of stones, one was of those I did not like, and one was of those I wanted the fireplace made from. I was not there the day my two masons built the fireplace, and they chose the wrong pile to take most of the stones from, but inserted here and there in the face were some of the stones from the "good" pile. But in a weird sense, them choosing more stones from the bad pile than the good made it all the more special. During the years we lived there, I would sometimes find my gaze seeking out individual stones, and I would remember the day it was found. The entire day would be recalled, the weather, the scents, the pure physical exhaustion we often felt after spending the day constructing the house, the happiness we felt.

Until a little over a year ago, through out all the rooms of my marital home, on shelves, tables or dresser tops, one would chance across a small pile of stones or fossils. Each small aggregation containing moments of my life, our lives, our story. The who, when, where, why of each moment I wished to remember was fully embodied in each small cairn, or heap. My children have their own special stones as well, I don't think we are unique, I think many do the same.

I have often wondered, if all the photographs and videos were lost, over time, would I forget the faces of those I've loved? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe...I don't really need these things to bring forth memories, but, these treasured stones bring it all back, with a very real sense of clarity. They are tangible proof, more real than a photograph, more real than memory alone. Embodied within these storehouses are moments. Joyful moments, awe-inspired moments, heartbreaking moments, memories.

When all is said and done, I want to dejunk my life, get of rid of the accumulation of things. These treasures...will be the hardest to let go of.

Small Gems

Jewel Weed
Aside from being a delicate little beauty, its sap is a great antidote to itchy insect bites.

In recent months I've been isolating myself more and more, here online, as well as in my 3D world. The limbo land of divorce, worry about my future finances, and my propensity to sink into depression have all fed into my need for isolation. I can't do much about the divorce yet, although the end is now in sight, the judge has set October 21st as the date for the final hearing (amazing how free having that date set has made me feel). I can't do much about my finances right now either, as they are also largely tied into the divorce. As to the depression, I long ago faced the fact that I am a depressive, I also know the very best way for me to fight it. It isn't medications, although they work to an extent. But I'm still stubborn when it comes to the idea of spending the rest of my life taking a drug to feel emotionally healthy. I'm not ready to face that possibility, not yet anyway. Physical activity does work for me, quite well. It always has, as a teen, as a young adult, and now, it works...unfortunately one of the symptoms of depression is lethargy, and lack of motivation. Keeping active becomes a continuous battle. It takes quite a lot of internal prodding to get me going, but luckily once I feel the bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt of that internal cattle prod on my ass, I do get moving, and within hours I begin to feel better. The harder I push myself, the sweatier I get, the better I feel. I may be weird, but I love the sweating that is the byproduct of physical exertion, I equate it to leaching all the poisons out through my pores. It's a cleansing of my physical body and my soul. I literally feel lighter.

Today I decided to visit one of my favorite hiking trails, it was tough going at first. Not because it is a difficult trail, it's easy to moderate, but because once my feet hit the sandy trail, I remembered my last visit there, a little over one year ago. Then, I was full of a vitality that has been sorely lacking of late. I was still living the high of ESCAPE, unencumbered by the symbolic restraints I had lived with for so long, those caused by his, and my own, insecurities. It was shortly after I had moved out of our marital home, and I was reveling in my feeling of freedom from living a life of constant judging, disapproval and failure to make the grade. I felt joy bubbling within for the first time in a really, really long time. Sadly, I've lost some of that feeling, my own self-questioning has formed similar restraints. I've become more reserved in recent months, fettered to my uncertainties.

This afternoon, as I set out, it took real effort just for me to place one foot in front of the other, I was plodding more than hiking, but thankfully the very nature of walking a woodland trail makes plodding almost an impossibility, at least for me. Footing has to be monitored as the condition of the trail is quite variable. In addition, it is very difficult for me to become lost in thought when my surroundings are ever changing. The trail follows the meandering length of a healthy crystal clear creek, passing through wooded wetlands and along side a prairie meadow, it's my favorite for that very reason. The trail is a habitat for so many varieties of wild life, and wildflowers, I soon find myself unable to focus on my inner world. I tried, because of a need to seek answers to questions. Questions that are truly unanswerable at this stage of my life. Why I keep refusing to accept that is beyond me at times. Today, I finally made a smart decision, choosing the trail instead of walking the road by my home. I pushed myself hard today, really hard. I love the way my leg muscles ache, and my mind feels clearer than it has in weeks. I have set myself the goal of returning every weekend while the weather holds, pushing myself ever harder, ever further. I know I need to, it is sustenance my soul and body crave.

Tears and Smiles

It's my birthday, 49 today. I've been feeling quite melancholy for several weeks now, and having trouble putting my finger on exactly why.

I keep telling myself how great my life really is. That I have so much to be grateful for.

I have wonderful friends, loving friends, friends who gift me daily with their love and support. I have a totally insane, completely dysfunctional family, but they love me and I love them. Neither I, nor any of my loved ones suffer from any major disabilities or illnesses. All of my basic human needs are met. I live in a lovely rural setting with much of nature's beauty surrounding me. Nearby are several libraries, a university and community college, all giving me access to more information than I could ever possibly read and digest. Within a few hours drive are two cities that are full of so many venues to feed my need to experience beauty and excitement. There is more, so much more filling this life of mine, and yet, here I sit wallowing in the land of doldrums.

I know many of the reasons why I am filled with sadness, much of it having to do with so many endings in my life of late. All of the roles I've used to define myself are at end, or quickly reaching an end. I could go on, and on in that regard, but it all seems rather nonsensical at the moment. Not really that important. Which is truly where I need to be directing my thoughts...on what is important. For the past decade or more, there has been one question I ask myself when times seem rough, or when I become caught up in the spiraling loop of depression.

"In five years will this matter?"

When asked, often a very easy question to answer.

The answer always leading me in the right direction.

Answers to the questions filling me this day are of the negative and positive sort, yet still quite simple when viewed from that basic question. Some of the decisions I make in the near future will matter greatly, others...not so much. Those that matter, are where my focus needs to lie. Perspective, the question gives me perspective.

For over 22 years the main focus of my life has been to be the best mother I could be. . Due to the very nature of my own childhood, I wanted my children to be able to look back on their own childhoods and have it filled with wonderful memories. I have often questioned if I succeeded or not. I received a birthday gift from Chelsea last night. With all the things going on in her life, she had forgotten my birthday was coming so quickly. She felt bad, in addition, she also felt the need to give me a gift yet has no funds to do so. I received the best gift possible though, maybe ever. A letter.

Mother Dearest,

I feel awful for forgetting your birthday. I'm really really sorry, I'm also sorry that I have no money to buy you the gift you deserve. Yet, there are some things I want you to know.

First off, whenever Alex and I think back over our childhood, we remember amazing things that it was full of. For example, the museums, the battlefield hikes, the CAR WRECKS, sports, the books you read to us, games played with us (remember Crystal and her many children?). And songs, songs sung to us every night. All these amazing memories are because of you. You gave us the perfect childhood.

Then there's my middle school years, which were most definitely the worst years of my life so far, but you were there for me. I had problems and you had perfect advice. Advice which still helps me to this day, and helped shape who I am today (a person who forgets her mothers birthday---sad face---). Nonetheless, you always had the right thing to say. You have helped me through epic boyfriend problems, the biggest being B. You were there for me through all my heartaches.

I still think you worry about your decision regarding Dad, and moving out, and divorce, but I don't regret or feel ill will towards you, anyone, or anything in that whole situation. I believe in you. The little things you've done for me through out my whole life will stick with me forever. Like the poem you wrote about me in the fifth grade, (yes I am very vain and love every word you wrote). Over all, you have been and still are the most amazing mother. Alex and I are blessed to have you as our mother. You are intelligent, spontaneous, and fun. You're 49...big deal, in real life you're 25 and young and fun, 49 middle-aged and crazy, and 92 old and wise, you've got it all. All I'm trying to say is that you are a powerful, brave, intelligent, and loving woman, and a perfectly insane one too, but I wouldn't have my mother any other way :-).

I love you more than words can say,

P.S. Happy Birthday too!

Love,

Chels


Funny thing is...not an hour after her giving me this letter we had one of our head-butting mother/daughter arguments...but...ya'know what...it's all OK, it really is...this is my life...the good, the bad, the sad, even the days filled with melancholy are OK, because it is my life, such as it is.