Week 07…

The cynics will immediately point out that love is for sale; another product for which there is endless demand and seemingly limited supply. It drives the purchase of makeup, jewelry, and lingerie; forget pretty packages under the tree, in February you are the gift destined to be unwrapped (ew). And I’ll spare you my sermon on dating apps (“we’ll help you find love, but for a nominal fee, otherwise you’re on your own, and good luck in this economy”).

The poets extol love because it evokes the strongest passions within a human heart (as does hate, but there’s that thing about fine lines). To invest in either emotion requires a substantial deposit, and — despite what the companies that bottle and sell it may insist — love is not finite. Romantic love, may be, but romance is only one flavor of love. Were I to describe it (as I have known it), romance is like biting down on a peppercorn: there is a sudden burst of heat, of surprise, and then it fades into whatever other, richer tastes linger on the palette. Romance is but a seasoning in the great banquet of life.

But as I have intimated in other posts, my experience with romantic love is limited. However, my capacity for love, and the depths to which I feel it… well, it requires the language of poets: “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more” (Jane Austen); “I am not full of virtues and noble qualities. I love. That is all. But I love strongly, exclusively, steadfastly (George Sand, although whether she ever said it, or it was just a very good scene from “Impromptu,” I don’t know); and finally, “If I love you, I love you” (James Baldwin).

I end with Baldwin because his thoughts on love mirror my own. I don’t know if it’s because I’m somewhere on the spectrum, or if it’s just because I am who I have always been, but I find it quite difficult to articulate my feelings — to assign them the proper labels and give them full voice. But as I have gotten older, I realize another reason why I have difficulty expressing my strongest emotions is because they are not so much feelings as certainties. In brief, I don’t ask questions; I know when I love someone. And if they love me, it’s wonderful; if they don’t, it’s tragic. It doesn’t change the base condition, however.

I enjoy the paradox of l-o-v-e, a four-letter word we use to describe the indescribable. And in celebration of that (another “contradiction” running through this post like an underground stream to the sea of consciousness), I will conclude by listing some of what I have fallen in love with in others. Consider it my valentine:

• Laughter shared across space, time, and social media
• The discipline required to make the work good
• Faith Over Fear
• Snail-mail that says “I thought of you.”
• Knowing glances that mean nothing and everything
• Hands that craft
• An embrace of the absurd
• The sound of my name in greeting
• A spine of steel
• An exhilarating love of words, language, and literature
• The willingness to guide a wandering soul in a new world
• An open hearth, home, and recipe book
• The inherent vulnerability of “play”
• A delight in raising someone (many someones) up high
• Seeing what is not seen by others
• Friendship that survives metamorphosis
• Growth that moves through pain rather than demanding it
• Pockets of golden silence when near you
• Music made with others
• Not knowing how much you are beloved of others
• Shared narratives with branching plot lines
• Moments between people that say: “What? You too?”
• A rapier wit to parry (and which draws blood to remind one they are mortal)
• A safe place to fall apart, and the borrowed strength to rebuild

SF Neighborhoods/Places Explored: Japantown, The Mission

Soundtrack: Ryuichi Sakamoto

Bus + Bench Book: If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler, by Italo Calvino (3/4 finished)

Lesson-Learned: Just go, and then keep going