What Love Is

You think I'm going to expound here on Love, right? Giving everyone the benefit of my years and decades of experience, my almost-34 years of happy marriage?

Nah. Not so much. Because, frankly, love baffles me. No, not what I, personally, experience as love. I understand that pretty well. But what other people identify as love. They say they love people--partners, family, friends--but they act in ways that don't seem to me to fit that at all. Women claim to love their husbands but spend hours with their girlfriends ridiculing him and enumerating his faults (or sitting in the teachers' lounge at school--holy moly! When I was subbing, I'd sit and listen to the women talk about their husbands and be absolutely dumbfounded. These people they were talking about were people with whom they lived ON PURPOSE. How could they possibly have chosen to spend their days and nights with humans who irritated them so thoroughly in every possible way?). Men claim to love their wives but see nothing wrong with an outside affair or two. Friends gossip and say hateful things, family members borrow money and don't pay it back. On, and on, and on. And this is love. That's what people say.

Love is an emotion, right? I used to believe that, just like most everyone else. But one of the Really Wise People I Have Known explained his philosophy:  love is not an emotion, but a decision. Think about it:  emotions are fleeting. Anger, irritation, joy, fear, sadness--those things come and hit you upside the head, stick around a while, and leave. Maybe, for some people, love does that, too=Love: The Drive-By Attachment.

I would argue that's not actually love, that feeling that comes screaming at you from out of nowhere, turns your world upside down, and then leaves without warning. You know, on the afternoon you realize your lover smells like old socks and has pores the size of Mount St. Helens and, gee, hasn't ever really done it for you the way Ralph did, anyway. You say, "Hey, it's been fun these couple of months, but I've gotta go see a man about a dog."

I believe love is a decision. Real love, true love. We're not talking about that first smack of it--that hormonal uprising, that can't-breathe-when-he's-not-around, can't-eat-can't-sleep-can't-think. I have no idea what that is, and while it was fun while it lasted, I've gotta say I'm glad it morphed into something else, because I really couldn't eat or sleep, and after 34 years of that, there wouldn't be even a shell of me left. Any fire that burns that hot? Nobody could survive for long. Staying up til dawn, spending hour after hour on the phone when you weren't actually together. Grinning to yourself for absolutely no reason.

OK. I'll stop now and spare you. Young lovers think we old people have no clue. We just smile to ourselves, hoping they come out of it intact. That thing--whatever it is--has to become something that will last. That's what I believe love is:  a decision you make that can last a lifetime. Think about this: maybe love is a decision, and maybe those other things that we think of as emotions are actually also decisions. Like happiness. Mark Twain might have had it exactly right when he said that most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. I think that's true--it's been true in my own life and those of people I know--and I think it's true for love, as well. And for sadness--not the temporary, crying-over-a-photograph sadness, but the deep-to-the-bones, shows-on-your-face-in-every-photograph sadness. And fear. Think about it: think about what it would mean if love and happiness and fear and joy were all decisions. You could feel fleeting glimpses of them as "emotions," but you could decide whether or not to embrace any one or all of them as a way of life.

Huh. That's something to think about, isn't it?

I read a piece in the NYT recently, an essay about how relationships are hard work. Everyone says that, about how relationships, specifically long-term romantic partnership (they used "marriage," of course) are really hard work. This writer argued that, no, that's not true, and argued that if your marriage (etc.) is a lot of hard work, maybe you chose the wrong partner. I asked The EGE about this, and we agreed that if by "hard work" you mean stupid stuff like, oh, not thinking of yourself first every minute of every day, and having to share the covers and maybe spend the weekend with in-laws who don't like you and having to pitch in to discipline the kids--if that's what you mean by "hard work," then, yeah:  marriage is hard work. But then so is life, if that's what you think of as hard work, and so is any job you're ever going to have or any relationship or ANYTHING. And, really, just face it: if that's your definition of "hard work," not only are you incredibly selfish and immature, but you're pretty damn lazy, too. You should get over yourself before you even THINK of establishing a relationship with another living creature. Don't even get a goldfish!

If, on the other hand, "hard work" means repeated rounds of counseling and trial separations, of tears and betrayal and mistrust, then, whoa. That's a whole nother thang, and that's what the writer was talking about and what The EGE and I agree is way, way beyond what you should expect from love. If you're making each other so miserable that third parties are regularly required to intervene, then how can you claim to love the other person? Love means (no, no! don't cue the music here!) adapting, changing, adjusting. If you love someone and want them to be happy and your habit of using toilet paper as a coffee filter just drives them insane, then what's up if you refuse to change? Come on, people--life is about change. Everything changes. And if you refuse to make adjustments so you can live happily with someone you profess to love, what's that really about? You claim you have to be you, but what it's really about is that you care about your routines and habits and quirks more than you care about being with this other person. Maybe with any other person.

Frankly, I believe lots of people are way too selfish and self-involved ever to be a part of any couple and should just admit it and join some club that provides clean, healthy sexual partners on a regular basis, presentable social escorts for business occasions, and someone to fill in for golf/tennis/bridge/bowling. I don't know any people like that, but from what I read, it's the New Hipness.

For the rest of us, though? Love is possible. The thing I tell people over and over is that it doesn't always look like you think it will. If you're thinking hearts and flowers and being swept off your feet, you may be disappointed. If you cut out a photo of a movie star when you were six and said the woman you marry is going to look just like her, you may need to rethink your priorities.

OK. Maybe I'll write more about this later. Who knows. I'm surely no expert on love, dating, relationships, marriage. Much of what goes on today in romantic relationships just really baffles me--having sex with someone you're not even sure you ever want to see again, going off for a weekend with someone you don't really like but who has money. I don't know. That sounds like business to me.

Here's what I do know. Love--and Valentine's Day and anniversaries and all that--it's not about hearts and flowers and candy and fancy dinners and long romantic walks on the beach. It can be about all those things, but those are just things. Love is when you care about someone else's health and happiness and well-being and moments of joy as much as you care about your own, when you're happy to do things just because you know they'll make someone else happy, and when that someone else does the same for you. I'm lucky in that the person who's my partner--my husband--is also my lover and my best friend. When people ask what it's like being together for over 30 years, I say it's been easy. This is true. Oh, sure, we've had tragedy: the deaths of people we loved. We've had the usual things with jobs and co-workers, money and being chased through Mississippi by rednecks.

Wait. Maybe that's not the usual.

But it has been easy:  there's never been a time when I've wanted to leave him, even temporarily. I've never thought I made a bad choice; it's always been a choice I'd happily make again. And given that that choice alienated just about everyone I'd known up until that point in my life, that's saying a lot. Did I wake him up this morning with breakfast in bed and a mushy card? No. I didn't even wish him a happy Valentine's Day because I was trying to put together a crate for a sick cat. And he may not get anything from me at all because I didn't buy a card and the UPS isn't holding up its end of the bargain on the whole delivery-by-Valentine's-Day deal. But so what? I don't think my failure at shopping is going to make him question my love for him. (After I get through with UPS, though, *they* are not going to be feeling the love, let me tell you.)

On this Valentine's Day, instead of waiting for someone to send you a thousand dollars worth of hothouse roses, stop and think about what love really means. Make a list. Ask yourself some questions. You might be surprised at what you discover. What does love mean to you? It's your decision.