Psych. We’re talking about love. (not different. suckas) I had a conversation with a car sales manager over beers and we were discussing why girlfriends were always asking him when he was going to propose. Now, the guy isn’t the player type, he wants to eventually get married, but he didn’t understand why they couldn’t just be happy in the relationship, unmarried…but in love.
Of course, my answer evolved into a heated rant about how ridiculous it is that we’re taught from childhood that marriage and love is the pinnacle of our lives. Like, it’s the most important thing we’ll ever do. Don’t get me wrong, Love is important. But, little lovelies, it’s important in so many ways other than finding that one person (I could argue about monogamy and the idea of a soulmate and “the one” all day).
I do not trust people who don’t love themselves and yet tell me, ‘I love you.’ There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt
— Maya Angelou
I’ve been talking a lot about self-love lately, mostly as a reminder for myself.
So, like I said, love is important. And tossing yourself at someone and hoping that they have enough love to make you whole is romantic and beautiful but, I think, the only love that’s truly satisfying is one in which participants don’t need each other, but want each other. Sometimes I feel like there’s not enough of this self- sufficient love; I worry about the world.
Don’t get me wrong. I watched Gossip Girl last night and actually cried because I’m so in love with Chuck and Blair’s love. [OMG it’s so wonderful, I can’t wait for Chuck/Blair love!!] There’s just something about that dramatic “I would die for you” love that’s soooooooo gorgeous. Realistically, though, fuck that shit. In a normal day, I want about an hour (total) of that crazy “i love you, we’re magic” love and the rest “oh hey, I think you’re awesome and smart – let’s have great conversations and respect eachothers’ space”.
Enough about that kind of love. The kind of LOVE I want to talk about is the kind that prompts you to use half of your paycheck to ensure your family is doing fine. Without acknowledgement, without taking credit. It’s giving half of your sandwich to someone who asks for it on the street, disregarding whether you feel like they “really need” it or not. It’s up all night figuring out what you can do for strangers seeking revolution halfway across the globe. I do not worry about these people. They are fully capable of the most beautiful kind of love. I try to surround myself with these amazing beings, and I’m a better person for it.
Final summation: There are 10 million kinds of love. None of them are wrong. Some of them are just too amazingly super awesome. Open your heart, lovelies. Don’t be afraid. Explore all of them.