“Losing site of her objectives, she redoubled her efforts” Truer words have never been plagarized. At some point between loneliness and confusion I realized that I did not want a boyfriend. How could this be? Everybody wants a boyfriend, or partner, or girlfriend or mistress or husband/wife, SOMEONE with bail, someone with the rent, someone who can build a porch, someone who can roll you in the hay, someone who will bring you chicken soup, someone who will tell you not to worry, someone who thinks you’re the dogs bark, someone who cares enough to sneak around behind your back so they won’t hurt your feelings when they are having an affair. Someone to fix your computer, take you to Vegas, rub your back, invest in property, allow you to enjoy ‘two for one’ specials.
When I had boyfriends and a husband, I’ll admit I felt a sense of calm. On a tight rope, yes, but with a net underneath. But a none-spoken agreement, an agreement so deeply imbeded as to be nonexistent, prevented me from enjoying the relationship fully. What is this agreement, this assumption? It could be a survival mechanism that backfired. If you don’t have anything, you can’t lose anything, and love is the most painful thing to lose. Maybe it’s the fear that expectations, on both sides, will go unfullfilled and disappointment will evolve into regret and regret plummet towards loathing. These emotions cannot be controlled–Love is out of control.
The law of entropy. Everything we have will gradually deteriorate. Why does that prevent me from sharing love? Why can’t I love a man as I love my daughter, unconditionally, without fear of rejection, without expectation; a love beyond boundaries, beyond reason, any sacrifice considered an opportunity to express a continually deepening, bone-weary love? A privilege, to love.
Oscar Wilde’s quote “If I love you, what business is it of yours?” is one of my favorites. It reminds us that love is not about reciprocity. Love is free to go where it pleases, damn the torpedos. The wonder of love is that it doesn’t ask permission and doesn’t need it. Although M. Scott Peck insists that “love is a verb”, the danger of love is that its expression is not always in the best interest of the beloved. That seems an irony, being that love is so sacred. But we, as individuals, are not separate from the love we feel, and we, as individuals, are not always the best of company. And that is why love is sometimes best kept under wraps– precisely BECAUSE we DO love.
A man can understandably take this personally. Everything can be dandy if I would just relax and ‘let it happen’. “What the hell is wrong with her?” They think. “She SHOULD love me. Why doesn’t she love me?” Well, maybe I do, strangely enough, but not in the way they expect. As I said, love goes it’s own way. I don’t have a “boyfriend”, “husband”, “lover”, true; but that is not because my heart is empty. It’s because my heart is full.